Burning Man 2016: Photos and Stories, Part 3 (of 3) The Best of them ALL!!!

The temple was fairly glorious this year, in the style of a pagoda, designed by master temple builder, David Best, who always infuses his creations with a mix of eastern and western symbols and architecture, but always leaning towards the East. This year's was no exception, with its central spire hanging down, nearly grazing the spire jutting up from the stupa, the central altar, table or platform. As usual, Burning Man's participants fill the walls with writings, drawings, art, photos, small to large shrines, and every manner of mishmosh to signify their deep feelings to be released. All of it that's made to burn, is burned up in the final Temple fire on Sunday night.

I made it out to the Temple on Friday, after spending some time at the Man and surrounding Guilds.  I'd heard that the Temple this year was made from mostly (like 80%?) recycled wood, mostly from shipping palettes. The use of repurposed wood was a condition of the temple builder's son contributing to the construction.

Inside, I found my spot, which called to me with its offer of space and comfort. Sitting, I meditated for awhile, eyes open, just taking in the breathtaking beauty around me. The structure was amazing, and all around me were the beautiful members of my community of souls, all deep in their rituals: meditating, crying, leaving their remembrances. Without having any particular focus for my feelings, I just let the tears pour out me as they naturally would, my mind more or less a blank, just reacting to what I was seeing and experiencing. The deep and dramatic emotions released in this place just resonate around the cathedral ceiling, swirling around all occupants, a palpable force. It's hard to be in here and not be affected by it, not be swept along in the current of outpouring emotional energy.

After a time, having gotten my release, I was ready to move on.

As I wander outside, checking out the other structures on the temple's "grounds", a mighty vortex is whipped up in the distance.

The Lighthouse.
Of all the large art installations on playa this year, this was the grand-daddy, the big prize-winner, if there were such a thing. Massive, extensive, gorgeous, and no doubt one of the happenin' spots on the playa this year. I didn't go up inside it, as I eschew lines at Burning Man (unless it's for food). But, I got some good shots of the outside, and some of the art inside the towers. I also missed the burning of this structure, but I hear it was spectacular.

But speaking of burns, I did manage to catch the tail-end of the Temple Burn, and the subsequent swarming around the bonfire which is annual tradition. It's always a scene at the Man and Temple burns, with everyone doing their thing around, and in relation to, this absolutely huge and intensely hot fire.  One guy was using a space blanket over his face to get close enough to the fire to roast marshmallows, which went into s'mores which he was passing out.  Drummers and other musicians practiced their art. Dancers danced. All, pretty much, were wearing their finest playa outfits, except the many who had shucked theirs off, to cavort nude around the fire.

I became one of these, feeling as free and safe as I have ever felt with no clothes on. The raging fire was cleansing; I could use it to get as hot as I could possibly stand to get, and then cool myself off by stepping out of the circle, into the desert wind.  I knew the trick of keeping low to avoid the most intense heat of the fire. I laid down and scooted as close as I could get. This was a spectacle for some people. Those who did not know better must have thought I was broiling in the intense heat which they could hardly approach. But near the ground, it was cool, and the heat rose off the fire, for the most part missing my prone body.

I also did my manic dance around a smaller portion of the fire, building up from a slow interpretive dance, to my Happy Dance of Ultimate Joy(TM), and of course, as always, and without fail, my chicken dance, or "cock dance", if you will: flapping the wings, bobbing the head, and perhaps a crow or two.  A little while after my dance, a friendly gent approached me and told me that his lady had experienced emotional release from watching me dance. She had come to the temple burn with a recent tragedy to mourn and try to get release from.  As it was, she didn't get it, and was not feeling any better, even somewhat worse, until her boyfriend pointed out to her my carefree happy-dance. This made her laugh, broke the tension, and picked up her mood.  She seemed light-hearted in talking to me. They were both gushing with gratitude for my expression, giving me the endearing title of "chicken-man". I told them that's why I do it: primarily to express my own joy, but also to connect with the joy of others, which may be buried deep within.

My picture of the nudity is fairly discrete, I believe.

And then it was over. When the party ends, it really ends. Everyone gets the heck out of town.

The Teepee and tower to the left in the picture are the Tuna Guys, where I enjoyed a bite of undercooked tuna and a swig of Whiskey, Monday night, post-burn. One of the hold-out camps. 

My kinfolk getting the gear up on the roof for the trip home. Uncle Mike holding up Gerflash, while Nostrildamus facilitates.

 

At least it's now a straight path to the restrooms.

Inside the Porto, an exhortation taken from the bible, to not throw trash and other detritus in there.

Sticker of the Tuna Guys theme camp.

Zendo is a great organization, spearheading much needed harm-reduction efforts based on common sense, at Burning Man and other festivals.

