Chapter 5: Embracing the Absurdity

It doesn't really matter how much you read about Burning Man. It doesn't matter how many pictures you look at. It doesn't matter how many burners you talk to or videos you watch or tribe lists you subscribe to. NOTHING prepares you for it. Oh sure, you can have all the required AND recommended gear listed in the survival guide. You can have all the water and food and sunscreen you'll need to stay alive and healthy in the desert. You can even have the furry playa coats and boot covers cause you know that's what people do out there. But you just. Don't. Get. It. You can't get it. Not until you've been there.

But here's the secret - insofar as my perceptions went anyways: There's NOTHING to get. Really. I promise that I'm not being obfuscatory when I say this. There is nothing to get. The entire thing is utterly and completely pointless. It is pure absurdity. And that's what makes it perfect.

HUH?!?

Think about it: Wearing costumes in a desert. Cars shaped like fish and dragons and cupcakes. Life-sized games of Operation and Candy Land. Teeter-totters made from steel I-beams. Installing art that costs thousands of dollars and countless man-hours to create, only to take it down a week later. Building a 15-story free form structure entirely out of 2x3s at a cost of $250,000, using it as a dance club for a week, then burning it. At best this has most people shaking their heads quizzically asking "Why?!?" The answer to that is simple: Because. That's it. Just because.

I realized the truth of Burning Man while walking across the Playa the first Sunday night we were there. I was with some campmates heading toward the Man (though he hadn't been raised yet). In the distance, I could see center camp, and to either side, curving back toward us in a massive arc were the big Esplanade camps, many still being built. They were all awash in color and there was music swooping and diving over the playa. It reminded me of how Atlantic boardwalks look at night when seen from the ocean. But being in the desert, away from any semblance of civilization, lent an otherworldly effect to the scene.

While this immense, carnival-like vista incited childlike glee in me (much to the amusement of my friends, all of whom were vets), it wasn't until I stepped outside myself and saw us, as a group, traipsing across the desert, dressed up in frippery and fur, and alight with glowsticks and EL wire that the utter absurdity of what we were doing, of what this place was - it's very raison d'etre - hit me. Just Because.

It was one of those epiphanies where it feels as if the wrapping paper has been ripped off the package and you finally get to see what's inside. In a flash, I understood the fallacy of daily life: there always has to be an answer to the question "why?." Everything we do in this society, every move, every decision is calculated to get us to the next step (whatever that is). And we spend so much time calculating and deciding and moving forward, that we never get to enjoy where we are now. And once we're there (wherever 'there' is), we're looking for the next big thing yet again.

This is nothing new, of course; the Buddhists and Taoists have understood this for centuries. And I've understood this on an intellectual level for a couple of years now. But never have I understood it on such a deep and visceral level. As humans we DO need goals and purpose. But in filling that need, we've forgotten how to just be. We're so focused on purpose, that we've overinflated its importance. There must be space in our lives to exist, solely for the sake of existing.

Walking out there, that balmy clear night, I realized that Burning Man offers that space. Nothing happens out there for any reason other than itself. The the art out there exists for its own sake, not for critical acclaim, not for monetary gain, not for entree into some circle of society. It exists because some artist looked into his or her heart, had a vision, dreamed a sky full of ideas... and decided to make it happen. For no reason other than "because." What a fucking GIFT! So too with the camps. And the people. They are there just because.

And in this simple existence lies perfection. Something that just "is" can't be wrong.

This revelation literally knocked the wind out of me and I had to gasp for air. D'you ever remember - as a child - saying something so unexpectedly insightful or doing something so successfully that it caused your chest to fill with huge emotion? Like you couldn't open your mouth or do anything other than smile because if you did, you might cry or laugh or squeal or somehow EMOTE in a big uncontrollable way...? Cause that's how this felt. It's how it still feels.

Don't misunderstand me, though. Burning Man, on a "real" level isn't perfect. It's not some utopian idyll. It's a city, with all the good and bad that a city has to offer. But in concept... THAT'S where the perfection lies.

It's so funny now to see the looks people give when you tell them about the Playa. They don't get why you'd want to wear a prom dress with engineer boots and a glowing cowboy hat in a desert. You can see it on their faces: Well, that's just silly.

And you think, "Exactly."