Eight Days

I felt an urge to take off on a trip - to do something unscripted. To document a self-expression that is increasingly precious in a society where we have perhaps become imprisoned by our own material desires. Our spirits can fly far and beyond these paradigms.

From Las Vegas through the desert to Burning Man, then on again to California, seven of us living like cubs for eight days. Stopping when we saw a stream or to stock up, otherwise racing through the landscape unhindered. No one expects to tread any new paths on a road trip. Europeans have hied themselves to America for adventure and discovery since the eighteenth century, and the Wild West has long been conquered. That was never the point. Yet somehow, every canyon we dropped down into seemed untouched, the light seeping into our bubble as if for the first time.

All humans were nomads once, and even in today's over-civilized, aspirational world we still feel a residual need to move with our own chosen communities. Tribal gatherings are as ancient a part of life, recently resurgent. I am curious about the social migrations to these larger festivities, and the pace at which they continue to gather notoriety.

The elaborate preparations, the journey to and decompression from: all give us great insight into the value of these experiences. After living in a gift economy for just a few days, timeless, insulated from all but our immediate reality, leaving Burning Man was a jolt. The first unfriendly face was stranger.

We constantly seek stimulation, entertainment and learning, expecting to find it in traditional avenues. Time with our friends and peers can offer all this, perhaps nowhere more so than on the road, where, separated from day-to-day woes, we are free to act and react in the moment.

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