“I see you have a Ukrainian visa.” The border agent stopped flipping through my passport. “I worked there for two years.” Was I a little anxious? Cress told me he never revealed he was going to Burning Man at the border—in case customs decided to search his vehicle—didn’t all Burners have illegal drugs? I had left home early, wanting to get more than halfway to Nevada on the first day. Online survival guides indicated Burners followed a strict code to live by on the burn: radical self-reliance, radical inclusion and leave-no-trace were axioms. The Shut the fuck up! video summarized the organizers recommended attitude towards law enforcement. Continuing into volcanic terrain, multiple landscapes, and clipping California’s NE corner the first night, before going down through Nevada’s desert valleys on the second day. Arriving in time for a gypsum dust storm for BUILD, the nearly empty playa stretched out in all directions, intermittent posts marking junctions of the clock-face spokes with concentric circles of Black Rock's set-up driving to BRO’s (Black Rock Observatory) "3:00 and G" coordinates. I pulled in, quickly drilling lag bolts to steady my tent corners in the pole-bending dusty gusts. Two days later, my first Meteorite Museum shift over, I was riding my bike at midnight, the Burning Man structure visible. I continued past, drawn to the lit Temple in the distance. I had composed a message to my departed mom at the Dear Mom camp earlier in the day. The host had told me I should bring the note to the Temple. The lit structure seemed nearly empty--I was one of the first to arrive after opening. Deciding to return the following day, I snapped 2 pictures, then rode back to camp. E-mailing my blurry pictures, I fictionalized my first night experience to satisfy others’ expectations of what Burning Man was about: Dust & Illusions BRO, Nevada: Amid the art, music, and revelry around creative Art-cars, the Temple was amazing, standing alone in the night. At first, I marvelled at the graceful construction--a wooden cathedral in the desert—so much work to build the Temple and fill the walls with loved ones' wishes before flames transport them skyward when the temple burns, the day after the Burning Man structure. A lucid smear jolted me--the first signs that my drink had been laced by a passerby. I heard someone commenting "Super fucking acid, man." As the lysergic compound tripped in, I left the planet, the temple streaming away below me. As for my actual working experience at Burning Man, I highly recommend Black Rock Observatory: meteorites, space talks and two telescopes, one stellar to watch the sun's corona, sunspots and other plasma action. My shift showing burners meteorites, (Hold em! Moon rock, fantastic) was an experience. Burners were enthused. I went down so many rabbit holes with questions: did I believe in extra-terrestrials, we finally packed up after midnight. ![]() After a solar telescope shift the next afternoon, I set off to experience the temple in daylight. On arrival I felt overwhelmed on entering the courtyard beneath the extended carved hand arch. Large posters with vibrant photos, some life size, radiated strength and youthful vigour. Attached notes described their character and contribution--how much they were missed, now that they were no longer present. Tears sprung to my eyes on seeing more photo, often smaller with an angry note demanding why? More and more writings on the wood columns and walls, all voicing a goodbye to friends, relatives, parents, lovers, drugs or lifestyle, a small number of others expressing joy at their life amongst so much termination. I thought of my Mom and Dad and wrote their names, adding their years on an empty patch, surrounded by other names. Never having properly addressed the passing of my parents’ generation, I found the Temple deeply meaningful, before its burning, adding many of my friends who have not enjoyed the ‘into the mystic’ of my present days. A day with my son and his wife in Reno rounded out an unforgettable experience.
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AuthorPeter J. Meehan is the author of Return to Pamplona (available through FriesenPress) and That Weekend in Albania! Check back for more blog posts soon! ArchivesCategories |