Home, unloaded, and looking a bit weathered. Mostly dusty, but omigod, was I glad to be home!

After the first round of cleanup. Still much recovering to do, but feeling pretty slick.

Burning Man Stories: Megalopolis Burn and Dust Storm 2010

I had made friends with our neighbors, from the theme camp called "Little Crack Whore."  So one night I biked out with them to watch the large art installation, Megalopolis, burn to the ground amid great fanfare and fireworks.

These guys had been cool the whole week, starting out with setup, our two camps helping each other and lending tools when needed.  When I twisted my ankle from partying too hard at a club, they helped out with some Alleve and ice.  They also had fun amenities in their camp, like the large-scale Jenga set, which they called Junga.  Their repurposed T-shirt shade cloth was an idea which our camp took and ran with.  They invited me to try their kissing booth one night, and it worked out pretty well.  They also had me over for dinner, and served a very satisfying home-style meal.

So we rode out on Friday night, the scheduled time for the largest burn, aside from the Man or the Temple.  This year it was Megalopolis.  This was a small city of six buildings under six stories tall. It was modeled after San Francisco, as I recall, with a TransAmerica Pyramid-esque building in the center and other, somewhat boxy, office-looking buildings around it.  It was a fairly extensive piece of work.  It was a warm night, so I dressed accordingly, wearing nothing but a scarf, plus shoes and socks, and maybe a hat.  My bike basket could carry my effects, such as water.

The fire show started.  Fireworks rained into the sky, and as the buildings burned, each one took on a different color flame, no doubt from added chemicals or something. Some spat out sparks, others just burned.  We were enjoying this as the dust seemed to be picking up.  Soon it became obvious that dust masks and goggles would be necessary.  I was looking around to the other burners, some of whom were putting on their dust gear early, while others waited, to get a sense of when it was time to strap on my own gear.  It's a bit of a nuisance having the goggles and mask on: my breathing is limited, my warm breath is trapped against my face, and the goggles get dusty constantly.

The show ended when the buildings collapsed, leaving a nice bonfire, and my party saddled up to leave.  We headed off, into the dust storm.  This year, there were mounds of loose dust scattered around the playa, due to freezing temperatures late in the season. The dust mounds were tough to traverse, like biking on loose sand.

With the dust and my goggles limiting my vision, and mounds slowing progress on the bike, I soon lost my group in the haze.  I just dismounted my bike and walked slowly, as though in a dense fog.

This was a total whiteout, at night, and only occasionally did other the lights of other people become visible in the haze.  At some point, loud music approached, and the headlights of an art car.  A fairly large one, it carried a few dozen people, all relaxed and partying.   It was all I could do to follow it, figuring that at least it was some sign of civilization.  There were a number of people following it on bike or jogging on foot, so it seemed like a safe bet.  Sure, we might be heading in the wrong direction and end up getting lost, but at least we'd be lost together, along with a bright colorful vehicle with plenty of music and drinks.

The music was catchy, perhaps techno remixes of classic rock or funk songs. I just remember being in good spirits, dancing along to it as I walked my bike, in the dust storm, naked except for a scarf, hat, shoes and dust gear.  A party atmosphere prevailed as we moved slowly on.  The speed limit for vehicles on the playa is 5 mph, so it was not hard to keep up.  Just a hint of uncertainty added to the sense of adventure and gave a dreamlike quality to the experience.  Really, it felt like this rolling party was in its own little bubble, invisible from the outside, surrounded by an opaque wall of dust and darkness.

Eventually, some faint lights emerged from the fog ahead, and we saw we were approaching the Esplanade.  Back at the city, we began to recognize landmarks and to get our bearings.  The car turned itself towards its home camp, and the pedestrians following along fanned off to their separate destinations.  The party ended like it began, spontaneously and naturally.

Burning Man 2008 mushroom trip - part 1

At Burning Man 2008, I had a mushroom trip that forever changed who I am.  I saw visions of aliens that stayed with me afterwards. 

It was a double dosage for me: an eighth of an ounce of dried material.  A double dose of psilocybin cubensis mushrooms was more than I had ever attempted, and this was to be a roller coaster ride.  I had gifted some legal salvia divinorum X60 extract to a friend and in exchange, was lucky enough to receive the dried fungus.  The week of Burning Man flew by with little chance in sight to use them, always seeming to have another obligation.  Finally, Saturday rolled around and this was my last chance to dose, as we were packing up the next day.  That night was scheduled the climactic burning of the man.  The dust storm had been predicted to be bad that day, but rather than rest, I crunched down the mushrooms with some water and prepared to trek out into the storm.  My plan was to hike across the city to the other end of the Esplanade where I hoped to check out the art galleries at Entheon Village.

