I had only heard stories. I had only seen my friends as they returned to their homes from this apparently sacred place, their hair a cartoonish mold of clay that prompted a dust storm every time the shook their heads in disbelief. They spoke of a place where everything was free from the stresses of whatever reality we all assumed we were used to. Their souls always seemed a little shattered by the unfortunate transience of it all, but they told stories of love and family and "being home." I had never been there, so of course I couldn't fully comprehend it, only attempt to imagine and dream of a place like this in my head, which was always dashed by the Bitch that was reality's logic and principle. Now, while approaching our own theoretical post-apocalyptic life, we have seen it. Now, with every fiber of our being, we understand. Now, after our epic adventure's well-earned vacation, we too have been to Burning Man.

Secluded from civilization in the middle of the harsh Nevada desert, Burning Man is a week long festival of art, culture, and spirituality in a temporary five-mile span called Black Rock City. People come from all over the world and set up their camps in a circular shape that surrounds an open playa that is filled with all shapes and sizes of art, which at the end of the week all get burned alongside the festival's centerpiece: a giant glowing Man atop a pedestal, arms raised into the air as if to symbolize the embodiment of pure joy and unadulterated freedom. Here you'll see some of the most incredible displays of costuming and decoration you're sure to see in your life, and it brings out an unfiltered desire to participate with comfort and ease. Complete with labeled streets and landmarks, BRC is a heavily biked city that is riddled with art, activities, parties, lectures, bars, costume shops, and basically every type of point of interest you can imagine. There's no less than a million things to do at any given moment in the day or night, which makes sleep a rarity and exploration a must.

That's the logistics. Experience-wise, it's not an easy thing to explain to someone who hasn't been there; it is very much something that people can only really wrap their heads around if they see it themselves. I could attempt to tell you about the haze when the sun is up and the neon lights when it's down; the sunrises over the playa and the buzz of energy at sunset; the absolute party that ensues with an exploding man or the feeling of sacred release as the temple burns to the ground; the feeling of handing your cup to a friendly face as they fill it up or the absolute brutality of the playa's dust, but it simply doesn't do it justice. It's impossible to paint these pictures. For one week out of the year it exists in reality and for the other 51 weeks it exists only in the dreams of those who know it and long for it. 

What I can say is that everything you've heard about it, whether at first you thought it cheesy, irrational, or weird, is absolutely true. The sense of home they speak of is nothing short of accurate, and the idea of utopia is undeniable. What blew my mind more than anything else was the success of it all, and all due to the respect that is shown there. Beyond just the Leave No Trace policy, everybody at Burning Man is a believer in giving; nobody is there to take. There is no money. There is no vending. There are no corporate logos. Everywhere you go, you meet people, and every time you do, they greet you with a friendly Hello, ask you (and genuinely) how you are, and nine times out of ten they give you something. There seems to be no aggression, only sharing, whether it's a piece of art, a shot of whiskey, a hug, a magic trick, or a spanking. Here people have the freedom to be who they feel they can't be when the real world stifles them. They pour their hearts and souls into the work they create and it shows in the absolutely monumental pieces of art that can be seen there, right up to the moment they are set aflame and burned. What metaphorical revelations people take away from it depends on the person, but sacrifice and release is common and encouraged.

And let it be known, the last thing about Burning Man we can really vouch for now is Decompression. Coming back into the real world is a bitch. Realizing that consumerism, aggression, ego, drama, and selfishness still exist, and to the extremes that they do, is nauseating. And a word to the wise: don't EVER go to Las Vegas as an attempt to Decompress from Burning Man, as we quickly discovered that Vegas is its evil opposite (in fact, don't ever go to Vegas at all, because it's ugly and hot and stupid). It takes a toll on a lot of people and it's understandably difficult to suddenly have to pack up and leave a place you've come to call your otherworldly home. The best thing we can do is remind ourselves that a temporary utopia exists for us one week out of the year, and in the meantime, we can do our best to spread the things that make it successful to those who have no yet had the pleasure of experiencing this enlightened society.

