Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

I found the theater by accident one night far out in the deep playa. The deep playa is where few people go, far from the city but still within the official boundary. Notice in the photo that you see nothing in the distance – only the people by the theater. I found it at 2 in the morning on my way back to the city from seeing the art projects and wildly varied interactive and other things widely scattered in the dark a mile or three from the city. I spent 7 or 8 hours on my bike going from one distant speck of light to another in the total darkness of the vast expanse of the “DEEP PLAYA” (drums beating slowly in the background as “Deep Playa” is read). The playa is perfectly flat and level. The temperature feels like it’s in the 70s at night, and it’s easy to pedal over the surface. You don’t have to worry about hitting anything going fast way out there because it’s, well, perfectly flat and level. (People and bikes have lights. They’re supposed to.)


Did I mention that I was wearing a white seersucker suit with thin blue pinstripes — matching coat and pants — that I borrowed from the Pewter Plough Playhouse (live theater) in my little town of Cambria?

So I saw this point of light by itself off to the left. “Why not?” I asked myself (but of course not out loud). As I sped closer, the light kept getting brighter and larger until I saw what it was — a theater with a bright marquee in front and the building all lit up. My amazement was further compounded by “How in the world could anybody even find this so far out and in the dark????” There were a ton of bikes out front, and the theater was full. (And I have absolutely no explanation regarding that so just don’t ask. But the unexplained is what these people seem to trade in. Alice and Dorothy would have been proud.)

I wished someone had been there to take a picture of my face. Mouth and eyes wide open in amazement with the half of my face in disbelief fighting the other half with the smirking smile of a child. Then I remembered that this is Burning Man and that shiny thread of creativity, art and the unexpected whips right through this dark deep playa, snagging people, freeing them, and heading off to our city (which was possibly somewhere to my right, maybe a mile or 2 or 3). The marquee above listed the movie, and I entered through the double glass doors. Theater guy immediately asked what candy I wanted — all free, of course, since this is a “gifting” culture (no buying, selling or trading allowed, you remember) — and sent me to what looked like a rabbit hole to see the movie (A 3 1/2 foot hole with strips of material hanging in it.) When I emerged on the other side with my candy I was in a real theater. The screen covered the entire back wall and the seats were those extra-large well-padded kind that moved back when you sat in them and had cup holders. Oh yeah!

How’d they get all this from far away to the desert in the middle of nowhere and set up with electricity and everything? And in the normal, or “default” world, you’d also ask “And WHY?” with such a very serious face. I wasn’t wearing the kind of shoes to click my heels or possess a potion to drink to get back to the normal world so I just had to have faith. I relaxed in my comfortable chair watching *His Girl Friday* with that well-known what’s his name and what’s her name. Later, when I poked my head out the rabbit hole and looked around, the theater lobby and everything was still there — so I emerged, still in that curious magical Burning Man world. And the theater? I wouldn’t know where to find it again.

I knew this world couldn’t last forever, so I just resolved to participate and enjoy it while it lasted. And I was right. But I was wrong that I didn’t create it since, beyond the seeding of this environment, the interaction and the creative freedom of participation of people results in the creation and nature of this city. So now I see that’s why I had to experience it to understand its uniqueness. A few days later, it all ended, and I’m told that there’s not a thing there now that wasn’t there before. Not a string or a ring, not a thread or a bed, not a button or mutton, not a footprint — not even a MOOP! So that’s the scoop. And to tell the truth, it coulda been a dream. I’ll have to tell ya when I get back from it next year.

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

So finally, we are on the road. The journey is long from San Diego and a lot of hours behind the wheel. Sometimes it feels like you never going to get there, a lot of stops for gas, restroom, narrow roads and slow moving. I become impatient. Ants in my pants. The car is cramped and no room to move. That is no joke. I even have an outburst with my beautiful daughter I was riding with, Ashleigh. We had it out, but I believe it was just the ride and nothing else.

