Posts Tagged ‘crucible’

My Heart is A Crucible

October 26, 2017

Burning out the pain.

Holding open the doors and the walls and keeping my hands tight

On the struts and beams rising from the foundation.

Ready to be lit a fire and burned to the ground.

Holding on to this love.

Holding on beyond the terror and the fear.


Absolute belief in our love.

Sometimes God breaks my heart.

Breaks it open.

Breaks it wide.

Breaks it so that I may hold more love.

Your love.

Our love.

And I will stand in the middle of that fire.

Let it raze me to the ground.

Purify me and savage me.

And I will still be standing when it whips through.

Wildfire love.

Ripping through me.

Demolishing my heart.

Eating it like hot tinder.

Mollify the love.

I will sing it lullabies and whisper it soft stories.

Fairy stories.

Happily ever after.

Crooning the magic of everlasting love.

Love bigger than I.

Stronger than I.

Waiting for me to grow to fit it.

Burning me down so that I start anew.


Dying in a show of flames.

In ashes.

Hot embers.

The smell of heat and passion and the knowing,

Of knowing.

Sacred knowing.

In my knowing of you.

I have been chosen by the Gods.

The old Gods I think.

Who foster this pain and suckle it.

Because it brings strength.

My courage.

My heart.

Yes there is fear.

And yet.

I dare tread there.

Knowing that I could only escape the inevitable for so long.

The fall of love into you.


This great rarity.


My rose-gold.





My absolute.





Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir
As great in admiration as herself;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,
Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
Shall star-like rise as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix’d.

Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act V Scene V

I’ll Be Here All Week

September 2, 2013

Temple Burn happened tonight.

And as the clock ticks forward another year is done.

Burning Man really does mark all sorts of anniversaries for me.

This burn, my 7th burn, has been intense, full of small revelations, and a kind of cathartic dropping away of my self.

The self that wants to be autonomous and do it my own way.

The self that wants to isolate and be by itself.

The self that will strand me at the camp, by myself, waiting for some mythical unicorn or a romantic relationship to materialize.

Instead, what has, is family.

Strong family and friend ties.

I had a wonderful dinner with my uncle this evening before the burn and we talked about the spirituality of Burning Man, which for both of us is the connection, the human connection to each other and our fellows out here.

My friend made this awesome sticker this year–Dust Cult–Family Reunion, and that is exactly what it is for me.  A place and a time where I connect and re-connect with friends, relationships becoming more than just acquaintances, but truly family.

“Hey,” he said to me, as I walked through the crowd at the burning Temple.

He smiled and held open his arms and I stepped forward into an all-embracing hug.

I had gone out to the burn, which I was loath to do at all, on my own.

I had not planned on it, I had my own plans and ideas and they got shot in the foot.

I wanted a shower so bad I rode my bike miles out to get it, only to discover that the hours had been cut short to accommodate those folks that wanted to be at Temple Burn.

I could not even muster up a resentment.

I just climbed on my dusty steed and turned around.

I thought about going to the cafe, but had no desire to fish out money from my wallet, which has been stashed in the trailer since we first got out here.

I had a night last night.

And thought, I want mellow and quiet and I don’t want crowds and I want to be alone.

Except, that well, I don’t.

I got back to camp and it was dark and empty, everyone having already left for the burn.

I thought I could stay here, make a cup of tea, I got my ya yas out last night, I went dancing, I went to Xylophage, the Flaming Lotus Girls piece,catching it as the fuel died and the art ended. I went dancing at two different art cars and at a disco party on the Esplanade.

I ferried some folks about on the golf cart.

I saw a girl struggling with a gigantic rolling suitcase walking across open playa, she was crossing from one side to the other where her ride was waiting.  I rolled up, said, get on, and took her, the suitcase and a friend carrying the rest of her gear to her camp.

I got home late and I slept “late”…9 a.m.


I had today off, my first day off, since well, I am uncertain, but it’s been over three weeks, I think.

I still have a week of being here.

I don’t know what that is going to look like.

I don’t think my family does either, but we are all a little crispy.

Everything I tried to do today back fired, gently, in my face.

Friends who I wanted to see having already struck camp and left, friends I had not known were out here, only to discover that they were and still not being able to locate them.

The man I met and spent the most magical night with ever, never finding me again and though I know where he is camped I cannot bring myself to go and seek him out.

“I don’t like being chased,” he said to me, on that night, not so long ago under the stars.

“I am not interested in chasing,” I replied.  “I am worthy of being found, if you want to see me you will find me.”

I remain unfound.

The times for the showers and the commissary being altered to accommodate for the big burns throwing me off.

My camera suddenly going kaput and when I went to download all the photographs I had taken last night the only thing that opened was some photos I took in Paris.

In 2009!

What the fuck?

I did not realize I was going to have today off, so I did not make plans to do anything and felt like I had too much time on my hands.  Then I realized, fuck, I am tired.

I took a nap in the afternoon and felt better for it.

I don’t always out here, sometimes it feels like I am no more rested then when I laid down to begin with.

Upon awakening I reviewed my day and tried something new with the camera, and voila!  My photos magically appeared again.

Then the dinner with my uncle, which was sweet and he handed me a napkin when my eyes misted talking about what this next year will bring.

I left him to do my own thing, only to get shut down.

Only to go where I was supposed to be the entire time, with my brethren at the edge of the night in the deep dark desert.

“Please, let this be the end of isolation for me, I let go of my ideas of what I need to do with my life and who I should be with.  Please help me be present for people who want me in their life,” I whispered out to the fire.

I did go to Temple.

I did watch it burn.

I could not sit in the trailer while the world was solemn and still and holding hands and each other out under the stars in the high desert air.

The lack of music, the stillness, the quiet only broken now and again by a sob, the crackle of the wood, it was eery and magic and love and family and renewal and I found myself raising my own voice into the coyote howl of love that rose warbling and grief-stricken and brazen into the heavens.

I walked forward, into the soft crush of people and said my piece.

I thought of Shadrach and his spirit.

I thought of the dying of self that I have had materialize out here.

This crucible of agony and dust and heat and fire, baking me and cracking me open again.

To raise my tear-stained face and walk into the arms of a friend I had not thought to see or have held me.

“It’s nice to see you this way,” he said to me last year as I tried on a new service position within the Burning Man community, “you were so untouchable when you were nannying.”

I remember those words and it was he that I sat in the back pew of The Church Trap the first day of the event and told fairy tales too.

Unexpected, apropos, and graced to fall into his hug.

I lay my face against his neck, sighed and let myself go, tears slid down my cheek and onto his shoulder, he embraced me and spoke kind words into my heart.

“Thank you,” I whispered in his ear, pulled away and looked into his sweet face, he kissed my cheek and melted into the crowd.

“Please help me to not isolate, please help me to be accessible and of this world.”

Seems like my prayers were answered in that moment, an unexpected, crooning lullaby of love and joy and tears, the howl of the collective human at the burn, the quiet soft voice of my friend in my ear, the embrace, the walk back under the stars, the ringing of my bicycle bell as I climbed into the saddle and rolled back to camp.

Just as my camp mates, all twelve of them that were left, tumbled out of the soccer mom mini-van to ransack the communal snacks and build a fire.

I pulled up my rocking chair and let myself be known.

I’m here all week, 8:45 and C, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Tokyo Ranger station, off of what is left of the 9 o’clock plaza.

Come by, I’ll tell you a story, let you in, hold your hand, and make you a cup of tea.




And loved ones.

Until I see you next year, I hold you close and dear, more so than you may know.

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