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The Return To The Burn

It didn’t make sense to go, like it usually doesn’t. Does it ever, really? When people try to explain Burning Man and the conditions on the playa, many people wonder why in the world anyone would want to go to a place like that to suffer. There’s really no way to prepare someone for what they will discover if they choose to make the journey to Black Rock City in the heart of the Nevada desert. Imagining it now, as I sit in the comfort of my new home in Lake City, tears well up in my eyes. The energy of the land is palpable. The dust that becomes so familiar is silky to the touch and, yes, somewhat sticky and tacky when wet, but not dirty. I sometimes feel kind of wonderful when I’m coated in it. Some people fair better than others with the more primal, gritty, and occasionally gross elements of the burn. I choose to embrace them, to adjust, acclimate, improvise, and accept. I choose to learn.

Two weeks before Burning Man 2022, my dear friend John asked me on the rooftop of the Monkey Loft if I would be coming to the playa this year. I didn’t feel ready. I hadn’t planned on it. To be completely honest, I was and have been afraid to return for a plethora of reasons since my last burn in 2019, My behavior was atrocious. I failed in so many ways and for the last few years I have gone over all of my mistakes and shortcomings a million times. I was overcome with shame and guilt. I didn’t feel worthy or deserving of the magic that the playa provides. It wasn’t the burn I wanted, it was the burn I needed. I discovered parts of myself that I had never noticed before and didn’t like what I saw. Thus began the next two years of Covid lockdowns, joblessness, and a whole lot of time at home living alone to work on self improvement. That is precisely what I did.

Just a few weeks before this year’s burn, I graduated from The Euro Institute of Skin Care after a grueling 8 month fast track program nearly killed me. An untimely breakup turned my life upside down and left me scrambling to find a new place to live. I was so overwhelmed and anxious, angry, and heartbroken. I had to get a prescription for an anxiety medication to calm myself down so I didn’t feel like I was having a heart attack all day and I could sleep at night. Sadly, one move led to another....and another. Three moves total between April and August. Once during midterms, once three weeks later, and another time during finals and the pinnacle of a heatwave in Seattle. Without ac. Fantastic. It was an incredible test of strength and endurance and although it was agonizing and endlessly stressful, it conditioned me for what was ahead.

Every year I have gone to the burn I have aspired to be in great shape. Number one: Who doesn’t want to look bangin’ in their costumes? Number 2: Burning Man is a whoooooole lot of manual labor and physical activities. It doesn’t stop. It’s a marathon of it’s own breed. One that requires finesse and constant evaluation and attention or shit can go sideways fast. I learned a lot of these lessons the hard way in 2019. I approached the possibility of going this year very tentatively and I was extremely nervous I wasn’t ready. Until that evening on the rooftop when John asked for the umpteenth time....I suddenly felt a shift. A spark of intention and that’s when the magic began to unfold.

Okay, I’ll go. But I’d need to find a ticket and tickets are hard to come by, I had been told. I put it out into the universe- I need a ticket to Burning Man. Also, a ride. Suddenly, I was unpacking into my new home while simultaneously packing for both Luminosity Festival and Burning Man, even though I didn’t have a ticket or a ride yet. Miraculously, my camp lead, Miss Courtney, happened to be in line outside of the Monkey Loft and chatted with a girl who mentioned having a gifted ticket that she needed to rehome. A re-gifted gifted ticket?! Yes! Very rare. To me? A sign. A real sign that I am meant to be there and it was time to make the journey back home.

Somehow I managed to get myself packed and ready to embark to the desert with only two weeks to prepare. My lovely new room mate was kind enough to watch my cat and allow me to leave the house in disarray until my return. A kindness I will not soon forget.

Truck loading at Todd’s in Auburn is hard work and takes a village. It’s all hands on deck. As we packed our U-hauls and art car to the brim, I had the realization that my body was beyond ready for the challenges ahead. My body had been challenged to it’s absolute limits during the last four months of school, moving, and lack of anything and everything fun. I WAS disciplined! I was STRONG! I was motivated to be the best I could be and put all of the lessons that I have learned into action in hugely significant ways. It was time to return to the burn. In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that I was ready.

The journey there was utterly bonkers. Everything that could have gone wrong...did. A one day straight shot journey turned into two and a half. A yurt we had strapped to the roof rack of our car flew off on the freeway, taking the roof rack with it. Forty five minutes later, when we got gas and saw the extent of the damage, we discovered that one tire on the trailer was completely missing and another one was flat. It was the middle of the night and there was nothing to do but wait for the tire stores to open before calling AAA to tow us there. So much for arriving at sunrise.

