Posts by Tales From The Playa

November 20th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

Phoenix: The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of Cape Carnival

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

by Josh Boyer

 

When I left Burning Man in September 2012, I thought I might never again see the alkaline dust that lines the dried lake bed we burners call home. I had a rough go of it. After helping build a theme camp and an art car, I was left feeling disinterested in both by the time they were finished, so much so that when I had an opportunity to bask in the gift of a week in the most amazing place on Earth, I had trouble enjoying it. If not for a Saturday experience at the Temple, a place that the citizens of Black Rock City, NV consider sacred.

For those who don’t know me, I’m basically the guy who grew up as the all-American kid. I played sports all my life. I spent a large amount of my adolescent life in the Boy Scouts, achieving the rank of Eagle Scout on the eve of my 18th birthday. I was a letterman in football in a town that lived for its local team. I graduated high school in 2000 and two weeks later left for the Marine Corps, in which I served as an infantryman. At that point, it was all looking up for me and my future. I had no idea of the impact that decision would have on my life going forward.

As we all know, about a year after I joined the military, this country entered a state of war the likes of which our generation had never seen. Of course, with the job I signed up for and the way things went, I found myself leading young men into the deserts of Iraq at the ripe age of 20. I turned 21 somewhere on the way to Bagdad. I look back on that time and can say I did everything honorably and got my guys home to their families. For that, I will feel pride until the day I die. Read more »

November 20th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

The Dancing Lady

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


by Kevin “Kabi” Rigby AKA “Outfit”

DSC_3918“Truth is Beauty”, the sculpture created by Marco Cochrane was probably one of the most talked about and beautiful sculptures and was recognisable from anywhere on the playa. The second in the trilogy by the renowned sculptor, most commonly referred to as the “Dancing Lady”, presented me with my first Burgin “playa moment”.

As I approached the statue after photographing from afar, I noticed the inscriptions on the plinth. As I squatted down to read the text, a Mutant Vehicle passed and some yobbos yelled out,

“Nice arse! Show us your tits!”

I immediately burst into tears and was sobbing.

I tried to pull myself together as I walked back to my bike but an approaching woman saw my red eyes and asked, “What’s wrong honey?”
“The statue”, I blubbered.
“Yes, it is so beautiful”, she responded.
“It is beautiful yes, but that’s not why I’m crying. It’s the inscription on the plinth”.
“What does it say?”
I led her over, we both crouched down, “What would the world be like if women were safe?”
And with that we both began sobbing and rode out the emotion by hugging it out together.

DSC_3920

Photos by Outfit

November 20th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

Remembering

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

by Venus de Playa

 

We have to push the rocks. We have to make them spin. Who cares that we are all three out of water. Who cares that there is nothing in it for us except for our own self-satisfaction. We join the small crowd surrounding the sculpture. It’s so hot. We’re so secluded, so alone, but so absolutely not alone…surrounded by a family of seventy thousand people in the middle of the desert. It’s surreal. And we are going to move this sculpture. We are going to move tens of thousands of pounds of stone. The crowd around us grows. More people are going to help. More people willing to work their hardest to gain absolutely nothing tangible in return. The crowd reaches about thirty people. We all grab on. “Counter clockwise!” our unofficially appointed leader shouts. We push. It moves. Not far, just a few feet, but damn it’s satisfying. Everyone is beaming, smiling, irrationally excited about our small accomplishment. We hug. We high-five. We congratulate each other. We disperse, taking off in different directions across the desert. Who knows who those people were, but we feel a connection with them akin to the strength of a connection to those of our own flesh and blood. We are stronger. We are happier. We are home. Read more »

November 20th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

BELIEVE

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

by Wild Cherry

 

All through the week, pedaling out or back home across the playa, I would see on the horizon: “BELIEVE.”

I’d always believed in people. I’d always believed in myself. Now, for the first time, I was losing it.

