
We are all like the men chained to the wall. My entire reality is nothing more than my mind's interpretation of my own experiences. My reality expands when I experience something new, or when my mind is made to work in a new way. And though my world seems large and limitless, it is impossible for me to imagine what fires are behind me, still to be discovered, that can transform me and my world view.
Burning Man achieves this kind of transformative experience by its mere existence. As such, it is as difficult to explain as it would have been to explain the roaring fire to the men chained to the cave wall with no similar concept or frame of reference upon which to draw. It is such a foreign experience, in such an alien place, that merely describing its elements can not come close to recreating its transformative effects. And photographs can not even begin to relate its immense size. You can try to imagine a city of 40,000 residents (the size of Black Rock City this year), roughly the size of my hometown, Grand Island, Nebraska, to get an idea of size, but it bears no resemblance to any American city in any other way.
Unlike Grand Island, this city was not there a week earlier, and next week there will be no trace of it. Instead of buildings and houses, this temporary city's structures are tents and large art installations, some functional and others decidedly dysfunctional - none built to last, and most built to be destroyed in fire. This city has completely different cultural rules and a completely unique fashion - a mix of necessity and counter-functionality (goggles and face masks for the blowing dust, umbrellas for shade, fur, strangely enough for a hot desert, bright colors, even armor and clothing that shoots fire).
Money is of no value (nothing is allowed to be bought or sold, aside from the coffee hut, where you can buy coffee) and thus the barter system is employed for all other commerce ("You have popsicles? I'll trade you for one of these bags I made to hold your water bottle.") All that is asked of you is that you participate, not merely observe - and that you leave no trace. When Burning Man is over, there will be no evidence that it has ever occurred - not a single cigarette butt, tuft of fur, or charred piece of wood. Not even footprints, which blow away quickly in the sudden desert windstorms.
But for me, and countless others, there is great significance to be found in this unusual event. Five years ago, on a clear Sunday night, Jay and I sat down on the playa under an impossibly starry sky, and we professed our love and sealed our commitment to one another. We had first met just five weeks earlier, and Burning Man proved to be quite a test of our relationship. In so many ways, it is a memorable experience to share - and in as many ways, it is a series of ordeals to endure. We managed to share, and endure... and confirmed by the end of our time in the desert what we had already been thinking - that we were right for each other.
This year marked the fifth anniversary of that moment in the desert for us. I wish more of our friends and family could have been there to share it with us. I wish we had found all the friends who WERE there, but such is Burning Man.

A Humble Agitator.
When I obliterate my Self, I reform.
My favorite word is "minimum."
My favorite flavor is "creamy."
I am the color of a prairie slope glistening in the light of daybreak - the sound of a gypsy wedding - and the nature of a well-told tall-tale.
I am the creation of myself.
I am what I have been waiting for all along.


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