It took hours to get back on the road with our new tires, but we eventually got on our way. Around sunset the car began to overheat and we were pulling over every few minutes to cool down, reevaluate and modify fluids. We were just a few hours from the gate line to the playa at this point and we were all so tired and stressed out. We weren’t sure the car would even make it there, but luckily it started to stabilize and we finally touched down on the dusty desert.

Inching along at the speed limit, we followed the flags that guide vehicles to the gate to enter Burning Man. I was half asleep in the backseat when I heard our driver say the cops were pulling us over. It took a moment for it to register what that really meant. If you’re pulled over for any reason whatsoever on the way into Burning Man, you will absolutely be searched. Thoroughly. They brought out a dog, took us out of the car, and went to work. Our driver had a warrant out for her arrest for an incident in 2019 that was never resolved. My stomach dropped. A few pieces of paraphernalia were found in the car, and my weed vape pens. We owned up to it, were respectful and cooperative, and utterly terrified. I was read my Miranda rights and was almost certain we were all going to go to jail that night. My burn would be over before it began.

Law enforcement decided to let me off with a warning and my travel companion with a ticket. Our driver went to jail, bailed herself out, and made her way back to our camp about a day later. The two of us remaining completed the journey alone in shock as the sun was rising. When we arrived at the Dusty Booty Ranch at 9:30 and Dali, our camp was already up and at ‘em. Starting early on physical labor is key. Ideally, shade structures and other infrastructure can be set up before the heat of the day beats down. I was totally wiped and very sleep deprived, but I knew that the last two days a small handful of Dusty Booties had been toiling in the dust and heat without any shade at all building a three story scaffolding and unloading our U-hauls. It wasn’t the right time to rest, though I was desperate for it.

We jumped right in. Setting up carports, shade structures, shelves for the kitchen, the bar, the custom built showers and grey water pool, our generator and spider boxes, and all of our personal camping stuff. We worked all day until I felt like I was about to fall over and friends were encouraging me to nap. Not yet! I wanted to dig deep for my camp and make up for the last two days I was supposed to be there helping out. And that’s what I did.

I slept more than I ever have at Burning Man. Allowing the sunrise to come while I stole slumber before the sun made it significantly harder to sleep comfortably. A tough sacrifice, but a necessary one for a person like me who tends to burn the candle at both ends. I wanted to feel healthy. I didn’t want to play catch up if I allowed by body to become depleted. Out there it is very difficult to catch up if you get behind on self care. Dehydration is no joke. It can happen very fast and have dire consequences if you neglect your body’s needs. I also learned this the hard way in 2019 and years prior. No matter how much I try, I never seem to be able to stay fully hydrated. Additionally, I had resolved to run the 5k on Friday and wanted to keep myself as tame as possible until then to keep my body in ship shape. Taking dehydrating bipolar meds concerned me a little bit. I didn’t want to wind up in the med tent with an IV sticking out of my arm. This required restraint, but it wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it might be for me.

My intentions were simple. I wanted to run the 5k, do better self care, and be more present and helpful at camp and beyond. I did all of these things. Other than that, I didn’t make plans. I didn’t seek out other camps or friends or shows. I allowed the moment to guide me, but not before I took care of my basic needs and took note of how my camp mates were doing and if any of them needed any help I could give. I was pretty consistent about that and proud of the progress I made. Even though I have been very hard on myself about my performance, no one else in my camp has expressed anything other than love and kindness towards me. Total acceptance and appreciation for who I am. This kind of unconditional love has made me want to be a better version of myself. For me, and for them and for the world at large. For this, and everything that DBR has given to me, I am forever grateful. I am humbled to be a part of a camp like ours.

I spent quite a lot of time at camp and out on adventures with groups of friends. We called ourselves ‘ the babe squad’. Some veterans, some virgins, and plenty of misadventures on the playa. Mobbing around with a group of dusty booties at Burning Man can be challenging. It’s like herding cats, frankly. Hilariously so, sometimes. It can also be very much worth it for the chance to end up in a spontaneous cuddle puddle next to a giant illuminated art installation while all of your besties waits for you to sober up enough to ride your bike safely. Moments I’ll cherish for a lifetime.

