Burning Man 2006
Exodus
Ordeal at the Gates
Hope and Fear Incarnate!
I had achieved something of an underground celebrity status in Black Rock City following my heroic exploits at The Man. It seemed everywhere I went later that night people recognized me (and the katana slung across my back) with knowing nods and greeting smiles. A lot of times in the corner of my eye I saw young Burners nudge their friends and say, “It’s him.”
Yet I was having trouble integrating my visions and new gnosis of being into the strata of the social sphere: Especially when it came to forging deep interpersonal relationships and romantic love. I was already committed to the harsh mistress Revolution, a continuing change in me and the world around me for the better, and this mistress was a very jealous one who required near total devotion. She was extremely selective of whom she let into her circle of trust, as a long history of betrayal and fair weather friends had scoured and soured my faith in companionship. I was still healing from the horrors I experienced in Hawaii, that I had just escaped a week prior, all the while dealing with and participating in the maelstrom of Burning Man.
While I still did my best at all times to bring my best party face forward, there were many draining, taxing moments that struck me with near all consuming lows and woes. I found it very hard to express myself to others at these times, especially in a festive atmosphere when most people don’t want to deal with someone else’s problems. I had taken the shamanic journey; I achieved a Zen-like balance at the climatic event, and forged a new path paved by fire and steel. The flip side of the coin being, I still needed to learn how to relate and integrate and to fight the idea that “It’s just the Drugs talking.” I, at times, Feared the shallowness of such a community that wouldn’t help out, that didn’t want to hear, that didn’t want to celebrate the hard won overall optimism that honors the struggle.
Far from a perfect being, I made many mistakes over the course of the week. I missed connections and friendships I should have pursued; instead I used my loneliness as a shield, a self-fulfilling prophecy to keep me separate from the others. After a life of poverty I had a large chip on my shoulder concerning wealth and status, and that mutated into an Us and Them, Have and Have-not scenario that embittered me, and my relations.
In my vision, I saw my finances as an overwhelming problem to my situation, the root of which was in my upbringing. Castle Rock, Derry, Chamberlain and others are all fictitious names given to my hometown by a famous author (who I will not name-drop here) who lived there before I did, and drew inspiration from this town in Maine to write some world renowned horror and other books. (Guess who!) I can certainly see some of the horror references, and some of the locals and characters he drew inspiration for I lived in them. Not so pleasant. Anyhow, I had pieced together the notion that in my horrible experiences dealing with an abusive family, an oppressive school system and corrupt police force growing up, many of my civil liberties we illegally withheld from me, making my formative years mostly a living hell, and furthermore, denying me a chance to get a higher education to legitimately pursue my writing career and filmmaking aspirations. I firmly believed I was owed justice, and I would fight for my rights there, all the while try to bring back the knowledge of my travels to bring back some of the essence to Burning Man to the Northeast, where artistic living is tragically in lack.
So that was the road I chose: to head back to Maine, to fight for psychedelic freedom and for the future that was denied me by The Man!
I said my goodbyes, and left base camp for the last time.
And made the long walk with the burden of a huge backpack and duffle bag stuffed past the long line of cars,
All the way to the Gates of Black Rock City.
But I wasn’t going out like that; I wasn’t going out quietly.
I went to where the three lanes of miles lengths of traffic merged before the gates, and in the middle of the road, I set down my pack, sat on it, and held up a large cardboard sign that said “MAINE” and held out my thumb.
(If anyone has pictures of me and my sign at the Gates, please email them to me! Hundreds of people photographed this, but I've yet to find a copy...)
I had trusted myself to survive and overcome many harrowing ordeals; I had tested my ability to show selfless sacrifice to help another in dire need; now the test was to reach out and put my faith in the others for my survival.
I sat for hours in the smoldering oppressive heat, with the unshaded sun blazing on me, breathing in the playa dust and the exhaust fumes of a society passing me by.
The heat sent me into a trance state, and visions of hazy memories were in recalling the intensity of an outrageous festival and celebration of extremes, and the year of adventure that had preceded it.
I had no money, very few possessions, just my sword, my wit, and my will to survive.
The memories drifted over and past me like a slow painful fog, accentuated by the cruel, raw heat.
Even if I did make it back to Maine, I understood that by no means would my situation be improved there, as I went to face off with my old demons.
While exposed in the sun, I was greeted to a slow, drawn out “This is your Life… in hell” type trip, where images of my past and my mistakes therein drifted before my eyes.
The first person of the thousands that drove by me I recognized was a girl I hat met in a hostel in San Diego over half a year ago. My situation there of poverty and poor health was not one I wanted to remember… but there she was; we spoke briefly. It was good to see her again before she drove off.
Later I saw a girl I met in Hawaii. She was an Angel to me; without her help I probably would have not have survived my treacherous ordeals on that Island. She cared for me when no one else did. How could I ever repay that? There was tragedy there… we couldn’t be more involved with each other for I was going East to confront my past which she knew of, and she, West to find her Future. She wanted me to come with her, but knew I had duties to take care of. Our goodbyes at the Gates were… remorseful.
A couple of hours later, the last image of my very recent past drove up. Campmates who had helped me get to Burning Man, when I arrived in Reno from Hawaii after being robbed; without ticket or cash, they secured me a ride and ticket and generously let me in their camp, for which I was very grateful. They stopped by me in their van, and pleaded with me to join them and come back to Reno with them; that trying to make it back to the East Coast, a journey of thousands of miles by hitchhiking was madness. I was inclined to agree with them, and very, very tempted to join them. But I had made up my mind, and I sadly watched them depart into the dust.
In this burning reflection, I weighed the forces of Hope and Fear against each other in a cataclysmic showdown.