We arrive at the gates around I believe 2:00 a.m. Long wait, a lot of people just excited to be there. Humpy bumpy road, dust, dust, dust. We get inside after checkpoint and wait for everyone else to get there, and finally we find our campground and start setting up camp. By now it’s 5:30 a.m.

What a great sunrise! Its funny; that was the first sunrise for me in like 23 years. Where I live, you only see sunsets.

Now everyone is helping each other to set up and, like ants, it gets done faster with teamwork. We’re all tired — I know I’m dead from driving almost all day/night. So we all rested.

At nightfall, we all get on our bikes and venture on the playa. Wow, it’s out of this world for me. So many colors, neon, lasers… I’m blown away by all of it. It’s like Thanksgiving, Xmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Fourth of July, name a holiday and it’s here.

When you’re out there on the playa riding your bike, nothing matters: time, your bills, who you have to meet and when. I become at peace with myself. I become part of the dust I was covered in. I become closer to my daughter than ever before. I feel her feeling, cry with her, hold her hand, talk the night away like never before, and feel the pain and suffering we both endured. It’s like nothing I felt before, and I am grateful for that.

To all the parents out there wondering what your kids are doing and where they are, call them, hang out with them, feel what they feel, and you will see a totally different world. After all, it’s their time to shine and glow and show the world who they are. Thats what Burning Man taught me.

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

A couple of words I like to use when I describe Burners to other people are “crazies” and “stinkies”.

Before heading out to BRC last August I noted in my journal that this year I wasn’t going to volunteer, I wasn’t going to create an art installation, I was just going to watch the crazies and be one of them. And one of the greatest things I have always admired about burners is their tolerance – “if you want to be stupid and fall flat on your drunken face, go knock yourself out”. The last thing I expect at Burning Man is for someone to cater to or even yield to my own feelings or personal beliefs.

But this year something happened at the Temple burn that made me think, do I really want to come back again.

This year my return to Black Rock City was the year I would pay tribute to my father at the temple. At my first burn in 2007 I was awed by the simplicity and function of David Best’s Temple of Forgiveness and witnessed for the first time how the Temple burn provides us passage to leave the Black Rock desert after 7 days of pagan rituals, creative pyrotechnics and new age ceremonialism. This year, David’s work returned to the playa and so would I.

The hour leading up to the burn was a familiar drill – get there early, don’t bring your bike, and don’t drink heavily before getting there unless you can hold your piss for the 3 hours it takes the whole thing to finish. I had a good spot, just left of the 12:00 promenade entrance, and sat down about 5 people back from the perimeter. Just to the right of where I was sitting was a bus that I thought was just a typical hippie bus with a party lounge on top. It was parked facing the temple and standing on the second deck were a group of robed people. Hare Krishna on wheels, I figured.

The sun set and the crowd slowly got quieter. Then, a piano somewhere began to play Ave Maria.

Thinking of your father, who passed away when you were young, in the middle of the Black Rock Desert is something you may only do once in your life. It is not something that is rehearsed or thoroughly thought out. You just put yourself there and wonder how it will all finish.

The music was welcomed in my head as I wondered where my dad was and whether he ever knew how much I loved him. The chorus began singing and I realized it was the robed chorus atop the bus next to me. The music was sweet – it wasn’t dramatic and it wasn’t always on key, but it was good. It was close to how I felt and it didn’t need to be anything more. It was one of those things that is created by another burner that, if you come upon it, whether coming out of the blinding dust in your paralyzed movement across the playa or in the intimate moments on the perimeter of a temple burn, makes me forever thankful to not just be a burner but to have somewhat of an understanding of what it really means to be one.

I cried quietly but blissfully inside my head, realizing that I hadn’t come to the Temple to put closure on my father’s death but rather to find him in something. Instead of saying goodbye, I found myself saying over and over, “where are you? I miss you. I love you.” I could feel the tears on my face but knew that nobody would mind. Heck, nobody was even paying any attention to me. It was all about the Temple of Juno and whatever it was that brought each one of us to it.