As a side, among the many things I appreciated about Burning Man was their system for dealing with media. Like I said, I'd only ever heard stories. As in, I had never seen video footage of the Man burning on YouTube, or photographs of beautiful nude women riding their gloriously decorated bicycles through the dusty playa on Google Images, or advertisements for next year's burn anywhere in popular media. That's not to say they're not out there, but if they are, they're against the admirable policy that Burning Man laid out to me on day one when I went to their media tent to get my photographer pass, which on it said in bold writing: MEDIA PASS: This entitles you to nothing in particular." As far as media goes, anything and everything documented at Burning Man is subject to approval before it gets posted anywhere or used for anything commercial. In many ways, this keeps Burning Man under wraps the way that it should be kept. Anybody who disagrees with this rule has misunderstood the concept and the goal here. There's a reason so many people in the country still don't even know what Burning Man is, and that's because it's a sacred experience that should be kept as such. So if you're wondering why I chose to only tease you with one photo from the dozens of incredible images I was able to capture there, that's why.

 

This is where we last spoke. Behind an offbeat gas station run by an obese feline in some Podunk town 500 miles outside of Denver, I somehow acquired enough Wifi to tell you the story of Fairfield, Iowa. And since then, there's been an entire universe between our story and the possibility of telling it.

The desert's gone on forever. We're dehydrated, irritable, weak and deteriorating. It's a school bus's seventh circle of Hell and the landscape is unforgiving and never seems to seize. We're holding ourselves together with a rapidly deteriorating supply of glue that feels like the last precious drops of water in our canteen. We're snapping; crumbling to pieces in the merciless heat, and just when I tried to keep my head above the ground and hydrate on the idea that it would all be alright, two have separated from our group of nine with the expression of a different intention, their actions proof of a separate interest. Whether we'll become nine again come New Orleans remains to be seen, but now we are seven.

For the last week and a half, our team has been off the grid. We booked it from Fairfield, Iowa to Denver, Colorado after scooping up an extra four en route to Burning Man, an intense festival of art, culture, and spirituality in the harsh Black Rock City desert of Nevada. There is so much to say about what has happened to the dynamic of our group and project in that time, but it can be somewhat summed up in a pillar we all expected to approach at some point in this trip: the point where we all lose our fucking minds. I assume it happens on every long tour that involves a slue of backgrounds and personalities, where the road seems to go on forever and the thought of listening to the same voice say anything from "You're wrong" to "I love bubbles" only makes you want to stab your eyeballs out with plastic kitchen utensils. The point where all the coffee tastes like sludge and the thought of jumping in another hot dumpster triggers your gag reflex. The point where true colors sneak to the surface and the hardest decisions show their ugly faces and demand addressing. And what better place for this to happen to any team than that unfathomably long stretch of the United States that is covered in desolation and nothingness? What better place than the God forsaken barren wasteland that is the desert?

The bus is being pushed to its limit, right alongside our sanity and will to continue, but we're pressing on. We're battling sickness, tears, loneliness, and confusion, with a little claustrophobia and agoraphobia thrown in, just to make things interesting. We're popping wellness pills and anxiety meds like candy and chugging watered down Gatorade with only our imaginations to chill it. Our boogers are dried out and our lips are chapped. But we approach the wetlands of the South with all the quickness we have, because we will not let this desert beat us.

There are still so many stories we want to show and tell to the world, and if nothing else, the vast emptiness that is this wretched desert trying to destroy us has made us realize even more so that this project is bigger than all of us. We've discovered the true intentions of those of us left and they are pure and unsullied, as well as entirely mutual within the group. So to the amazing people out there we're yet to find, keep looking up for that giant red school bus, because we're still looking for you. We may be a little sweaty, disoriented, and tired when we get to you, but we still want to tell your story. And to everyone else watching, wondering if maybe we drove the bus off the edge of the planet and into oblivion, fret not, because even though decompression and our return to civilization has knocked us on our asses, we're slowly picking ourselves up again and making our way back. So check back soon.