I Feared that the psychedelic community I was searching for was devolving into an elitist caste; their money that bought them the ticket to play the part of “Freak for a Week” before going back to mainstream society, only paying face value to the promise to return and make every day “like Burning Man.”
Even the artists had an aura of clique-ishness to them. It’s fine to paint a picture, but what of those who live a psychedelic revolutionary life? I Feared the cry to “Support the Arts!” would lead to “Get a job hippie!” and a re-cementing of the bourgeois notion of to whom the artistic life is available to.
I Feared that Burning Man was losing more of its legendary California Bay Area/San Francisco vibe and transforming more into a LA party for spectators for rich vapid princes and princesses who drove through the playa on huge party floats, too important to rave in dust with the rest of us groundlings.
I had traveled in Hope of finding societies where plant-based psychedelics were honored and respected as Entheogens; catalysts for the imagination and a foundation ingredient to lived religious experience.
I Hoped to find permacultures where off the grid lifestyles could offer freedom to exploration of new ideas and sustainable ways of living in communities.
I Hoped to find alternative fuel sources being developed, such as Hemp for Biodiesel.
Unfortunately, over the past year of travel, these Hopes were routinely and summarily crushed by a Dominator Pyramid Capitalist System led by The Man that still held sway over the democracy, using the iron fist of oppression and terror. Yet, Hope remained. Perhaps the greatest hope of all…
No existing infrastructure existed that I found in my extensively thorough search spanning continents and oceans for a psychedelic society that enacted the visions they espoused with the courage of their convictions that would challenge the status quo; responsibly applying the lessons to be found in the psychedelic trance state.
While going through my last ordeal of Burning Man at the Gates of Black Rock City, I remembered a scene from the book Alive, the true story of an South American rugby team in the 70s that survived a plane crash only to be stranded high in the desolate frozen Andes Mountains. Early in their tribulations, a report from a transistor radio states that the search and rescue team had called off the mission, saying the operation to find survivors was hopeless. While the majority of the team was devastated by the news, one of them encouraged the rest with bold words, saving them from despair. “Good news! … That means we’ll climb out of here ourselves!” And later, two of them did just that, and saved the rest by making the seemingly impossible trek through the mountains.
Empowered by that brave sentiment while I sat under the sweltering desert sun looking for a cross country ride, I felt within me the embodiment of the Enfant Perdu: the lost child, a lone knight send to a dangerous advanced post, and/or a forlorn hope.
In hitting those darkest moments of despair in the journey, I always remembered; There’s nowhere to go but up from here. I transformed that into my new axiom, and new Quest.
The Quest was no longer to find a psychedelic society, but to co-create many!
That was the drive to make it back to Maine: rather than deal with the circling around pre-existing semi-functional societal structures of varying degrees of stagnation, the fun was starting from scratch, to build from the ground up.
But as far as my faith in the existing Burning Man community…
My faith was not misspent!
Over those hours, every time I sank into the doldrums of Fear, a Burner would drive by and offer encouragement.
“Good luck, brother!”
“If I was going that way I’d take you!”
“Someone will come!”
“I wish I had your optimism!”
“That is the most Hopeful thing I’ve seen all week. You’ve inspired me.”
There were thousands of these comments of support and well-wishing as my great Hope was the last thing these Burners saw before leaving Black Rock City.
The Gifting Economy of Burning Man triumphed, as hundreds of people gave freely to me: food, water, sun-block, shade, sprays of cool water, Burning Man schwag, emblems, patches, offers of pills, weed and alcohol (heh, thanks), and hugs. Over the hours I had a mountain of gifts at my feet.
I thanked each Burner the best I could, for if I spoke too much, I’d weep in joyous gratitude.
Over six hours had passed, and the ear to ear smile had not left my face for the duration. Then, I saw it:
Synchronicity Serendipity and Destiny had put for a BioDiesel bus that pulled over to give me a ride, the crew was heading to Massachusetts. Close enough. I grabbed my pack and all my gifts and left Black Rock City, vowing to make it again next year.
Hope Springs Eternal
...
Post Script
August 2007
In the year since Burning Man 2006, my adventuring spirit has not waned, and neither has my commitment to Alternative Fuel Sources. From the Gates of Black Rock City, I took a cross-country Bio-Tour on a BioDiesel Bus, all the way to a revolutionary BioDiesel Farm in Vermont. After a sojourn to New Zealand for a few months as an independent Sustainable Fuel Advisor, I returned to Vermont to this farm, which is where I am now.
The farm provides a small to medium scale model of sustainability and renew-ability that can be implemented anywhere!
(Ronin who smells of sunflowers…)
The process at the farm is to grow oilseed crops, such a sunflowers, press the seed for oil and mixed with 20% ethanol (also grown on the farm and distilled from sugar plants) to make a homegrown organic BioDiesel that is ready go directly into any diesel engine.
Living, growing proof that off the grid access is a reality, one that can flourish with the right kind of support.
Imagine my surprise when Burning Man announced its theme for 2007:
The Green Man
Espousing the very virtues I had been fighting for these past many years.
An intergalactic party to save the planet! Woo!
Unfortunately, volunteering my time, knowledge and energy supporting and working for projects such as these, and spreading awareness and the Good words, has not of yet produced a viable cash flow. Many politicians, including US senators have come to this groundbreaking farm to have their picture taken and show face solidarity to such initiatives, yet the project remains drastically under-funded and their promises of a green future resoundingly hollow.
So calling out to a community that’s much more cutting edge and knowledgeable than politicians, I hereby invoke the spirit of the Green Man, and I humbly ask for your help and support to please do what you can to help me get to the show where I coalesce and co-create with my Burning Brothers and Sisters for unification in celebration for our actualized visions of a green, sustainable, psychedelic, Hopeful Future!
Donate to the Ergoat Sessions
Much Love!
See you on the Playa!