I just returned to Laguna after nearly 2 weeks at my third consecutive Burning Man. It’s hard to sleep as a recall all the amazing adventures, ridiculously powerful experiences, and magical people I met. It’s hard to even describe what all happened over these last days but suffice to say, it was pure magic.

A small excerpt of one memorable morning is what follows:

In the wee hours of one day I found myself cruising to the far depths of the Playa aboard a massive yacht called the Christina, surrounded on all sides by incredible friends from Bali and San Diego, all the while being serenaded by the angelic voices of Tru Osborne, Elijah Ray and The Band of Light. As we arrived at the trash fence just before sunrise, our group of jovial travelers descended onto the playa as the blood-orange sliver of sun crested the mountains in the distance, casting a deep sherbet color across all our faces. This would be just one of many a magical morning spent gazing out over the vast expanse of dust we lovingly call “The Playa”.

Later that morning, after searching unsuccessfully across the Playa for two elusive, winged unicorns, I found myself quietly and somberly entering the Temple for the first time. Unsure of what was drawing me in, as I came with neither a message nor article to be left behind, I scanned the writings on the elegantly constructed wooden framework of the building and my eyes came to a rest upon the words, “This too shall pass.” For those who’ve known me for quite some time, they would recognize this saying as one that had been uttered from the lips of my Grandmother, Molly, and also more recently by my Mother, Lauren. I’ve seen it tattooed on the arm of a man while overlooking Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo, and heard stories of my yoga teacher’s father inscribing it elegantly on the walls of his room in Sanskrit. The magic and balance of this short phrase has held more truth in these past years than I can easily summarize, and as I read it that morning, chills of recognition caressed my skin like a cool breeze and I fell to my knees on the soft dust of the Playa. Overtaken by emotion I knelt there as the tears flowed forth, emptying my vessel of the grief that I’d thought had already been spilt. Memories of my Grandmother played like an old 8mm film in my mind’s eye, as I recalled beautiful moments of times passed. As the tears waned, I kissed my hand and placed it over the message on the wall, and arose to sit in meditation before the center of the structure. For what must have been the better part of an hour I sat nearly motionless, wholly absorbed and one with all that was around me.

From one side of the temple, the soft sounds of a symphony filled the air. Compositions I knew from my childhood that had been with me a lifetime drifted quietly into my ears, filling the ambiance of the space with an elegance one could imagine flowing from the ancient churches of old Europe. This of course triggered more emotions within me, and the tears began to seep into the dust around me again. Tears of love, tears of sadness, tears of beautify, tears of hope.

As my eyes opened, and the scene around me came into focus, I recognized the face of a friend nearby with eyes similarly reddened and puffy. As one does at the temple, I extended my arm to inquire if an embrace was wanted or needed. As she melted into my arms, we both felt stronger for it. As long as it was needed, it was there. With nary a word exchanged, we nodded, softly touched hands to hearts, and slowly returned to our own spaces.

Collecting my things, I exited the Temple via the far side where the symphony was still caressing my ears with warmly remembered classics. As I looked on, the musicians wrapped up their final song and in the loving chaos that followed, I wandered through the sea of people back towards my bike and my patiently awaiting friends.

At this point, it was nearly 10AM, and was definitely time to collect a freshly baked beignet back home at the French Quarter. With these last several hours as the base for the coming day, the magic continued to flow. Surprising and unexpected gifts fell all around me like autumn leaves drifting delicately to the ground in a soft breeze.

This was all just a piece of one day. Imagine two weeks of this, and you’ll begin to have some idea of the magic of the playa; the magic of Burning Man.