Unpacking a dusty suitcase
Photo by one of my lovely campmates, Rebeka Bieber
Grateful. I’ve just re-entered the digital abyss after two weeks of a disparate connection. Hot generous sun, moon and mountains behind me. The laundry piles from my desert journey have each a layer and a story. Not one item of clothing was spared. Just one step forward into this ethereal Black Rock City, into the Black Rock desert of Nevada. The inevitability of overwhelming dust takes over you and all that you have. You have no choice but to embrace what comes.
It’s a desert dream. A whirlwind sand storm. Blink your eyes and it’s over. A powerful oasis of magic and art if you choose to see it that way. Liberated matter of the formal routine. A re-awakened world that doesn’t compromise our personal art and expression for practicality purposes. Art for the sake of doing, being, sharing. Life for the sake of living simply, yet extremely. No money exchanged, only energy and ideas.
My own centered routines turn into dust immediately as I pack my last bag and board my first plane. This feeling of no turning back hummed a mix of wired & tired, for the four hours of sleep I had shaken minutes before.
Everything after that is a blur of watercolor and ink. Lights and stars. Sound vibrations. Fuzzy laughter. Scientists and pocket watches of burning time. Hugs of old familial energy. Self-contemplation. Fish bug fire. Night visuals upon a Phage car. Meet & greet of international VJ’s. Prima Tivo wine tasting. Jazz clubs. Fly me to the moon. Abstract angles & electrolytes. Barrels of flying fire. Warmth and sun. Bicycle wheels spinning, and a penny slot in Reno which won me $75 bucks and a philosophical conversation.
Spare change?
I will try and set free the disappointing lack of time that I spent at the Temple. The solitude that I craved there and had not taken. The personal compromises I made to find balance. The expectations of health & motivations within myself. And other such thoughts that would tap me on the shoulder and walk me through the desert hand in hand.
I’ve seen the universe wink in many colors, shapes and languages on this trip. After four years of making this journey to BRC and back, I hadn’t expected to feel as different coming home this time, but I do. Something is calling. Shapes have shifted and I am listening.
Visual inspiration = infinity
