Sacrifices and Memories

Year after year, the sculpture at Burning Man can rightfully be considered some of the most innovative, experimental, and engaging in all the world. (Much of it is also ludicrous – the two go hand in hand.)

But even so, the thing Burning Man does better than anyplace on earth is create neighborhoods.

Almost anywhere you are in the city, if you’re willing to explore you will quickly discover that there is a spot on the corner that serves amazing iced coffee, and a fun camp around the block that offers fresh squeezed lemonade. There is a mostly-blues concert venue over and up one block, and a bluegrass community constantly making music another block along. There are endless dance classes and lecture series, no reservations required. There are so many bars, each with its own set of specialties and traditions. There is barbeque and there is fortune telling, there are tea houses and there is craft making. It is the flâneur’s dream: no matter how far you go, there is always something new to explore, and every door is open to you, and every stranger has a story, or even a gift.

Then you wake up on Sunday, step out of your tent, and half the tents around you are gone. The iced coffee on the corner, gone; the fresh squeezed lemonade, the chill spot, one of the music camps – all gone.

The city is disappearing around you, just as you’ve started to get good at navigating it.  And if you dare to wander out to the dark and deep after Sunday night, both of the major landmarks and many of the smaller ones will have vanished into fire, and can no longer be used to guide you safely home.

Heaven and Hell, both at once, are vanishing before your eyes.

History suggests that it is the massive lines out that create the sudden disappearance of the city from itself.  That people would wait to leave until the very last minute if they weren’t so afraid of being stuck in the process of leaving.  That many of us will sacrifice another day of heaven to avoid an 8 hour wait in purgatory.  Most of the time, it doesn’t work.  Most of the time, we miss the good moments still have available to us and end up stuck anyway.

Before you leave, your body will have started to change.  Your feet ache and are filled with blisters.  Your legs cramp.  Your arms hurt in places you didn’t know you had.  Your skin, your hair, your eyes, are all responding to a week’s worth of contact with dust.  You may be coughing.  You will not know your body the way you thought you did.

As you’re leaving, you’ll realize how little of your life you remember.  Whole aspects of your life that seemed crucially important a week ago have vanished in the dust and flame, and were forgotten as you walked through the neighborhoods, surprised at every corner.  Sometimes the memories come back piece-by-piece, sometimes all at once.  You do not know yourself the way you thought you did.  You, too, are full of surprises.

When we get out, we luxuriate in all the conveniences we briefly renounced.  We shower, we gulp an infinite supply of water, we eat all our favorite foods one after the other, we guzzle ice cream, we sleep on comfortable beds.  It seems, for a moment, like we had it all wrong and that this is really paradise.

Then, remarkably quickly, we dream of being back.  We discover that the neighborhoods we live in have sacrificed a thousand small moments of paradise for a thousand moments of purgatory, and we no longer think that was a good exchange – even though we’ve just made it ourselves.

We cannot forget the vision of city neighborhoods that we’ve had, or the kind of person being there helped us become, and we wonder:  how do we get this back?

The temple burns tonight, in remembrance of those who are no longer here, and everything we’ve lost, and how much we want it all back.

But of course we don’t get it all back.  We have to build it again.  Wherever we are.

 

 

Cover image:  Temple of Transition burning (photo by Georgia Newsam)

About the author: Caveat Magister

Caveat Magister

A member of Burning Man Project's Philosophical Center, Caveat served as the Volunteer Coordinator for Media Mecca from 2008 - 2013. He is presently working with Burning Man's education program on a cultural studies curriculum for Burning Man culture. Caveat is the author of the short story collection A Guide to Bars and Nightlife in the Sacred City, which has nothing to do with Burning Man, and the novel The Deeds of Pounce, which is about goblins. He has finally got his email address caveat (at) burningman (dot) org working again. He tweets, occasionally, as @BenjaminWachs

4 Comments on “Sacrifices and Memories

  • Tanner says:

    No much of a spectacle this year, though.

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  • Stow says:

    364 days until the temple burns…)!(

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  • Capt Karl says:

    I married young and then worked hard and made a good life for my wife and three kids. Over the years, I have read about BM from time to time, interested for a bit, and then back to the whirlwind. Now our youngest is 23, the last one out of university.

    I had the week off during BM this year and during my week of choosing-to-do-nothing, I happened upon the BM live cam and then listened to BMIR at sundry times.
    The submerged artist in me and my long-delayed inner vagabond has been calling out to me since then. I read the virgin prep files, absorbed the ten principles, watched countless youtube videos of BM years past… and then made up my mind. My loving wife made up her’s too. It is not her cup of tea, but I find her bringing home little things now and then (I found a BM prep file in the living room where she has crossed out things she has bought or found in the attic.) I am one of the luckiest men in the world and I will bring back stories to fill our autumn and other seasons. I want to live, explore, engage, help, learn more about me, and all of you. I am finally ready. It’s been a long journey, but I will take that road…
    Come hell or high water, I am going to BM in 2019… I will bring a small art installation, made years ago, along with food, drink, a bike, my sturdy tent, and a strong back to help where I can.

    BRC … I am coming with very few expectations — surprise me!

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  • Bill Burns (Forrest) says:

    keep me on your email list;

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