But tolerance is a wonderful thing and it means that no matter what your experience is at Burning Man, it’s bound to be something different for somebody else. And so we really don’t give a shit when someone writes trash on the walls of our art or plays Free Bird during the silence of the Temple burn (someone said it was DPW, you just gotta love those guys). But when some woman came up to the chorus bus after the song was over and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Fuck your Ave Maria! Your fucking Ave Maria sucks!”, I thought to myself, what has happened to the people of Burning Man?

Some people around me gave a tolerant laugh as if not to let it spoil the moment that SOME of us were in, no MOST of us. And the Ranger who kneeled in front of our section said in a calming but sincere way, “I love you, people”, fulfilling her role to keep the burners from getting out of control but also really meaning it.

I was able to ignore the screamer’s outburst for the next hour just enough so that I could think that the wonderful music that carried over the wide expanse of the playa was in part meant for my dad (as well as for all the others that the temple consoled that night in its burning) and provided a sort of gift to him. My father was buried at sea, without music and without his family present. I am only detailing all this because I want burners to understand what the temple burn means for many us and what the moment is that many of us find ourselves in. I understand tolerance and I will always respect the freedom of choice and that some other burners just don’t like the way that something goes down at Burning Man. But I really have to wonder, what was that woman’s problem? Does she not give a shit about what other’s feel or even the fact that hundreds of days went into building the Temple of Juno and creating the chance for thousands of burners to have their own moment to honor someone or to confront the guilt they feel in someone else’s passing? Did she really not have the ability, or the courage to keep her mouth shut for just that one time so that everybody else could feel really good about where they had arrived on this final day of BM 2012? Or was she just drunk and stupid – one of the crazies.

I had to make a decision – either that woman that tried to ruin my Temple burn is going to change my opinion about Burning Man and Burners or she’s not. I feel strongly that Burning Man is never what it was the year before – it is what we make of it today, in spite of all the confusion, disagreements, and demands of change. If this woman was complaining because she doesn’t think the Temple Burn is what it used to be, well it isn’t. Nothing at Burning Man remains the same. That is what growing up and tolerance is all about.

I would assume that most of us have asked ourselves at one time or another if this year is the last year we will return to Black Rock City. Even if we say yes, we know we can still come back. I asked myself that for the first time after the Temple burn was over, and I didn’t hesitate to answer back – if someone’s behavior is enough to make you give up something which you love so much, then all those trips to the Black Rock Desert over the years have been for nothing.

There is that crazy young rebel somewhere hidden in my past that admires the woman that screamed “Fuck your Ave Maria”. I just wish she hadn’t.

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

I’ve been baptized by the playa. From dust we came and to dust we shall return, but I feel blessed not to need to wait for death to experience the full saturation, this cleansing transformation. Every pore of my skin is chalk white. My lungs, my hair, chalk white, At this moment, my appearance is the truest projection it has ever been of my Self. And I feel beautiful.

I asked Black Rock City to help me let go of some things. It understood me literally and took away my goggles and face scarf. So I had to embrace the white outs with a soon sensual surrender. When all I see is blankness enfolding me, I am one with it. There’s nothing else in that surreal world which comes and goes with the wind. I am humbled to be the dust. When a figure emerges from the whiteness – bedecked in the full regalia of their own self expression, we are alone in this world. We are mirrors. I am him, she is me, we are the dust of the Earth. And just as gracefully as it emerged, the figure fades away again into the haze.

Never have I been so seen, so felt, so respected and so uncomfortable. Black rock city might be mapped a mile south of the fringes of my personal boundaries. Free of my comfort zone, I can play myself without inhibition. I came alone and I leave alone, though the journey was shared with the deep sweet hearts of burners as enrapt with the surreality as I.

The flat cradle of the playa, like a vessel in the black rock mountains, holds the extremes of our thoughts and emotions – those we must leave there in order to carry on with life afterward. What unfathomable depth and strength in that Earth.

On day 1 I believe it could (and should) last forever. By day 7 it’s far too full, nearly overflowing with the byproducts and leftovers of 60,000 people’s mental/emotional/spiritual catharsis. The catalyst is too strong to be sustainable and we can’t swim around in the energetic moop any longer. We leave. No trace. Vast. Empty. Desert.

