It is easy to be a carrot when your own soul is orange.
There's so much for me to say about my own personal experience this year at Burning Man, but when I start to try to talk about it, to write about it, I really feel like words are not enough. I want to hand you my own heart, let you hold it in your own two hands, feel the shape of it and how it has changed. Because it has. It definitely has.
I arrived at the playa very early this year. To fluff those who were building our little corner of what would become a city of 70,000 revelers and celebrants and, yes, burners in the middle of the desert. When I arrived, I am not going to lie. I burst into tears. Why? There was no one there. Not even the Man was standing. There were just pockets of small campsites dotting the vast horizon and I honestly felt such peace and joy and like I was really HOME.
I spent the next seven days creating magic with some of the most incredible people you'll ever hope to meet (and I mean this quite sincerely). I feel so blessed and lucky that I shared that journey with them, that kitchen in the middle of nowhere with them, the laughter and tears with them. That they put up with me and my shenanigans and would just smile and literally march in the desert sun with me as we somehow produced wine from water and manna from dust. Our evening meals, with tired workers crammed at our tables in our Fluffing Academy tent, had love bubbles bursting in the air and my heart bursting right along with them because THIS, all of THIS, was not even supposed to be happening.
But it did.
And all of us, every one of us, needs to take a bow.
Of course the city grew up all around me and the rest of the week found me giving away vegetables at our Farmers Market and Marching against Pesky Rabbits with my beloved Carrots and climbing to the tops of amazing art and taking foam showers with lots of naked people and dancing until sunrise and learning more about tantric sex and giving my heart in all the ways I know how to so many gorgeous people and receiving their hearts into mine.
That's how it changes shape.
I've explained to my professor, now that I'm back, that what Burning Man really is for me is a whole lot like what being on tour used to be like for me. Especially now that I've sorted out this going very early and fluffing business. My heart lives way outside my chest. The best medicine I have to give is the love that I share every single day. I can't even contain it, really. For me, love has no edges and loving is like breathing.
I live to love. I love to live.