BUNING MAN 2002-PAGE SIX OF SIX

5. The extended end

 Sunday was first a late rest day until it got too hot, but I decided to donate sets of batteries to the cause of more sleep. With the fans and a wet towel draped over me I squeezed more rest out of that morning. This was the day to see what there was left to see. Certainly the Temple Of Joy was the main attraction by then, although the traditional Pyromid was also still a prominent landmark. Many other camps were tearing themselves apart, and before the day was out nearly a quarter of the people seemed to have left.

  The first place I walked to was the site of the Man, all of which had become a surprisingly small very flat sooty spot on the Playa. People were picking through the charcoal for relics such as nails, twisted scraps of aluminum, and melted short bits of neon. A special 'base layer' of a coarse grained sand had been initially laid down to insulate the Playa surface from the fire, and it looked like this would be easy to sweep up.

  I made it a point to use the temple as intended again this year. The 'Temple Of Joy' slowly grew from a tiny landmark on the horizon to a magnificent skeletal tower with tiny figures in and around it. People were singing, playing instruments, and photographing the building. More than once people approached me and asked me to obtain a photo of them with the creation of Pete Best behind them.

  Inside There were mounted on every available surface little shrines and written tributes to various departed ones. There were many stacked wooden blocks with things written on them, and it was rumored someone had even spread his fathers ashes there. I dwelled on death for a bit and then thought of poor Bob who has killed himself months ago. I picked up a small wooden block and wrote a few words about my recollections of him and to wish him well, formed an image of him in my mind then buried the little block among the many others in a large central bin. I walked around it and admired it from many angles, seeing the last rays of the Sun to touch the tall latticework structure. I then left and never saw the temple close up again.

  Much of what happened across the city that day worthy of mentioning was gleaned from posted reports I consider probably true. Two ongoing problems which hounded many (but not me) came to a head on Sunday. The worst nagging concern was the enormous amount of theft of everything from bicycles and food to artwork. Of the 10 skulls lining the border of a nice modest camp only 2 remained late in the week. A young woman walked away from her bike in the open Playa and watched someone run up, mount it, and ride it away. Her appeals to a passing cop were answered with the statement that she should have locked her bike. Hundreds of bikes were taken, even some which were locked! A particular heartbreak was the theft of many of the large model dragonflies from the beautiful 'lily pad' I stumbled upon the previous night. Many art installations were defaced or suffered theft of portable elements. The giant white whale was stolen and harpooned!
  I wanted to be ready to get out of there early, so I decided to miss the burning of the Temple of Joy, assuming it would be late like last year. I did see its light dominate the sky for a time despite its distance, at or even before the appointed time. A massive whirlwind of glowing ash emerged from the fire and loomed beyond the tents. It slowly drifted apart from the fire that birthed it like the heartfelt tributes to the dead being forwarded to that which receives all. A group of ducks were released nearby and they circled and may have entered the spark laden smoke cloud, then they all flew away into the night.

  Someone left a pipe near the entrance of the Starlight Drive-In camp, and upon finding it the cops rousted the camp owner from his tent, found some Cannabis, and sent him to Reno in handcuffs. The Law Officers seemed to creep from the shadows on Sunday and poke around more aggressively among peoples spaces.
According to published reports the BLM goons issued 136 citations for drug related offenses, while the Pershing County Sheriffs office saw fit to issue only four. A Sheriff saw people huddled together through a partially open tent flap and he aggressively investigated. The people supposedly sharing a pipe were actually looking at the tiny screen of a digital camera admiring pictures of the Temple burn!
Of the 1,288 people admitted to the Regional Emergency Medical Services Authority, only 22 had drug related problems requiring first aid. Most of the casualties were from dehydration, caustic dust exposure to feet and the eyes, flesh wounds, and a few burns and broken bones. Nobody seems to have died this year.
 Prior to 1999 the fee charged by the BLM to the Burning man organization was 2 dollars per person per day, the BLM doubling the fee after that year! Of the half million dollars taken from the BMorg, only half the money is actually spent by the BLM on the event, the rest reportely being pocketed into local coffers. Terry Reid, field manager of the Winnemucca BLM office, stated in an interview that the extra money "has definitely helped us financially".

 We were going to get out of there very early Monday, actually in our cars by 7 AM. This required us to pack everything we did not actually need to sleep. I tore away the mylar covering from my tent, cutting free all the stronger anchors I had so carefully created a week ago. The stuff ended up as a crinkley silver and brown tape ball which was coaxed into one of the trash bags. Due to careful efforts at compacting cans and such there was none of the last minute trash volume crisis of last year. Our region was remarkably clean after the departure of most of our neighbors and we took care of whatever we saw blowing along the ground. I collected feather boa scraps, an empty zip lock bag, and numerous small wrappers. Everyone around us who had already left had done a sterling job of cleaning up. I declined to wash my car this time, setting aside my unopened water containers for the cleanup crew.

  At 5:30 AM we awakened abruptly and begin rolling up sleeping bags and cushions and taking down the tents. I got at least 5 hours of good sleep when I was shaken out of dream state, which I forgot instantly like the unsaved work when your computer loses power. We had practically zero waiting time until the last quarter mile before the road, when the cars of many people who also followed our strategy crept behind those turning left onto the highway. Our trip back home was uneventful, the traditional re-entry into California accompanied by a good natured agricultural inspector waving on my Playa dust encrusted rental car.

 After we left the weather really went wild, Tuesday beginning several days of severe winds and white out conditions only hinted at on Friday. Much of the initial cleanup efforts were hampered by this storm. Wreckage of art and random trash (including the white whale) and an entire tent were found buried in the new dunes. Many people had simply failed to truck out their trash.
My basic feelings concerning Burning Man have remained largely unchanged, I am glad I went and I intend to do so next year. I see the evolution of the event over time as a skillful dynamic grappling with the popularity of the event as well as the heat such prominence draws from the repressive elements of the government. Rather than a crass sellout of the original ideals of the 'Temporary Autonomous Zone' the organizors have done what was necessary to provide for the survival of the event in the face of some hostility from the BLM and a few extremists citing concerns ranging from environmental to religion!. There was every sign not only of renewed vigor but of a comfortable ratio of creative effort versus spectators. My guilt in not doing more myself is partially offset by my efforts to share the sights and impressions of Burning Man as they were experienced. It is the experience itself I shall treasure always, and the artist and observer in me at least trying to share something of it all, however inadequately and incompletely.

  Late that night once again a trio of old friends strode together in the night, just outside the Grass Valley home of the Seagraves. The stars finally looked as they should, in a dark moonless mountain night. For a time the feebly starlit gravel road we used as a path ran parallel to the luminous Milky Way overhead, and our footsteps seemed to be taking place among the landmarks of the sky.

Don Davis

October 2002