When Thursday rolled around, I was conscious of my 5k the next morning at 9am and decided to take it real easy at camp a majority of the day. When I awoke and rolled out of my tent a disheveled mess from starfishing on the playa the night before and moseyed to the bar for a cup of joe, I was met with an onslaught of burners. Little did I know, we were hosting a gift exchange and several hundred makers were swapping gifts under the protection of our shade. What luck! I was able to have a wonderful experience and meet tons of great people without ever setting foot out of camp that day.

I stuck to my guns and put myself to bed early even though I caught wind that several of my very dear friends would be playing their first sunrise sets on an art car at the trash fence that morning. It was the best excuse NOT to do the 5k, but I was determined. I knew that I would regret it if I did not meet my goal. Ever since my first burn almost ten years ago, I have wanted to race on the playa. I have continued running throughout my life after beginning my career in 6th grade, but I stopped competing when I graduated high school in 2005. Since then, I have ran purely for my own well being, to manage my emotions, and beat the winter blues in dreary Seattle. My competitive spirit is alive and well, but has lay dormant for many years. Back when I was a three season athlete, I was an exponentially better competitor than trainer. When I put on my racing shoes, I felt like a gazelle. The adrenaline coursing through my veins like electricity, firing on all cylinders. I looked forward to the 5k on the punishing playa, but I was also afraid of the environmental aspect combined with my medications. I needed all the advantages I could get in order to run this race safely. I’d need to hold back just a little bit if I felt my body weaken too much. There was a very real possibility I would collapse if I pushed myself too hard. As it happened, I finished with a time around 24:00. My personal best at 18 years old was 20:28. Considering I hadn’t been training leading up to the race and the conditions I ran under, I am very pleased with my performance. I prepared, showed up, ran well, finished, and now I can say I have ran a 5k at Burning Man. An impressive accomplishment, If I do say so myself!

After the 5k, I took advantage of the opportunity to explore solo and take my time on the way home. It was very hot at that point and my silver jumpsuit was beginning to feel like too much, so I stripped down to my skivvies. Just a thong and nothing else. I have worked a lot on embracing nudity more. I’m actually quite shy. Not because I don’t love my body, but because I like to keep it somewhat mysterious and special for the select few that I allow to see it in all it’s splendor. lol At 35, I am in the best shape of my life. Who knows what the future holds? I don’t want to look back and wish that I had allowed people to appreciate the body I have worked so hard on for so many years. It is it’s own work of art and damn it, it deserves to be seen and appreciated.

Another worry I have is that if men see my body, that’s all they’ll ever see. Desirable for the wrong reasons. Reasons that don’t hold up over time. Perhaps I am older and wiser now and with experience I have learned to be more skeptical and cautious when it comes to attraction. WHY are you attracted to me, though? If I hide my body a bit, I have an easier time deciphering who is interested in ME and who wants a fleeting piece of ass.

After the 5k, I was directed by some ultra marathon runners to the Russian sauna next door, where I stripped naked and was beat with leaves in a steamy tent. It didn’t sound like what I wanted, but it was what I needed. I stepped outside and was misted with cool water and told to lie down until I was ready to go. I allowed the sun to lick my skin and the air to cool my sweaty, tired body. It felt twenty degrees cooler. Putting my feet back in my wet socks and dusty shoes didn’t sound pleasant, so I tied my shoes to my bike basket and hoped on my bike barefoot in my thong and went on my merry way.

I didn’t have a plan, but I was open to receive guidance from the magic of the playa. A man rode up next to me on the bumpy street and complimented my body. It wasn’t creepy or sexual. It was sincere and flattering. He invited me to visit his camp for some ice cream and gave me the address. I’m not sure if he expected me to go there or not, but I absolutely did. Stopping on the way at a boutique and realizing I had lost my shoes somewhere on the turbulent roads. I didn’t let it get me down. After all, I had finished my race! Ice cream led to an invitation to get hot dogs next door from a man from Amsterdam. I inhaled it gratefully. At this point it was starting to get dusty and the heat was at it’s peak. I opted to cut across the playa and head home to take cover.

That night- Friday Night- we had a party with an eclectic variety of Seattle DJs from various camps. So many amazing performances! The dust swirled viciously all night while our bar buzzed with energetic visitors and I breathed a sigh of relief that I had had such a full day and being in camp felt like the best place to be that night. I had no need to pack a bag with enough snacks and water to weather a potential whiteout in deep playa. Nope. I wandered to my tent when I needed something and kept my night super simple. It was glorious and I was so blissfully worn out, but not too worn out to immerse myself in music.

