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September 09, 2005
Burner Thoughts
Well, I'm back, and despite a series of unfortunate and bloody events in my life involving art pieces and now firewood and also scissors (flesh wounds, nothing more), I'm feeling good. It's like winter is already here and I had my first grey winter day, inside and out. The sun burst through in the end though, as it always does. It's warming the other people of the Earth right now and I'm going to turn off the light and wait for the return.
Even the moon turned off for the Man this week. Dark. As he stood proudly in pink and green while looking over his city-- the city that was him, the city that became just for his being --I got lost beneith his feet of neon in a maze for the mind. Pushing, pulling, twisting, and turning, I opened a dark curtain and a brilliant flash blinded me. I saw a figure dressed in black walk away from his shadow as it stood behind, pointing at him as if in disbelief. The dark figure threw up his hands and continued pacing while his shadow still pointed. The two must have been having a fight in their minds, so I closed the curtain. A woman in great big goggles and dreadlocks stomped smoothly past me in her fuzzy space boots. I turned to follow, but the door she walked through was sealed as it was rotated from another room. I went the other way.
I heard chanting. An incredible range of vocal humming was coming from somewhere off to my left. There were sopranos, altos, tenors, even super-basses and sopraninos. All of them coming together in a fluid circle of sound. I squeezed my way through a set of push-pull revolving doors and almost fell into the middle of the symphony. There were burners of every kind facing the walls of this room. On these walls were the shapes of hands with little blinking lights next to them, the kind you’d see in a high security checkpoint in some super secret installation, you know, like in the movies. I walked up and, one finger at a time, placed my hand on the pad. In the midst of so many voices, I could hear my own, coming and going as I lifted my hand and replaced it in a pattern. It was as if I were singing through my fingers. A tone unique to the rest, yet blending perfectly with the others who were so lucky to find this room. I moved on.
Expect more here soon, maybe even with a bit more visuals...you never know what might happen on TheOtherSide. Sometimes words aren't enough...
Posted by Tom Bodhi at September 9, 2005 11:26 PM
Comments
wow... images of your maze experience echo mine as if we were following in each other's tracks under the big top supporting the psychedelicized Man. I loved the blacklit room with the blinking hands and toning voices surrounding all. Revolving doors were frustratingly fun. And always, smiles for the beautiful people of Black Rock City. As for you, wounded healer, pain teaches compassion. Burning Man intensifies the evolution of consciousness. Look for synchronicities amidst chaos, and you'll find them. In dust, we trust.
Posted by: emma at September 10, 2005 07:27 PM
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