Sunrise at Burning Man
I’m away from home at Burning Man this week. Here’s a journal entry I wrote after coming home from Burning Man in 2006.
I travel to a Circle of mountains. I step inside and live and know that pre-history is now and the future is now.
I create a Circle of a city where 40,000 citizens live and die and love and hate and grow and break.
I walk along the inner ring of this circled city, casually meandering by monuments to science and religion and love and power and fire and silliness.
A Circle of people have stepped out from the city and are standing, facing out to the East of the city.
A man has rolled out a mat and kneels upon it and bows, head to the ground, arms out in front of him.
A woman stands in a yoga pose.
A group of Hare Krishnas chant and drum.
A collection on funky, weary-looking people straggle out, turn up some dancing music, pass around a few beers, and get their worn-out selves back to dancing.
A crowd dressed all in white starts a procession with chanting, incense, and bells.
Several people just stand still.
An old man sits calmly, drinking his coffee.
A little band (trumpets, trombones, saxophones) kicks in with some bright, celebratory music.
These hundreds of people represent all of the tribes who have gathered to create this place. They are this place.
I feel an immense tingling of power as I step away from the road and place myself into this Circle. I hold on tight to my lover and still my inner voice.
We all take a collective breath. And another Circle appears.
The sun rises.