Perhaps the wind carries it all away. Perhaps the ground soaks it down deep. But invariably by the next year, the black rocky arms are fertile again, empty, and ready to hug and accept whatever the fuck we bring for her this time around.

The sun has been our witness, our jury, our judge, our murderer and our white dove. How, then, can I recognize it as the same sun that shines over me at home? There it merely floats, out of mind, above the ceilings that shelter me. It’s all but forgotten as I navigate my way through the gruelingly elaborate labyrinth of Babylon.

I wonder, when I wear a polo, does the sun recognize me, too? In my Honda, am I still the nude Goddess who danced on a flaming dragon? Are the sun and I companion strangers who only meet when there are no shields between us, as on the playa?

It’s Temple Sunday. The pieces of art that changed my life are being dismantled. They lay in scattered pieces on the sand – mere memories of themselves, as disjointed as my recollections are sure to be when I look back on them. Will it seem like a dream, like something that would bear rich metaphor if I search for meaning in symbols I didn’t understand? Were his eyes really that shade of blue? Exactly how deeply did they penetrate my being? Will I think of them again? Will my burners think of me?

Or will I soon write it off as that sleepless night I sat under a heat lamp transfixed on a Salvador Dali painting.

As high as I’ve been lifted this week, I’m so much more grounded now. As far from default reality as I have travelled, I’ve become more realistic in my expectations of the world. I’ve aged a year in a week, just in time for my birthday right after exodus. I’ve been anywhere from 7 to 70 years old in 7 days and I’ll be happy to settle at 22 on Tuesday… at least until the next burn.

Life is nothing if not rich with contradiction, and the playa is the playing field upon which polarities party together rejoicing in their own impossibility.

360 days hence, in another lifetime, I’ll see you once again. Bring your libations of blood, sweat, cum and tears to pour at the feet of the man in a year many thought would never come. Save every syllable of sadness and surrender them in a smear of ink on a temple trellis. Transmute all the gratitude that our hearts only wish they were big enough to contain into gifts for our once and future family.

To the Burn and the Burners of 2012… thank you for stripping me of the layers of my self to reveal my Self.

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

My name is Hummingbird….it was my virgin year on the Playa this year. Everything I did, everything I saw, and everyone I met….was all so incredible. I could never fully explain my journey in Black Rock City.

My most epic, memorable moment….was during a day party at Distrikt. There was an animal….maybe Giraffe-like art car parked there, and it had a reeeeally long nose. Everyone was playing a ring toss game on it. Throwing mini hoops to make them around the nose of the art car. Now…I am the type of person to watch others try the game first, so I might create some type of strategy.

There was a guy who had been trying to make a ring around that nose for probably close to an HOUR….and he just could not friggin get it. He kept throwing it to the right of the car, hitting bikes, or to the left of the car, almost knocking people out with hoops!

It was so hilarious…and entertaining…but I really was rooting for him! So after about his 100th miss…lol…I realized he needed some motivation. I had a honey stick which was gifted to me from the Bee Keeper at the Honey Dome camp. I asked the guy if he liked honey…he said “yes”…so I gave him the honey stick, told him that if he ate the honey, it would give him the strength and focus to make that friggin ring on that nose!!! So….he ate the honey stick, and MADE THE NEXT SHOT!!!! he was SO happy….he rolled around on the playa, and jumped up and gave me a huuuge hug! I was so happy for him!

Next…I decided it was my turn to have a go at the game. I was having a difficult time, myself! It was much harder than it looked. After missing, I’m not really sure how many times, a VERY attractive man in a red cowboy hat came over to me and told me I had beautiful hair, and he gave me this awesome fire-color, beaded necklace that he made (it was the only gift he made, and brought to Burning Man to give to one person he felt deserved it, and would really appreciate it), so I picked up a ring, threw it in the air….AND I MADE THE RING ON THE NOSE!!!!!! I believe that my honey gift helped that guy make his shot…and I also believe that the necklace I was given helped me make my shot. Playa Magic is REAL, people!!!