A handsome boy whom I hadn’t met yet offered me some psychedelics and I happily accepted. Melting into a hammock listening to music that made my heart sing, I watched colorful fractals on the inside of my eyelids dance like a kaleidoscope. This handsome fellow approached me and said,

“Alright, little miss 5k, you earned a massage.”

He plopped down next to me and began to work on one of my legs. I became jello. Smiling ear to ear, fully relaxed and in ecstacy. Innocent enough, I thought. Ah, but touch. I love to be touched. And I was in desperate need of a thorough massage. He was like a surgeon, dissecting every tissue with his nimble fingers. My eyes rolled back as he worked his magic. Occasionally, I would look at him and see his long hair falling romantically over his face as he hunched over my limp leg. My eyes studied his profile and I appreciated his beauty. He would look up at me, see me beaming, and a huge smile would come across his face and make me weak. After an hour and a half on one leg, he switched to the next, saying he didn’t want to leave me lopsided. Oh, god yes! After awhile, my jello body became so relaxed I hung loose in the hammock. Those huge smiles turned into serious gazes that wiped my own smile off of my face and those familiar, troublesome butterflies begin to stir in my stomach. Oh, no, I thought...I’m a goner. I closed my eyes and felt the intense pleasure of my overworked leg muscles releasing and when I opened them he was piercing me with his eyes. I held my breath. He slowly inched closer and kissed me, his hair in both of our mouths causing us to laugh.

There was one more intention that I haven’t mentioned yet. To avoid romance. Not to chase boys. DON’T fall in love. DON’T allow fantasy to become your reality. Well, I didn’t. But I did remain open to love. Just a little taste. It was an authentic connection, I didn’t seek it out, and I knew it would have an abrupt end only a few days later, but I let myself enjoy it. Enjoy being cared for, touched, kissed, and held. As the sun began to rise and my massage evolved to other body parts, we opted to relocate to the Mental Stable which he and his Caribbean hailing crew had built for our ranch. Somehow, I hadn’t gotten around to checking it out.

I was floored! It was so vibey. Fans, lights, a black jack table, and a cuddle puddle. Lovely light fixtures, luxurious curtains, a birdcage chandelier, a potions bar, and saloon doors. All the details were so well thought out and the atmosphere they created was such a welcome change of scenery. We met some kind strangers who had taken refuge from the dust storms of the night in the safety and comfort of the cuddle puddle. They should be very proud. It was an amazing contribution that both campmates and struggling traveling burners from abroad appreciated alike. Amazing work, especially considering several ambitious virgins took part in it’s creation in Oklahoma in the blistering heat.

Eventually we were alone in the sea of pillows and blankets of the cuddle puddle, entwined, watching the light filter through the cracks in the wooden walls. We just lay there and talked. About music, writing, art, travel. He had good words and I could tell he was a reader. The sound of his voice was placating and smooth like butter, but a little rough from exhaustion. The massage had not ceased from the time it began. The only time it stopped was when I went to the bathroom a few times. I got the full treatment and it was fucking amazing.

The sky began to lighten and eventually a saw a single cloud out the window begin to turn peachy pinks. OH! SUNRISE! I clumsily climbed out of the dusty blankets and leaned out the window. Down the street, saw the sunrise on the horizon and the deep playa that lay beyond 10:00. I felt the first light hit my face and breathed in some of the first clear air since sunset the night before. Glorious. Spectacular colors and the most beautiful light. I was reminded of the pull I feel to the deep playa during the sunrises. I noticed the thought and then let it go. You know what? I am perfectly content where I am. I am having excellent conversation with an articulate writer slash musician who is warm and comfortable and makes me feel good. Fuck it. Lee Burridge at Robot Heart sunrise? Yes, it is a tradition of mine, and yes, it is absolutely fantastic. But in this moment, I didn’t yearn for or want for anything. I didn’t chase what was next and I didn’t allow myself to get lost in the fantasy of this connection being the beginning of something lasting and serious. It was what it was. Brief, sweet, and genuine. We kept it above the belt, and I was grateful. No easy feat. It takes two to tango. And two to not. Sex has a way of completely clouding my judgement. That oxytocin is some powerful stuff, ya’ll. As much as I enjoy it, with great power comes great responsibility and I’m simply not able to indulge in it casually without risking devastating consequences. Not yet, at least. I’m a monogamous, straight, fairly vanilla, but also curious and adventurous individual with a sexual appetite. lol Navigating the dating world can be painful with a heart like mine and a libido to boot. To be open and cautious simultaneously can feel impossible at times.

