A Fool’s Attempt to Describe Burning Man

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Burning Man is so famously impossible to describe, I’m not even going to try. I won’t talk about flying into Vegas to rent an RV for a 10-hour drive to Black Rock City, even if there was an opportunity to play craps with a purple-haired transvestite, but that’s another story. I definitely won’t talk about driving past the massive US military installations in Hawthorne, Nevada, since that, along with nearby Area 51, has severe access restrictions. I could tell you how, upon arriving in Burning Man, us virgins were made to roll around in the white flour dust of the Playa, embracing the dirt that we’d mentally prepared ourselves to combat. It took mere seconds for the dust to cling to our clothes, skin, and psyche. Look, I’ve spent the last five years waiting to get to Burning Man, and was as nervous and apprehensive as anyone. Nothing to buy? No taps, showers, or garbage bins? 50,000 plus people in a hostile environment, and somehow this is meant to be fun? All these adventures over the years, and just when I think I’ve seen it all, something shows up to smash my head with an experiential baseball bat, letting my brain ooze into the mud. Something like Burning Man.

For those unfamiliar: It’s an art festival, showcasing thousands of sculptures and modified cars and creative structures. It’s a music festival, with hundreds of makeshift venues for DJ’s and musicians. It’s a costume festival, with everyone wearing something extraordinary, if they choose to wear something at all. It’s a conference for the mind, offering free lectures and educational seminars from thinkers across the creative-arts-and social science spectrum. It’s a religious festival, steering clear of organized dogma into the realms of free expression, open worship of the universe, and a deep reverence for the beauty of diversity. It’s a love festival, where nudity is accepted, sex is acceptable, and tantric workshops are held. It’s a community of likeminded individuals gathering in a remote place to avoid the confused, ignorant reaction of those who simply don’t get it, and probably never will. It’s a backlash against corporate America, where no brands or advertisements or promotion is allowed. It’s the wildest, most hedonistic party you’ve ever seen. And most of all, Burning Man is none of these things at all.

It started with a small group of artists in a hostile desert, challenging their creative limits and engaging in a form of self reliance and personal responsibility – this in a country so drunk on blaming others and passing the buck. Fundamentals evolved:

It’s jarring to read the Survival Guide in an age where long form legal disclaimers are posted on parking lots. There are countless ways to kill yourself at Burning Man, from exposure to extreme weather to getting toasted by a rogue art piece. It’s your responsibility to stay alive, even though just about everyone you meet will gladly help you out (including volunteer rangers and medical staff). You can scream and shout and spit and sue, but in the end, this is a community that lives according to its own rules. The guide sets it straight on the front page: “Above and beyond the provision for individual survival, everyone is requested to help ensure our collective survival by following very basic rules relating to public safety and community well being. Community membership is a privilege. “ If you don’t get it, please don’t come. You’ll hate every second of it.

Within hours, every expectation I had about Burning Man was blown out the water. I just didn’t expect the scale of the event to be so huge, the creative energy so vast. Black Rock City emerges almost overnight, shaped like a clock, organized by the hands of the hour and 12 long, circular promenades. Bikes are essential if you want to see a fraction of everything, with the city stretching over 5 miles across. There are hundreds of camps and villages set up along the grid, tribes ranging from a few members to several hundred. Each camp offers something of value to the casual passer by: Free cocktails, hot tamales, engaging conversation. Free massages, games of tennis, bowling, a mechanical bull ride. Free rides, free bad advice, free hugs, free drugs, free kisses, free help. Free beds, free art, free costumes, free decorations for your bike. Everyone seems to bring more than they need and need less than they want. It’s a free for all, and it took a while to recalibrate my capitalistic conditioning so that I stopped asking “what’s the catch?” There isn’t one. “Where am I?” It doesn’t matter. “Who are you?” A burner just like you. “Where are we going?” I don’t know, but there’s no rush, so lets take it slow.

I saw things that shocked, surprised, dazzled and delighted me. Moments of beauty, moments of overstimulation, moments of bewilderment. Every time I stopped to ask “how on earth did they get this here?” I was reminded to stop questioning and start accepting. My guides were friends old and new, veteran Burners and virgins like myself. As much as this is a community event, every single Burner develops a unique personal response to the environment. Some thrive in the heavy dust storms that blind and sting. Some thrive in the camps and villages. Some thrive in the scorching hot day, others in the cool, LED lit night. Drawing it all intogether is the Man himself, erected on a wooden platform at 12 o’clock, looking out over the gathering. He started small over a dozen years ago, a couple feet high, burned to the ground on a beach outside San Francisco. The Wicker Man fulfilled a similar role in Europe for centuries, but Burning Man’s founders claim that is a coincidence. This year’s Man stood 104ft tall, regally awaiting the climax of the week-long event, his destined combustion. The Man is Gonna Burn. What does it mean, this Man on Fire? A symbol of passion and drive, signifying anything is possible? A community bringing down “the Man” that traps us with its strangling laws and bureaucracy and tax and corruption? The collective ambition of a nation of pyromaniacs? I hear these and other theories under the sound of fireworks exploding at his feet, driving the massive crowd into a frenzy. Any second now he’s going to be a giant fireball. Sometimes he burns fast, sometimes he burns slow. A huge dust storm sweeps in, blowing fiery ash into the crowd. This is not cause for concern. We are prepared with the right gear and attitude. Only here do the harsh elements become cause for celebration.

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