Gifting goes such a long way….deeper than thoughts…deeper than the heart….it goes beyong anything anyone can imagine. These memories…and all the others I have stored in my mind, heart and soul….will be with me forever. Thank you Burning Man, and all Burners for everything. <3

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

Rumors that during Burning Man you experience a transcendence in humanity, have ignited in me an incredible curiosity and attraction that seem like a siren’s call to my heart. I first found out about Burning Man about two years ago. I was very much touched by the almost divine respect that artists such as Chris Weiss or Adam Lambert would relate of the experience. It was then when the dream to be part of the Burning Man was born. However, the more I researched the event, the more I became confused with not understanding what actually happens there. It wasn’t until this morning, August 28, 2012 when I read Seth Stevenson’s article in Slate “Why Would Anyone Go to Burning Man?” that I finally got a clear picture of the magic people experience there. Actually I got more than a picture… even though I am currently in Saarland, Germany thousands of miles away, today I experienced the spirit of humanity during Burning Man.

I took a short nap this afternoon and I dreamt that my husband and I went to the Burning Man. Neither of us has done drugs or been drunk. Our sexual experiences beyond each other are negligible. So in my dream, when we were checking in at the event we both were a bit nervous and uncertain about what to expect. However with faith on the ten principles of the burning man, we held hands and walked in. Then it was like Magic, like Disneyland but 10,000 times better. There was a feeling of complete freedom. Patrick, my husband dressed in his Elvis Rock n’ Roll marathon outfit and I dressed with white sheets in the shape of butterfly wings that I painted with my favorite colors and designs. I love to paint and so during that week I did what I love most… I painted: what I saw, how I felt, what would cross my mind then and there. When someone would walk by and would like the painting…. either I would give it to them or we would paint together. I also painted my body and would walk with nothing else on but paint. It was beautiful and full of color and life.

Then the final night of the festival arrived. I had painted a very special painting to hang on the temple to let it burn as a symbol of the soon departure and death of this paradise of unconditional love and freedom. This painting represented all the incredible idealism and complete freedom that a human being can experience without fear of rejection, judgement or fear itself. With each step I took towards the temple, my heart seemed to be breaking with bigger pieces. When I looked down at the painting one last time before hanging it, I was startled and breathless to realize that it was in fact a self-portrait. I froze! My eyes were cemented on my face on canvas. “Here I am ready to die” the canvas said. “I can’t exist in the real world out there. The rules and norms of everyday society would lead to nothing but pain and suffering. Rationality, intelligence, and “good” judgement drive the interaction of humanity in the everyday life. The ways of the soul, of feelings and instincts, have a very low survival rate out there…. many break not only of body but of mind and soul.

Judgment and pressure are very tough and torturous. Better to burn this side of you and go back to everyday life without any distracting nonsense, ready to make money and succeed. Let it go. It was good for one week. Now it is time to die in the humanity of the burning man and go back to the real world.” Tears were cascading from my eyes as I realized I had no other choice but to hang the painting and walk away. Had I not prepared the painting as a departing symbol of the experience? Yes! So now the time had come. As I was hanging the painting, I heard someone scream behind me “Stop! Don’t burn it. Can you give it to me instead?!” I turned around to see who had said that, but there where many people standing around waiting for the fire to start and I could not tell where the voice came from. “I like it, please can I have it?” To the right of me there was a silhouette coming forward. Hmm… I took a deep breath to realize what was happening.

Wait, who is this person? What does this mean? Is this just someone who likes the painting and wants to keep it as a souvenir? Or is this God’s way of sending me a message that I don’t need to die. Maybe this idealistic way of being has a chance to be part of the real world out there? If this person likes the painting and nothing more…. well I could just give it to them as I did the others. However this painting is not like the others. This is me. The “unconditional love” and “let’s make the world a better place” idealistic part of me. Would this other human being take care of it?