Despite the risks, I allowed myself to love. To love without getting lost in it or developing expectations for the future. I kept my boundaries. I let it be what it was and you know what? I had a ton of fun. We passed out on a couch after deliriously cooking breakfast for our camp.

When we awoke, it was Saturday morning. Burn night was upon us. Just like that. A week goes by in the blink of an eye. My playa prince and I wandered to the bar to get a lay of the land only to find a few early risers and late night stragglers napping and sipping cocktails. And then, an old man appeared clad in beautiful stones and a wide smile. He walked directly to us, as if he knew us. His eyes locked on mine and I felt entranced. This man was someone powerful, my intuition told me.

What happened next was one of the most intense experiences of my life. He put a hand on me and It was evident that he was downloading information instantaneously. His eyes spoke volumes. He felt my pain. He sensed my deepest emotions and knew things about me he couldn’t have possibly known. I could not fight the tears and my prince waited patiently while I was drawn into this man’s teachings. He told me that many have taken my love from me without giving it back. I wept, unable to control my emotions.

“Your third eye is blocked, let me reset that for you...”, he said as he pressed his fingers into my forehead.

“I’m bipolar, as well,” I told him.

“Okay, we’ll work on that.”, he said, while he healed me with his hands. “ I am a healer of healers,” he said. He told me that I was also meant to heal people and that I am not fully human. I am a hybrid, he said. As crazy as it sounds, it honestly explains a lot and I was shocked to feel a sense of knowing. I have ALWAYS known that there is something inherently different about me. Something that makes me feel very alone, sometimes, but something that is at the core of my being that gives me a powerful sense of purpose and longing.

I spoke with this man named Johnny for a long while. I hadn’t slept yet and I was off of my meds for a day at this point for post race recovery hydration advantages and I was super susceptible to my emotions. Also, present. I felt like this was absolutely meant to happen. Like because I allowed the playa to guide me, it had brought me to Zion. To a sort of enlightenment and healing that my heart and soul were crying out for in desperation. It wasn’t dancing at Robot Heart...but it was life changing and indescribably impactful in ways that, remarkably and unbelievably, are even more important than sunrise dancing. Who knew!?

After this encounter with Johnny the healer, who claimed to be a reincarnation of his grandfather who was a curandero, I was in a daze. What the fuck just happened?! I have never had an encounter like this before. When he touched you, you could feel a surge of energy. He did things to me. My stomach was growling and churning and I could tell I needed to evacuate my bowels, but it took all day for it to come to fruition. When the time came, I honestly couldn’t figure out how to logistically shit in the now quite fucked up portopotties, so my friend Sarah gave me a step by step instructional and lent me her headlamp to attempt my mission. I had success. Yes, I may have been on a few mushrooms, but I couldn’t resist my curiosity. I inspected my shit. I stared at it in awe and disbelief. That’s not poop. That’s something else. That’s...cancer? Johnny had told me, when he felt my neck with his weathered hands, that I needed to watch my thyroids or I’ll get cancer.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“We just did it.” He said.

In that moment, looking at my shit in the porto, I was convinced it was cancer and all the bad shit that was ailing me consolidated into one, weird demonic mass. Sorry if that’s too much information, ya’ll. It’s the truth and it’s fucking nuts and I just have to share it.

Everyone began to prep for the man burn. Putting new lights on their bikes, replacing batteries, filling waters, and retrieving the last bottles of champagne to pop at the ideal moment. It’s always quite chaotic and for those that are unfamiliar, it can get downright scary once the man falls and you lose your sense of direction. Knowing this, I kept my virgin prince close. He hadn’t slept much at all and was mixing mescal with mescaline and a smorgasbord of other substances. I knew that he had no idea what he was in for, so even though I was hesitant to cling to him, I did...for his sake more than anything else. I was definitely swooning and charmed by his goofiness, though, I will admit that. A wobbly, animated extrovert with magic hands bopping around like a kid in a candy shop. It made me smile and smiling feels so so good after months of frowning. I let love in and also kept my head screwed on straight. Kept my heart safe. This is fucking HUGE for me.

