Tuesday, 27 August 2013

The Opposite

Knowing that this was written before I left, and that Burning Man is happening right now, let's all just send me a hug.  Yes, I'm sending me one too.  From here and now.  Why not?

I'm writing this at 1:30 in the morning.  I finally gave up on trying to sleep (and no, it wasn't the fault of a nap this time, I'm starting to think it's more about the anxiety and worry than I might have thought) and opened up my computer to write.

Writing at this time is always interesting.  It's not quite regular thinking, it's more fluid.  I used to write a lot of emails to Jay at this hour, or chat with him when he was a million time zones away.  When I loved him already and was hoping it would all work out when we met.

But anyway, this isn't about the middle of the night, or Jay, even.  It's about the opposite of the panic I felt in the week and a half leading up to leaving for Burning Man.

The excitement was there sometimes.  Excitement, though, melds very quickly into anxiousness.  So when I'd look over the list of events, of theme camps, and flicked my eyes over photos again, I'd have to pull back just before the anxiousness kicked itself into place over the excitement.

The wonder and excitement of thinking, man, *that* sounds like it could be fun.  I want to go to the snow cone camp!  And get a snow cone!  How much fun will that be?  Or the Cheesy 70s porn camp.  Do I want to poke my head in there?  Or would I die of embarrassment?  (Probably, but who knows?)  And what about the midnight dodgeball?  I'm not brave enough to play, but would I still be awake to watch?  And would I spend an evening under the stars in Jay's arms in the middle of a silent empty desert?  Or someone else's?  Or would I be awake at a sunrise?

And then I'd stop before I started to wonder if I'd get any rest at all.  If I'd be too busy throwing up to lie in anyone's arms.  No, no, no, no stop.  Not those thoughts.  No.

I also had some late night fuelled moments of teary-eyed hope.  I'd read the article written by the author who said going to Burning Man brought him out of himself.  Out of his loneliness.  And I'd think about the things about me I want to move away from.  Less technology, more art, more making things and creating and living.  Stopping constantly needing to distract myself instead of being.  Being more.  Just being there.

I started to write it on myself two weeks before leaving.  "Be here now."

Be here.  Now.


Not somewhere far away in the future, worrying about what if.  Just be here now.

And I've been through workshops, retreats, spiritual growth, personal change, I have.  I know it can be temporary.

But I don't know what might happen, internally, mentally, emotionally, dare I say spiritually, there.

Maybe it'll just all be really cool to see and I'll enjoy people watching, and I'll be uncomfortable and happy to be home, but happy to be able to say I did it, I went to Burning Man.  Once.

But, certainly, the opposite of the freaking out that happened, were these moments of hope and excitement and wondering.  An openness to what might be.

Please don't steal stuff from here, it's not nice. But leave a comment, why don't cha? And drink more water. It's good for you.

P.S. If you think you know me? You probably don't. If you're sure you know me? Pretend you don't. I'll never admit I know what you're talking about anyway.

P.P.S. All this stuff is copyright from then til now (Like, 2006-2018 and then some.) Kay? Kay.