Now that even the arguments over whose dick we consent to see are in their dying stertor, almost three weeks after leaving site on a dreadfully cold and rainy morning -nevertheless touched by the ever present desert magic, I finally feel capable of sharing some of my thoughts with the world.
My nails still have bits of the polish that some kind soul decided to bring in quantities enough for everyone to enjoy, I haven't had the heart to wash the dirt out of my sandals, and every single playlist of ambient ethnic techno-electronic music "DJs" post gives me flash backs. That's obviously what I'm listening to at the moment. 💖 Piccaya.
This year was challenging, to say the least. I prepared very well but failed to take into account the 10-hour flight, shitty bed, 6-hour bus ride, and emotional exhaustion I was carrying on top of my 60L bag. So I was in pain, deep, unforgiving, physical, very real, never-ending, pain the entire event.
And I am so thankful for that. A yoga teacher once told me we should not be grateful only when things are good, but also during trying times, for they are coming to teach us a lesson; even if only that we can survive.
Guilt, however, was a bit harder to handle. I was hoping to be helpful. 100% of the time. I wanted to build, cook, massage, workshop! I was never sure if I was trying hard enough, while caring for myself at the same time. A challenge, as well, to live for 3 days with the same 15 people. Some complete strangers, some last years' acquaintances, others, old friends. Cooking, working, and showering (yay!). Sneaking away during naptime to explore was a break.
The slow build up of excitement was a new experience as well. The Monday storms that never quite came delayed the grand entrance of the main event. I couldn't help but compare. "Last year..."
However, who is really to tell. Maybe I fucked more but got spanked less? Did I dance less but connected more with friends? Was it a bit less spiritual and more down to earth? Did I enjoy more luxurious food? Did I volunteer a bit more or less? Were my workshops as strong?
It's all a bit dusty.
A few things I did learn.
Nowhere is a community guided by principles. 10+1 to be exact. And that makes it, you guessed right. An activist community! The moment we say this or that principle is better to be guided by than any other, the moralization starts. "Who knows what the principle means exactly?" And, more importantly, "who is applying it right?" -which automatically creates a wrong way- are core discussions that come up constantly among us.
So, when it is time to decide if it is ok to spank people in the middle of the kitchen/common eating area, how do we decide? Inclusion of the person who has a childhood trauma? Self-expression of my kink? Not an easy solution.
For the sake of brevity and the fact that this is a text also for the profane, I will not try to solve or expose my arguments on this here. Maybe in a follow up post.
And some people get a say more than others, there is a hierarchy of decision. The people who consistently come year after year, the people who strike and build, the people who take up volunteer positions, meta-leads -many (though not all) white middle-age, european hetero dicks- have a voice that weights more than others in these matters.
And it fucking makes sense -except the fact that they are heterocismales. Because if we're deciding whether the barrio should be sex-positive or not, it stands to reason that people who will be affected by it not just this year, but next year also, will get a heavier vote. Or even people who will be affected for a longer stay during this year.
Even if shit is hitting the fan, I'll learn. With a broken back, a heavy heart, and much less of a direct line to the heavens than last year, the fucking place is Shambala. Where intention instantly manifests. So be careful what I wish for is always a good mantra, and make sure I am ready to receive an even better one. Stay alert for the few weeks after the event as well. Magic lasts beyond the desert, just like dust remains. As the saying goes: "you don't get what you want at the burn, you get what you need". Therefore, also probably be prepared to listen, switch, modify, and adapt with the wind. Surrender. It's a number of us that love to plan very well in advance just to arrive to this place where we feel safe enough to not have to control anything else at all for a few days.
Except the time of our shifts.
And a cognitive psychology class on decision making by a brit wearing nothing but a frilly cape, a wrist watch and socks.
We are a family. And the barrio is home. It may seem strange how someone I met for one week a year ago can feel so close. But we keep each other safe and alive. I was cared for more intently by a large number out of those 3,500 people during these 10 days than I have by many people I thought were intimate to me in the default world.
A beautiful lady at 2 am approaching me as I stretched over a chair to ask if I was ok.
All the nobodies who massaged me.
ShitHead saving me and two other desperate folks from walking 1 hour to the bus we almost missed.
Hearing "thanks" after my "no".
Making spaces to speak about pain.
Hugs, caresses, kisses, staying home the whole night chatting.
Grilled cheese sandwiches! The Garden's ice-cream!
We come bare, naked, vulnerable, maskless, weak, and wounded. We let everyone around see the truth inside. And we trust. We trust deeply and completely that each person we encounter within the idiot-tape imaginary lines is going to see into our eyes and cherish that. Hold us whole with our flaws and strengths alike. Because it happens every single time. And there is so much love to go around that we fill up inside and give back again and again fearless to ever run out.
Sparkle pony revelations aside, there is plenty of drama! Nowhere is no utopia, and like any community made of imperfect individuals there is conflict. But that's what burning bridges is for. It was just a realization to my innocent self that the perfect place I remembered was so full of inner turmoil for stupid shit like who the Cantina lead should be.
It was a challenging year, of that there is no doubt. The huge dust storm left me a sore-throat.
But the fire was ignited once more.
And that, dear all, is worth everything and more.
