“I deserve peace and calm, I deserve peace and calm, I deserve peace and calm, I deserve peace and calm.”
Welcome to my 2018 Burning Man decompression. I’m opting for some alone time, tapping my temples and talking to myself which happens to be a scientifically reputable form of therapy called ~emotional freedom technique~ It’s like self-hypnosis and it’s the jam if you want an increase in creativity, ease symptoms of PTSD, cPTSD, child abuse or making yourself trip out without taking any illegal substances. “Get high on your own supply!” is the message you will hear from Sonya Sophia, this gliding fairy god-mother of emotional literacy and self-awareness. Self-transcendence too, if that’s your thing.
Even though they are starting to all run together, I remember discovering EFT on the playa in 2012. I had a visceral experience of a process of turning my own lovey-doviness in on myself. Im not going to get in to it but it had some serious Mother Mary vibes and I was not on de druuuuugs.
Be my own Daddy!
As it turns out, that gay shit makes me nauseous. Nauseous like being at the peak of a roller coaster, nauseous like I’m waiting on a difficult conversation, nauseous like the thought of giving up a bad habit, nauseous like rolling up to the gate of my eighth burn.
“Mooooooooooove. Mooooooooove into that feeling of fear.”
That’s what they say.
Even though it was in 2012 that I was provided yet another tool of self-mastery, I was like, “Great! cant wait to show the kids, they’ll love this!” As for me, the strategy I chose in life was to hug my knees as I lopped over a ledge and rolled right down the path of least resistance.
It’s just that it’s everywhere.
“I don’t think you are an alcoholic but I do think you drink when you feel powerless and you felt powerless then,” my therapist pointed out to me back in February when I first listened to Annie Grace’s “This Naked Mind: Control Alcohol”
Like Sonya Sophia, Annie Grace is all about getting in touch with what’s alive inside your beingness.
She then pummels the reader with science.
Then she’s like, “Go! Free spirit! And discover for yourself! Listen to my magic words and let them move your beingness! Bibbitty bobbitty booooo!”
This tends to be my method.
I thought this Burning Man journey was going to be about my relationship to alcohol and my commitment to sitting with myself in discomfort. “The pinch” my awesomely sober but now dead dad called it. I thought I was going on pilgrimage to patch some wounds and do a few emotional push ups in a dusty land of familiar novelty.
This will be good for my brain!
The theme was iRobot and there was a washing machine that rolled up to and flirted with my friend and then just about faced my buddy and rode away. Yes, someone created a flirty washing machine to roam the playa just asking for attention. Any alcohol craving I thought would be a central inner battle was smothered in the morphing kaleidoscope of raucous hilarity.
I went to Burning Man and I didn’t drink.
My heart bled profusely but I was considerably more hydrated than years previous.
I’ve got that going for me.
This guy said, “I had 100 problems when I drank and the day I quit I dropped 50 of them.”
Or at least I’m integrating.
Definitely met some people that dug new grooves in my brain. Grooves that open me to new feelings. A possibility of feelings that kinda make me nauseous.
And here I am, post-burn 2018, back home and tapping. If you were watching the process you would sense something akin to watching a person rock back and forth in the fetal position and talk to themselves.
That was my eighth burn, maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.
This is not a festival. Hello! I was reminded before traveling by the website. Burning Man is not a festival, kiddo. Burning Man is a metropolis, a world-wide social experiment, a community.
A famous quote from a famous veteran said something about this being an event both fun and optional that is neither fun nor optional.
I have hit veteran status and those words are alive in in in
in in in in in
B E I N G N E S S.
I am laughing but it is not without reverence.
I left my eighth burn softer and stronger.
I’m definitely still bleeding.
A virgin friend waddles next to me on bones she broke Thursday night, down a lantern lit chalky road, away from a blazing man effigy, alive with childish excitement about next year.
I live for moments of tenderness and creativity and depth.
Even if it’s all in my head.