A month before Burning Man, I had given up on my first real relationship. It was my fault. I was young and in a time of transition. I didn’t want to be in one but he was so important to me that I tried anyway. There were clashes in what we wanted from each other. There were clashes in what was important to us.

After months of uncertainty and ups and downs, I took the easy way out. I cut myself free because I couldn’t be tangled up with him anymore.

A month went by, one of the hardest months of my life. I cried every night for weeks. I drank and went out alone and kissed strangers in dark bars. I was so lost and confused, I wanted to be self-destructive, I wanted to punish myself for shutting off the light in my life. I only had myself to blame.

We were going to be camping together at Burning Man, and I made a decision. I knew that I had to try again. Because how could we throw away something so beautiful? Let it go to waste? We loved each other, wasn’t that enough? I hadn’t given it my all yet, and before we could part, I had to know that I’d tried my hardest. Read more »

November 20th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

The Birth Of My Playa Name

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

by Turn Signal

 

This happened to me early in the setup week, and was a nice reminder of how serendipitous encounters often leave a mark on you at the burn. They’re usually full of warmth and enjoyment, and really are part of the magic. In this case, it was the birth of my first (given) playa name.

This was my fifth burn, and I came for setup. I flew in from London the Sunday before the event started, and was in full swing getting our camp built the following day. On the third night the team and I hit the showers late evening. I was still pretty heavily jetlagged so ready for bed as soon as we were done. I was driving, and going very slowly, very carefully. There weren’t many other camps placed by this point so as we approached camp I lost the markings, and drove in the general direction I thought was home.

All of a sudden we see a lady run towards the car (it was pitch black by this point by the way).

“Oh dear” I thought, “I’ve just driven through someone’s camp”. Read more »

November 20th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

Sacred Spaces

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

by Gypsy Crone

 

I was trying to decide what to do and go to each day . Not only did that take up much of my time in planning mode it also did not necessarily work out. One day I decided to plan but just be open to whatever came up. I planned to attend a talk by a Buddhist Monk at Sacred Spaces but arrived early and did not know which of three domes he might be starting his talk in. There was no indication of the correct dome so I just randomly picked one.

A Jewish man was concluding his talk and I took a place on the floor next to a serious looking young man. We exchanged brief hellos but nothing else. The next speaker came in and announced her talk was on ESP. I decided to stay because I was comfortable and had no desire to move but I also had no interest in her subject matter. I had long ago explored this subject in great detail and felt very complete with it. I decided to just stay to enjoy the moment. It became obvious to me that the young serious man had come just for this talk and that the subject was important to him for whatever reason. I became more interested in his involvement than with the speaker.

At the end of the talk she opened up a question and answer time but seemed more interested in leaving and moving on. He seemed to have waited just for this moment, to ask his important questions. The two of them were not a vibrational match and I sensed his great disappointment. She moved on quickly but he lingered gathering his belongings. I felt drawn to offer him one of the gifts I had made and to offer to listen again to his question at a deeper level. First, I offered my gift, which was an arm cuff I had spent months making with symbols of the divine to match the Cargo Cult theme. Then I asked him to repeat his question. I listened intently. I could feel his deep confusion about his life situation and I offered what came to me to say. Read more »

October 3rd, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

Center Camp

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

by Jon Robson

 

As I walk back from the temple’s ruins, retreating from the devastation I watch the lights of bikes and head lamps scurrying in all directions. I watch them intersect in another dimension of time, realising at this time we are all connected through these shared experiences in all ways imaginable.

All these people exist outside the walls of this city.

Tired I enter Center Camp. I am alone and lost. I sit down and flick through my notebook, through the photos of actors, of the stages, of the emotions and stories. I begin to write in attempts to capture all these memoirs, trying to make sense of what they meant to me. However, this process is hard. I need someone who understands. I want someone to hug me and bring out those emotions within me. I need someone to massage my thoughts and eject those deep messages buried into my mind on to the paper in front of me. I don’t want to be lonely at a time that everyone is leaving me.

