- The Temple
In the half-light of the early morning in late August 2006, I walked towards the
many spires of the temple. The warm glow in orange, pink and deep blue of the
early morning sky silhouetted the eastern mountain range and added
backlighting to the beauty and grace in white that arose before me from the
starkly bare landscape of the Playa. I looked in wonder at these graceful spires
reaching into the sky, a creation and design unseen since the days of Atlantis. In
this pale morning light their luminescence could still be seen glowing from the
inside. The largest of the spires, one for each direction of the winds, projected
majestically from earth to sky. Many more spires of various design and sizes
created a labyrinth within the four corners.
Myself and some thirty other early
rising souls such as I walked the paths amid the spires captivated by the
architecture. I felt the reverence of the early morning and of the place itself as I
walked lost in my own thoughts, then I noticed pieces of wood and paper at the
base of each spire. There was writing on some of them and I stopped to read
one. It was a letter from a mother to her son who had committed suicide. The
tears ran down my face and fell to the dust as I read another to a grandmother
from a granddaughter she had never met. Letters to mothers of adopted children,
now adults searching for the connection and mothers of children lost to them who
were extending love to the known but unseen. I stood there among the cries of
the hearts from hundreds of people and felt love around us all. Hearts lifted to the
Great Spirit, Allah, Brahma, Venus, Ganesha, Jehovah or the rising Sun, were as
one spirit reaching beyond our physical understanding, seeking to touch those
who held a place in our hearts with love.
I visited this place each day and left my
own prayer written on a piece of wood and new tears in the dust. Each day the
number of letters pictures and memorabilia grew by the hundreds and always my
tears flowed as I neared this place. One morning I noticed a shot glass sitting on
the corner of one of the laminated spires. I was offended by someone’s lack of
respect for this sacred space and went to remove it. Reaching for the glass I saw
the words written on the wood beneath it. They told of a life that no longer
needed that shot glass to get through one day at a time. The last shred of
judgment fell from me and I was reminded of how rare it is to find a place like
Burningman where judgment has no place.
I felt the love and the heartache of so
many and yet dancing around us all was joy, the joy of the spiritual connection
with source and with each other that seems so tangible here.
On Saturday night the towering man in the center of the playa burns and 80,000
people cheer as he burns. Techno music shakes the ground and there is a party
atmosphere that rivals Bourbon Street at Mardi gras. As the ashes begin to loose
their glow, the party over, many people begin to hit the highway for home and by
late Sunday afternoon the party folks have gone leaving a quieter city of twenty
five thousand.
As the moon rose and the stars came out on Sunday night these remaining
thousands sat in oneness circling around the temple. Behind them were
hundreds of art cars crowded with people. As silence fell over the multitude and I
thought how this must have been what it felt like to be among the thousands on a
certain mount two thousand years ago.
A single flame was brought into the circle and from it the fire dancers lit and spun
their flames as the made a procession inside the circle. The music of flutes and
methodic gongs lifted a heavenly chorus. The Tibetan bowls rang in resonance
accompanied by whispered prayers and uncontrolled sobs.
From a central flame the torches were lit and taken to the luminous spires. From
the four corners the flames crept among the loving messages and then leapt to
the spires reaching for the sky. Cheers and song erupted from the thousands as
the flames grew and were renewed as each spire was embraced by the flame
giving it’s energy to the fury of the flame until it entirely engulfed the Temple. As
each spire gave itself to the flame, the sparks flew higher, climbing into the night
to join the stars. Their strength gone, one by one the spires lay themselves into
the ashes until none stood and a silence fell over the multitudes.
From among
those thousands in silent observance came the voice of a man crying out, “ I love
you Mom”. I could feel his heart of pain and joy, as did others for the sobs grew
audible in the presence of unconditional love. I could feel my heart beating and
then I could feel the heartbeat of those around me. The beating of our combined
heart was audible and it shook the ground beneath me as real as the techno the
night before. The steady beat of this heart amplified the awe of the whirlwinds
dancing among the flames. Long thin columns of whirling sparks appeared
among the flames. I watched as five of these twisters appeared and danced
through the flames reaching to the ground then drew ashes and glowing embers
into the night as if to lift each word of the thousands of pages placed in the
temple to those above.