Would the best part of me be safe in their hands? Or should I say no and let it burn in peace giving closure to this magical experience? Then at least I know and can control what happens to it and that it is over. Hmmm No! I will give it away and let it be what it is. If someone else likes it. It’s theirs. Let hope, love and trust be. I turned around, unhung the painting and walked toward the silhouette. When we were a few feet away from each other, I froze. “Patrick! It’s you!” I could not move. Patrick said “yes, please let me have it? I’ll take good care of it! I will treasure it!” I started crying. Patrick walked forward and held me in a tight embrace. Through tears and sobs I said “But Patrick, this way of being is so difficult out there! It has brought us so much trouble. We get hurt all the time. I don’t like to see us in pain.” “ I know” he said, “but it is the best part of who we are. If we don’t strive to live life with it… is life even worth it?” At this point the painting was on the floor as we were both sobbing and holding each other. Then the heat from the flames behind us was getting very intense as the burning of the Temple had begun. Patrick and I looked at each other, we held hands and walked back to join the rest of the crowd. After a few feet I remembered “Patrick the painting!” We looked back to the spot where we had been, but the painting was gone. We stared at each other and then I woke up.

As I woke up I realized I was crying. I am not sure if these were tears of joy or sadness, but I did not care. If this is not the spirit of the burning man I don’t know what is. Talk about the spirit of humanity and the universe having no barriers or limits.

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

A mystery woman on the Playa rode up on her bicycle and moments later rode away again. But in those few moments a picture and a memory evolved. It may not be as dramatic to some as the original “Woman in White, a novel by Wilkie Collins. But she was my Woman in White and she was not an apparition.

Just before she rode up my friends and I had chanced upon the Co-operative Sculpture of a full size tepee and circles of self portrait sculptures of the artists. The sculptures were seated in circles on the desert floor in groups of three or four holding hands. Each circle had a gap in which a pARTicipant could sit and become part of the work. As I sat in one of the circles I realized the sculptures were nudes and that is the way to really become one with the whole scene. So, I took off my clothes, hid them behind a sculpture, and sat back down. We took another round of photos and I rose and dressed. That is when the Woman in White came on the scene.

She was a vision in white against the white backdrop of the Playa. Her flowing white summer dress and large white floppy hat set against her Mediterranean complexion and dark hair made a stunning impression on me. As she looked over the artwork I noticed a point and shoot camera hanging from her wrist. I asked if she would like me to take a picture of her sitting in the circle and she handed me the camera. She sat down and I took several snapshots. As she stood up I told her of my obsewrvation that the statures were nude and told her what I had just done. With no hesitation she whipped off her floppy white hat and the flowing white dress and sat back down. I took a few more pictures with her camera and asked permission to take one with my own SLR. She said yes. I tool a few shots, she stood up, dressed, and rode off into the Playa as suddenly as she had appeared. I never saw her again during the remainder of the burn.

As I left the Playa I wondered who she was. Should I have asked for her name, or how to contact her? Or would that have ruined the moment? Well, maybe I’ll see her on the Playa this year. I’ll be looking for the Woman in White.

Tales From The Playa are dreams and memories of events that took place at Burning Man, as told by its participants.

One day while we were branding- I think it was the next day after it opened to all -(We have early arrival for setup) Someone came to our camp and had an extra burning man ticket and asked us if we knew anyone who could use it..It was designated to me and so I got on a bike and headed out to Will Call.

They let me pass through the gate and I literally pedaled almost a mile and a half in search of someone.

There on the side of the dusty road as all the vehicles packed in inched along – was a girl holding a sign saying “Please God- help me find a ticket!” As I spoke with her, I found out that she had been there for almost two days in her hope to get into burning man.

As is with the burners we all have come to know, she had a genuine. positive and beautiful energy! So I pulled the ticket out and said, “My name is Chance – and sometimes special things happen by Chance” – and I pulled the ticket out for her.

She started crying-jumping up and down and hugged me with the love we all know from Burning Man.

People were honking their horns for her as she screamed and waved her ticket.

She climbed into a car as I pedaled back to camp to tell my Swagmart campmates about our special moment.