Burning Man has become a bit of an obsession for me lately. What's not to love about a crazy hippie community in the middle of a desert, filled with art and music, clothing is optional, and people are just burning shit. At least this is what I envision based on a few pictures I've seen and random bloggers personal accounts. The official website relates trying to describe the event to someone never having been, to trying to explain what a particular color looks like to a blind person. It's all about participation. You get what you give.
This is SO far outside my comfort zone. The mere thought of attending paralyzes me yet invigorates my soul. How freeing!
Guess you'll need some backstory here to truly understand. I mainly grew up with my grandparents who started sleeping in separate bedrooms when they were in their early 40s. Can't recall any affection or physical contact of any sort between them aside from my grandmother holding my grandfather's hand and pecking him on the forehead while he laid on his death bed. In fact, she's eluded her children were not conceived naturally so I wonder if she's ever spread her legs even once. Cobwebs. (I totally just talked about my grandma's cheech, OMG!)
If she could cover up our earlobes, she would. The baggier the clothes, the better. There should be no resemblance of any body parts or form/figure showing through. Needless to say, there were no talks of birds or bees. Bodies are BAD. Boys are BAD. Forget masturbation, interracial dating or homosexual experiences (and boy did some of us kids rock her world with that.. stories for another day). HA! You'll go directly to hell, no passing Go or collecting $200.
You couldn't even have a tiny space to be yourself in that household. No hanging anything on the walls, your bedroom was HER room, you were just able to stay in it and boy was that carrot dangled on a daily basis. One day my underwear would be in the long dresser by the door, after school the next they'd be in the tall dresser by the window. She was in complete control.
When I lived with my mother, it was do as I say not as I do which is very confusing for a child so basically that whole experience was negated, or rather, brought about issues of it's own later. (Again, stories for another day.)
Imagine how this all rewires your brain, though. Everything is bad and scary, there's no such thing as individualism or self expression, sexuality or spirituality. While I'm nowhere near the Puritan I was when I originally left home, there is still a lot of leftover anxiety about simply being myself, having opinions, desires. I was also the oldest girl so the expectations of me were exponentially higher than that of my sister or male cousin.
For me, Burning Man represents a pilgrimage. A much needed crusade pushing out the last little bits of self doubt and insecurity, leaving my mind and spirit open to possibility. It's place for achieving groundlessness. A destination to simply be.
Besides, I've got a bit of pyro in me and need an excuse to wear a gas mask and nothing else. No tan lines! Now what should my playa name be? Hmm...
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