We rode our bikes just behind our art car- a covered wagon suitable for a ranch- to the perimeter of the man. ;) Once we found the art car, we parked our bikes and walked past the barrier of art cars circled around the man for a better view. The fireworks began. The smile dominated my face and I relished in watching a virgin take in his first man burn. A heart warming sight. At a certain point he wanted to move closer. I walked with him a ways and then suddenly realized what we were doing. We were abandoning our bikes and essentially taking a pretty enormous risk by doing so. But. I couldn’t deny him his curiosity and I appreciated his adventurous spirit. Luckily, I had the forethought to turn around and get my bearings before we went clear to the perimeter being held by guards. Okay....THAT art car is the general region we are in, I thought. Knowing full well that that art car could very well move and leave me totally clueless as to our location later on. I chose to have faith and allow adventure to reign.

I have never been so close or stuck around so long during and for the aftermath of the man burn. It was an absolutely amazing, wild experience. After he falls, I head back to camp in the chaos, usually. This time, I took my time and humored my companion’s desires. We were sitting on the ground at the perimeter when they announced it was no longer enforced. Hundreds of people took off running towards the flames. Many of them naked. My eyes bulged out of my head. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! I was drawn like a moth to the flame. I MUST see what is happening! My prince took my hand so we wouldn’t be separated as we plunged into the crowd all the way to the fire’s edge. We were swept into a procession of naked burners marching in a tribal trance around the burning embers. The only thing between us and the fire was a fireman warning us that if we came any closer we would be burned.

Wild eyed and honestly, a little afraid I may be pushed into the flames by the crowd, I locked eyes with the owner of the hand that was slipping from my grasp. Shit! Thankfully, both of us had the same idea. We squeezed out of the loop straight into a mesmerizing drum circle. It was deep, tribal, primal, and intensely cleansing. It grew larger and larger with every kind of person and drum you can imagine. More drummers coming out of nowhere with their instruments to join the jam. Like all of our heartbeats were combining to form this incredible machine of healing. Dancers were shaking their bodies wildly and I was in awe. Tears streamed down my face and I felt like I was being exorcised. Something was pulled out of me and my whole body was having a serious response to the music. I could barely dance, I just swayed with my eyes closed and tried my best to breathe. My prince is a percussionist, so naturally he was all over the place dancing around and I very nearly lost him. At some points I wondered if he would have preferred that and started to get into my head about ‘chasing boys’. But then I checked myself, told myself that if I lost him I lost him and everything would be okay. Don’t read into it. But, also....try your best to keep an eye on him, because he had no idea how how disorienting the night was about to become.

After what seemed like hours at the drum circle, we came to the conclusion that we should begin to look for our bikes. I found my landmark and corralled my oblivious, intoxicated virgin companion. Once to the landmark, as I suspected, our art car appeared to have left, adding an extra challenge. As it began to register on his face that our art car was gone and he hadn’t actually absorbed any other details about our surroundings and most of those surroundings had relocated anyways.....lol Oh, man, it’s a hell of a moment. I’ve had it many times now. The realization that you have absolutely no idea where you are, where your bike is, how to get home, how to find your bike, where to pee, and so much more. lol It’s a total shit show, but I was ready for it and I managed to get us to the vicinity of our bikes. Like the natural he is, he took it to the hoop by spotting his unicorn head attached to the back of his bike. Clutch.

All was well with the world after that. We found our bikes before concern could turn to panic and we felt victorious. His elation cracked me up. I know that feeling, too. :) We wandered a bit, met a nice French man who served us lemonade after we asked for guidance to the portopotties at his art car. Oh, what a night. When we finally made it back to camp we were completely exhausted and happy to be back.

The rest of the burn is somewhat of a blur. The tearing down, the goodbyes, the final meals that breathe new life into you when you thought you might topple over, and the excruciatingly long and arduous exodus off of the playa. Luckily, there’s a lot to process and reflect on while you painstakingly make your way home after the most physically, mentally, and emotionally challenging place on earth. Nothing feels better, and nothing feels worse. It’s a strangely beautiful juxtaposition and it makes me feel more alive than anything I have ever experienced in my life.

I am home in Seattle with a pile of things to do and yet....taking the time to express myself in a creative way, to preserve these memories and tell my stories....that is equally important. It’s another form of self care and when I do it, I can do all the other things that much better. Ah, clarity. Perhaps now I will be able to focus on my tasks without debating which story to share first in a watered down Facebook post. ;) <3 <3

That’s all she wrote, folks. As burners affectionately say, FUCK YOUR BURN! Or, as I like to say, You Burn And You Learn <3

Until next year. I shall return.

<3 TechnoPrincess

#burningman #playamagic #lifeoflauren #technoprincess #thedustybootyranch #dbr