Burning Man 2006
Recollections by Hekter
To try and transition all of the preparation (thrift store
perusing, wig fitting, stilt tripping, e-baying funky
skimpies, evaporation ponds, shady zones, etc.), fuzzy
memories and footwear, sweat, bliss, drama, blisters,
ultra-input, flame, sleep-deprivation, global orientation,
moonwalking, heat, majesty, desertified hallucinations (or
were they?), serene sunrises, sprouting friendships,
burning, frigid, swirling dustdevils, steamy sunsets,
cryptic sounds, dust storms, playa-techno and integration
into mere words is a task that may require carnal knowledge
of my temporarily misplaced Thesaurus and a thorough grasp
of the run on sentence. Run on I say… Run On! I may only
attempt to digress with the tools I gotst whether spell
check agrees or not.
That mischievous grin that invades every burner's entire
head accompanied by a universal flame stoked deep behind
the eyes while describing their BM moments certainly caught
my imagination and planted the kindling in my to-do
campfire. For over ten years I have heard the stories, seen
the photos, met the "burners" (of course, in some of my
favorite places on this rotating orb of freshness) and had
decided to just let the universe unvelop itself in due time
for my initiation into the playa mandala. 2006 just
happened to be the year when time, money, friends,
patience, will, intent and desire coagulated together into
a giant kinetic ball of joy. BM 2006 is a go Houston, and
the universe laid out the crushed-velvet red carpet for my
arrival and Camp Overkill was my surrogate rehabilitation
facility back into the world of my hopes, which I could no
longer fear.
Functional
Lesson #1:
Showing up on Sun day, not night nor Monday, is highly
recommended cause security is playa-ridden and lax….. early
arrival lists have long been spent for rolling J's and
emergency toilet paper, therefore, your glorious smile and
fuzzy accessories are redundantly sufficient for the early
arrival process. Even told the gatekeeper it was my first
time and all he did was town-drop places in Washington…
freakin' plate-peaker didn't even make me dig piggy-style
in the anticipatory playa or give me a proper virgin
whippin'. If it's your first year, seek out your virginal
whippings from the old timers…. Skipping this step has left
a mild void within me.
Day
first couple:
I must give it up for Cabenza Construction! Moon lit power
tooling, semi-luminescent headlights (L.E.D. hopeful), one
glove chop-sawin', anti-locational toolyard, drunkard
labor, dome raising ratchet masters, sparking rotors in the
still night air, Elvis safety glasses, color-coded dome
geometry, "Chronic" on the spot, the man with the plan,
"The Machine" for directing Hekter into productive
kinetics, re-bar rodeoin' and the fruit boxes were getting
more sun-ripened by the hour. Much like a high tide rising
to it's inevitable elevation, people and things began to
sprout on the back 40, the side 40 and the 140 in-between;
the feng shei of 40,000ish people began to throw the
blankets where they lay and root down; the stage slowly
grows into it's shimmering form! New creations sprout out
of the playa daily and deep reconnaissance into the fun box
for an array of outfits begins the evening. Mystically,
some installations seem to slowly wonder the open spaces.
This brings me to a crucial aspect of BM: you truly get out
of it what you put into it – so cliché but spot on (pardon
my knickers). It may be my first year but I put as much
energy as I had into my distracted reserve tank and would
not feel so enlightened if I had just showed up for the
ride. To help when you have a moment, sweep someone's
freshly loufa'd gray water around the pool, do some dishes,
cut some limes, gas the generators, give a quickie massage
to the mis-postured individual, share your favorite shirt
to a stranger, cook for a minimum of 15 and have party
favors for a city block on the 4th of July. What is the
summit without the hike, the graduation without the
education, the groove without the DJ, the orgasm without
the foreplay? The means is the ride, the end is just a
place to be, the halfway point, the burn. The mountainside
sustains the summit, the education sustains the mind and
life is completely relative. To harvest more joy, you must
put in more work and be proud of the tribal welfare. Own
your intention! BM is truly the first place where giving
has been more empowering than getting. To delight others is
to delight the inner-spirit and the smiles on burners faces
as they approached our camp or art-cars was priceless.
Every burner is just a soulful reflection of ourselves
although a few need more forward reminders that we ain't
taking them home nor losing them forever!
To hear and see photos of the infamous BM dust storms can't
relay the minute stinging of the playa particles bombarding
all open skin, the painfully slow resination of the lungs
with an Elmer's Glue type substance, the cough that makes
your belly button sneeze, the stinging of the eyes as
somehow the particles groove their way through your
"bombproof" goggles and get to work on brewing tomorrow
morning's eye boogers, a complete white out of any sense of
place or being. The fiercely camped cotton shag on my
tongue even decided to reabsorb until conditions were more
"convenient." The power storm on Tuesday (or Wednesday?)
brought the Yin to the overly indulgent Yang of BM and the
slate was wiped clean, balance was restored and the beat
moved on. The smoky gray orb of what was previously
considered our sun, danced in and out of view as if teasing
kittens with a ball of yarn (Quite possibly a hazardous
condition considering most of the kittens were "nipped"
up). When one's exterior is so violently ambushed one is
forced to delve deeper within themselves for that place of
calm and acceptance. A moment of truly releasing the
physical and taking the mental to the big tire at recess
for yummy kisses (albeit crunchy). That Playa dust storm
certainly was the fine-grit sandpaper to my psyche. It
scratched free all those layers of painted debris that we
all accumulate to some degree in our so-called "society." I
felt as if I was a shiny piece of steel again waiting for
the next artist's rendition. The dust storm was the
equalizer of all things breathing, the vast difference
between a group and a tribe. It was as if all communal
tension was thrown through the power washer and came out
sparkling clean, only the original element existing.
Without it, I may have woken up on Neptune with an empty
gas tank and a toothless toothbrush.
Functional
Lesson #2:
When partying on an art car in the middle of the playa
during a dust storm, drink beer instead of cocktails - much
smaller portal for the alien particles to invade.
Functional Lesson #3:
Remember to close your car doors before haphazardly jumping
into the departing art car as these dust storms tend to
arrive quicker than you can remember your name. Every time
I turn on the A/C or Vent I get a lil' personalized
mini-storm – mmmmmh – Playalicious!
We may have been located beyond Thunderdome but Camp
Overkill was where the sidewalk ends. Teetered on the brink
of free-range and inter-urban, Overkill was a pleasant
surprise for those willing to wander beyond the "abrupt
edge" signs (what exactly those signs were eluding to may
take many more years of investigation before
enlightenment?). A black light monkey bars for monkeys with
really, really long arms of course. Much love to Mathew the
crane operator (He took his crane fishing for Hurricane
Katrina scraps last year!) and all those who made it happen
– the art cars, the dome, peach juice dripping down my
flavor savor, fatty sandies that made my lips crack just to
get em' in, Pacifiho's with lime, sunrise yoga, ice runs,
limbo showers on the plastic bottle hovercraft, couch
induced ponderings, black light smiles, sunrise melts,
afternoon Jaegermeister (how the hell do you spell this
elixir?) sips, the everlasting bar, playa wonderings,
gray-water pool-side happy hour, mysterious invisible
giggles and the cuddles that sent me deep into
dreamtown.
To be continued...
copyright
2006