There was something surreal as the flames took what
was solid and touchable in this existence and transformed it into that which could
transcend earth and heaven. I had the certainty that my words were heard and
understood. It was in this certainty of the known and unknown, with our one heart
pulsing through and around me that I felt the understanding of peace and joy. For
those lingering moments in timelessness the outer world stood in mute and we
were one. One with each other, one with the loved ones who have gone and we
were one with the Creator who loves us.
When I finally turned from the ashes I
lifted my hands to Universe and said “ Thank you for bring me here.” My journey
of the past few weeks had seemed to be bringing me to this moment that
culminated in this experience of oneness with thousands of people who I had
thought of as strangers. It was with winged feet that I walked from the ashes of
the temple. Leapt onto my bicycle and began to ride towards my camp.
Along the way I stopped at an art project that was shaped somewhat like a
pyramid with a flat top. The structure was faces with hundreds of plaster cast
faces. I walked to it and knelt to touch the faces and look into their eyes. I know
that sounds silly but as I held each face in my hands I tried to feel who that
person was when they cast his or her face. They knew it was for this art
project and would be standing here on the playa. They gave the time to be part of
it even though many of them would not be here. They were laughing, crying,
young and old. I caressed the face of a man with a nose as prominent as mine
and next to him was the tiny face of an oriental woman about fifty.
Just like the writings on the spires of the temple, whatever we offer is a gift to the
many. I had somehow lost touch with this simple truth in my busy world. I had not
recognized all that was being given to me by those around me through their
presence and the gifts they gave with a smile, a pleasant hello or their
assistance. It may not seem like art to some but it is beautiful, individual and
creative so I guess that qualifies each of us as art when we are giving of
ourselves with love.
I continued climbing on this artistic piece and even stuck my
toe in the mouth of one mans casting. I caressed many and kissed one on the
forehead. The unexpected was just another way of expression. It may have been
the first time in my life that I did something because I felt like it and did not have,
even the thought of “What might someone think”. There is something freeing and
magical about this place.
I climbed down from the piece and continued on my
way to camp, peddling my bike among the many, lighted figures. Lifted by a
sense of flowing with thousands of beautiful souls finding new ways to be who
they truly are or maybe on the journey of discovering the magnificence in
themselves, like me.
Once in a lifetime experiences
- Thread starter Jondalar7
- Start date
asp3
Senior Member
- Location
- Silicon Valley, CA
I was home in 2006 as well. We were home 2006-2008 and I want to get back home someday.
If you need any local support on your journey to the playa look me up.
Life’s Treasures are the stories of our lives. I created this 37 card set to encourage the telling of our stories. I find it interesting that when telling a story, I am often transported back to that very moment and able to see it, feel it and in some cases taste it. Today’s card invites us to go back to an innocent time. TELL A STORY ABOUT YOUR FIRST CRUSH.
My first crush was not the first little girl that I liked. It was that head over heels, dreamed about her talking to me, stars in my eyes love. Her name was Ms. Smith, My seventh grade English teacher in Carson City, Nv. She was 24, Blonde, had a sweet Texas accent and for the first time in my life I noticed Boobs. Hers were just right. I dreamed of seeing her in her bra. ( I had not seen a boob yet that was not in the sears catalog.) I can see her now, standing in the front of the room looking right at me sitting in the third row of her classroom. Nothing ever came of our relationship because I moved back to Fallon that summer.
My first crush was not the first little girl that I liked. It was that head over heels, dreamed about her talking to me, stars in my eyes love. Her name was Ms. Smith, My seventh grade English teacher in Carson City, Nv. She was 24, Blonde, had a sweet Texas accent and for the first time in my life I noticed Boobs. Hers were just right. I dreamed of seeing her in her bra. ( I had not seen a boob yet that was not in the sears catalog.) I can see her now, standing in the front of the room looking right at me sitting in the third row of her classroom. Nothing ever came of our relationship because I moved back to Fallon that summer.