A town of bright lights and loud music, boundless creativity and instant connection, a place of laughter and of tears, Burning Man is like nowhere else. Like some mythical ghost town, it rises out of the barren Black Rock Desert for just one week every year, only to disperse into nothingness. It emerges from the ancient, dried-up lake bed like a brilliant mirage, then retreats, existing only in thoughts and memories for another year. It’s not so much a city as a phenomenon. Like an eclipse, it arrives like clockwork yet retains its magic.
It is a powerful place — with its own culture, its own ethos, its own citizens. Like a religion, it has Ten Principles and thousands of loyal adherents. Like a music festival, it has a great lineup of DJs and video artists. Part Woodstock, part anarchist commune, part Maker Faire, and part space station on an exotic planet, Burning Man is many things to many people.
What struck me most was the sense of serendipity — that anything could happen at any moment, and probably would. There’s no sense making plans because they’re going to be dashed. You may not make it to the Naked Jenga and Gin Fest but you’ll encounter something better. And if you start to think it’s all just a big hedonistic party, head to the Temple and have a good cry. The full spectrum of human experience is available here.