Cady crouches down next to me and asks me what I’m writing. She says she wishes she had her notebook with her. I put my notebook down and we write about our adventures in the air with our words. She scribbles down her notes in the space around me in the cool night air, and I scribble down mine. We circle the similarities as we realise we were in the same moments without knowing. As the marching band competition energised the air we were there. As the man burnt we were there. As the temple fell we both felt the emotion. We cross out our words and replace them with new ones and revise our stories, both knowing time is running out and soon we both leave for the real world.

Our stories before the burn and after the burn intersect in so many ways and through her smile and laughs I feel like I was there or I will be there.

I give her my spare notebook and write my name and email on the first page. I tell her to put stories in. I promise myself to take my stories out and share them with the world as I’ve kept too much to myself for far too long.

Her aunt and her aunt’s former lover arrive to take her home. She leaves me like everyone else has.

Abandonment however no longer seems like it will be an issue, in my life, for me.

/fears of loneliness
Return to my home, alone
In alkaline snow

My head falls to an
unforgiving barren stage
fears of loneliness

and then I am saved
a whole desert catches me
and fears of nothing/

September 30th, 2013  |  Filed under Tales From The Playa

The Temple

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


by Jon Robson

We spend the day clearing out the camp. In exhaustion, I collapse in my tent under my eye mask and try to recover from the lack of sleep.

I awake from my tent to find my camp empty and to see bikes cycling furiously, with purpose along the road. I look at my watch but am not convinced it is telling me the truth. Somehow, the only watch that is set correctly is never truthful to the time here. However, the urgency of the bikes around me, tell me with some confidence that the temple is burning or is going to burn very soon.

I quickly heat up some food, devour it and then begin to walk up the street towards the temple for one last time. The streets are desolate. Iconic landmarks have been dismantled or are in a state of ruin as the end nears. I walk closer and closer, until suddenly I see it, the iconic building with flames flicking from its head lighting up the horizon.

It is burning peacefully and slowly, very different from how the man burnt. I walk alone in a straight direction towards the spot where the man used to stand, across the sand and a strange thing happens. For reasons I cannot fathom, tears begin to fall from my face. As I move closer, with bikes shooting past me, the flames seem to grow. The flames grow into the shape of a phoenix standing tall with its wings hanging down at either side and suddenly from its beak it sings, projecting ashes into the sky.

My tears fall faster, and I find myself gently sobbing for reasons I cannot understand. I feel as if all the injustice in the world is here in this moment, in this desert. I find myself tearful for how such a beautiful object could be destroyed and as if I’m absorbing the sadness of all those around me. My head is filled of confusion at why it burns.

I realise that the ashes that now jewel the smokey sky represent all the words I have read inside the temple. The hopes, anxieties, insecurities, regrets, prayers and sadness of thousands of people are reaching out into the sky forming stars. I hear their voices in my head.

“I want to let go of my insecurity”

“I held you in my arms when you were born and I held your daughter in my arms as she was born…”

“I miss you brother.”

“always missed”

“it’s not my time yet”

“RIP”

“Dad can’t wait to see you again”

I watch them all dancing together in the sky. I continue to walk slowly and closer, gazing at the eye of the flame, my gaze following their dance through blurry eyes, as the blurry lines of bikes zip past me.

A man taps me on the shoulder and awakes me from the trance. He looks like a caveman. He gestures and grunts and I realise he’s offering to take my photo. I brush him off as I’m lost in a moment that no camera could possibly capture. He stomps off into the crowd confused. Awoken from my trance, I realise I can feel the heat of the flames burning what remains and that I can walk no more.

I watch the flames die, and with them the stars evaporate and there is calm. Someone waves a flag slowly ahead. I look around at all the people around me that remain and begin my slow walk back.

When you see the insecurities of a thousand people dancing as stars in the night sky, suddenly your own insecurities seem insignificant in comparison.