Sunday morning we drag ourselves out of bed and into awareness, slowly. There is a Camp Meeting at SSV before we begin the work of striking the camp (and packing up our own separate areas). We assembled in a big circle in the main courtyard, and spent some time listening to strike logistics, and some time on telling each other stories of our burn and giving appreciation to each other on the amazing sacred spaces we co-created for the playa. This was the first time I’d been in the same place as so many SSV’ers, and we were a pretty excellent bunch. (I regret not having spent more time with more people, but that’s the way it goes, sadly.) Finally all the volunteers for all the different strike activities trickled off to their duties (I spent the next couple hours sorting, dusting off and bagging pillows and cushions).

Eventually I straggled back to our Yaboogie pod, where Josh had been a busy bee breaking down and packing up our tent and other stuff. We spent all afternoon getting things packed up, until hardly anything was left. We “mooped” our area and some of the common areas (in other words, we went through and picked up every little piece of wood, every sequin, every carpet fiber, everything we could see on the ground that is not playa dust). Then Josh and I took the car and drove out to my flags on the playa, where we spent an hour or so taking them apart and packing them into the car. I was sad to take the flags down, but grateful that it had been a good run. We came back and finished up our packing along with everyone else. We exchanged contact info, signed each others’ memory books, and I had everyone sign the Yaboogie freak flag that hung from our shade structure all week. We took a break for our last meal together in the dining hall, which was also stripped down. The big structures were still standing, but the camp looked strange and bereft. All the landmarks were gone, and it was hard to navigate (just like the playa was hard to navigate without the Man and the other large art pieces we’d grown used to using as landmarks).

We put on our last bits of blinky and then those of us still left went off to see the Temple burn. We sat in a section of people who shushed the occasional hoot and holler (at one point the “shhhhhh’s” moving over the crowd sounded like ocean waves). At one point someone started chanting “ommmmmm” and the chant was picked up by hundreds of people, then died away. This was a much quieter, more solemn experience overall; when the Temple finally began to burn, it started quietly in the courtyard, no fireworks, just flames. Clouds of ash sprinkled with glowing bits billowed off into the dark sky, taking everyone’s prayers, memories, and grieving off into the night towards the still full moon.

The central structure caught fire, but since it was so light with all the intricate cutouts, it remained standing for a long time as flames consumed it, and glowed against the darkness like a fiery sketch. We watched it for a long while, then finally rose, and stretched, found our friends, and prepared ourselves for leaving.

We arranged with friends to head out as a caravan, so that we could be in the Exodus line together. We all hung rings of glowsticks from our rearview mirrors so we could spot each other. Then finally when everyone was ready and assembled, hugs were exchanged and we got in our cars and drove away, only to spend the next 6 hours stuck in the Exodus line in whiteout conditions. It was grueling and tiring and we didn’t get out of our cars to hang out with anyone—we were too burnt. Finally, around 4:30am, we made it out of Black Rock City and onto the road, and began the long trip back home.

Josh and I were both exhausted, and had to pull over a couple of times to rest. We stopped in Reno for gas and breakfast at the Black Bear Diner, and changed into our clean clothes. We saw lots of other burners on the road and in the diner (where others informed me that they left in the early morning and spent less than an hour in the Exodus lines...dang it!) We texted our friends and family to let them know we were out and on our way. The road home seemed to take forever—there was Labor Day traffic in the Sacramento area, plus we stopped to switch drivers or grab some sleep. We finally made it home around 3pm, approximately 17 hours after we left BRC. Our children were glad to see us, and we were glad to see them. Everything seemed totally unreal and strange, but we pushed through and unloaded the car and dumped everything in the back yard. We ordered takeout for dinner, put our kids to bed, and promptly fell asleep ourselves. The journey had ended.

Now that I’ve finally finished these recollections, it’s almost 3 weeks later and things are definitely starting to fade, leaving behind them a sense of nostalgic yearning for a return to the intensity of emotion and spectacle. Re-entry has been hard and isn’t over yet (as the piles of stuff still left in our back yard will attest).

But there were many lessons and reflections gained along the way, and I will set them down briefly here for posterity:

• You get out of Burning Man what you bring to it (or what you're open to).
• There's always a lesson or a treat right where you're at. Look for it and you will find it.
• Creating and nurturing new relationships is something Josh and I are really good at.
• Don't be afraid of the dust (or the rain). Once you release to it, it has gifts for you.
• Resting is ok. You can't do it all. Be grateful for what you do get to do rather than regretful about what you didn’t get to do.
• Welcoming and acknowledgement are incredibly powerful tools for creating relationship and community.
• Accepting people just as they are, without reservation, but with the assumption that each new person is a delightful and positive jewel, leads to some amazingly beautiful friendships.
• Self-expression, genuinely given, is gratefully received.
• Gifting feels great and can be really powerful. Especially when you realize that receiving another’s gift becomes a gift in itself.
• Josh and I are best when we are adventuring together, and sharing with each other what we find.
• Don't drive through the night. It's not worth it.
• Next year bring more blinky stuff (for us and for art)
• I really want to read more of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s writing (and listen to more of his speeches). There is so much wisdom, poetry and inspiration there, and I could use some more of that.

[To see more or full sized pictures, click here for the full set on Flickr]