I set out into the dust storm, having strapped on my protective gear for the dust.  My gear consisted of a dust mask over my nose and mouth, swim goggles to protect my eyes, my prescription glasses that I need to see, sunglasses over my glasses, and a bandanna and hat with chinstrap.  All these layers of glass and plastic covering my eyes tend to cloud up with dust and need to be wiped off frequently.  Also, due to the heat of the day and my warm moist breath held against my face by the mask, my swim goggles eventually puddle up with sweat until it gets in my eyes, a salty alkali dust mixture.  So, I need to duck into a shelter periodically to empty my goggles and wipe them down.  Of course, this necessitates taking off all the gear and starting over. 


The dust wasn't so bad on the street, the wind being blocked by the tent city, and, sensing that I could easily withstand this half-hearted blow, I goaded the wind, egging it on and challenging it to blow harder.  My wish was soon manifested, as I reached the open plaza around the center camp, where the wind was blowing hard and the air was white.

As the mushrooms began to kick in, with a feeling of dread and slight nausea, I was approaching Center Camp, where I had planned to reconnoiter.  Approaching the building, feeling my trip coming on, and staring down at the whiteness of the path in front of me, I started to see a round shape emerge that became clearer as I stared.  Knowing it was an artifact of the mushrooms' effect on my senses didn't lessen the effect, as it came into focus and I was staring at an image of the Mayan calendar.  This was vague, but unmistakeable as it appeared before me in the whiteness. 

Soon I was inside the Center Camp Cafe, a large circus tent with a coffee bar, art installations, performance spaces: a hub of culture and expression.  On the floor in the center of the round tent was a map of the city that I had planned to consult, as I had lost my own map which I'd been given at the gate.  In the center was an open space where dancers, jugglers, hula hoopers, etc, would perform, stretch, socialize, rest, and what-have-you.  There was a yoga ball with covering of stuffed Pooh bears that I had seen there before, which was a favorite of the kids, but which wasn't being used.  I flopped down on it, belly first, and used it to steer around the large playa map.  I had the sensation a little of flying out of my body as I cruised the playa symbolically on this map.  Sure enough, I located my destination, Entheon village, at 2:30 and A.  No problem.

Rising off the ball, I exited the cafe on the side.  The wind was daunting, and the air was a haze of dust.  A young woman flagged me down as I was walking and tried to recruit me to help the Lamplighters with their nightly ritual.  I asked what it involved, and she told me it involved cleaning and filling lamps, carrying them and hanging them on posts.  I regretfully told her that I was too high to handle that right then, and she kind of gave a start like she'd touched something hot.  She understood, though and was soon off recruiting others who were more enthusiastic.  As a side note, I did serve as a Lamplighter in 2010.

Continued...

Burning Man Stories: 2007 Dust storm with parachute

In 2007, we launched the Cartoon Commune theme camp. 

Part of our setup included an art wall made from discarded chalkboards which we erected in a fan-fold formation for stability.  Guests were invited to use chalk on the chalkboards and markers on the backs of the chalkboards.  The art wall was a hit and no less a person than Vincent "Nipples" Waller, a lead animator on Ren and Stimpy, and Spongebob Squarepants, stopped by to visit, giving us an inside look at his animation company, and drawing a quick Stimpy toon.

Over the top of our camp, we slung a parachute that was to act as shade for the communal area.  This proved to be a mistake.

We had been told not to use parachutes for shade structures, but we had successfully used it the prior two years as a second cover for our large dome.  Having the wood and steel to anchor it down was a stable arrangement, but this year (07) we only had rope and two EZ-up's (store-bought shade structure), plus our domes and the art wall to anchor this parachute.  A 12 foot pole held up the parachute in the middle, and it gave us a pretty nice shady central area.

Mid-week, the wind picked up and soon, our parachute was buffeting this way and that.  It was lifting the EZ-ups off the ground and threatening to tear up our whole camp.  Apparently, parachutes are made to catch the wind, and that's just what it did, catching what must have been 50+ mph winds.  We who were in camp did our best to hold the parachute down, at first by holding the edges in place.  Some of our neighbors came over to help us get control of our cover, and we all stood there for quite awhile holding the parachute with our arms above our heads.  Soon this became tiring and I found a way to bundle the parachute under me and lay down on it.  We didn't know how long this windstorm would last, and some others grabbed chairs to wait it out.  Well, that lasted for about two hours.  We finally decided to take down the parachute, since we didn't know if the wind would blow all day or stop.  We untied it and folded it up.  The severe flapping of the parachute had wrecked both EZ-ups, bending the aluminum bars out of shape, but the rest of our camp was still intact. 

We learned that year not to use a parachute as shade cloth, without some seriously stable structure beneath it.  There is clearly a right and a wrong way of building a shelter at Burning Man, and over the years.  We gradually learned to work with the wind, and let it pass through the structure rather than trying to block and overcome it.