like shoehorns for fingertips.
17 September 2012 § 1 Comment
The blank screen scares me. I hope that I can show up for it, bearing gifts of truth and beauty.
Let’s get the big stuff out of the way:
This has been the most intense, wildest summer of my life. I have arrived to the world, finally, as the person I’ve always wanted to be – incomplete, questioning, rarely certain of myself, always in movement, and hyper-aware of the potential dripping out of my ears. I’ve said before that I’ve been in a rapid state of evolution – when that struck me, it seemed egotistical, arrogant, superior. More often than those things, it is uncomfortable and alienating. Where first came the choice to let go of nouns (people, places, concepts, attachments, associations, former truths, etc.) that do not serve me, now I arrive daily at decisions that, were I to want a ‘normal’, easy life, I would never want to make.
I chose this style of life, and feared that I would be found to be a fraud. I feel now that this life has chosen me, and I have the choice to be at my best, and be open to as many opportunities for growth as I can be. Anything less would do a disservice to everyone in my life. I have disserviced them enough.
An old adage about the Burn goes: everything that happens at Burning Man is exactly what is supposed to. Every step, every piece of art, every swallow, every dance. They Are, and they lead to the next step. I learned there what buttons I could push to provoke certain reactions from those I love. Opportunities appeared like shoehorns for fingertips – they facilitated the pushing of edges and concentrated the execution because they know there’s just so much more to learn.
This is what happens when you speak your deepest truth in its rawest form.
This is what happens when you take responsibility for consciously lying to get what you wanted.
This is what happens when you hold nothing back from your eye gazing.
This is what happens when you embark on a journey with an unmarked map.
This is what happens when your love is as boundless as mine.
It was practice for life, in the safest conditions of culture possible. On a blank canvas of desert where 50,000 people are not simply attendees or civilians, but participants and contributors, we paint life to its extremes, welcome it, and let it go – sometimes, all at once. The pretty lights and millions of hours of music, love, pain, and death are palpable still, in the regions of my heart that wish to be integrated out here, in the default world. I am no evangelist – I am a translator of senses, and I only hope to deliver these ideas to you gracefully.
The hardest thing about Burning Man is not the 70 mph wind that kick up white-out dust storms, it is not the loneliness felt by those who journey there solo, or the bad acid trips experienced in the periphery – it is taking those observations, struggles, and understandings, and applying them to Life Out Here, and knowing that we are welcome home in our hearts always, because that’s where the burn happens, sparking and arcing and flowing like magma.