The silky tunes of a guitar, playing the "Girl from Ipenema", gently wake me just as the sun rises over the mountains. It's Richard, our neighbor, an elder gentleman from Boston, sitting on his folding chair, picking strings. Other mornings he's just stood there, eyes closed, calm, and seemingly lost in himself, singing to the world and to himself with his pleasant, deep voice. I go over to him and thank him profusely for this nice musical treat. He just nods, smiles, and plays on.

"Good Morning, Gorgeoussss!", trumpets Gryff as I stroll over to his camp in search of a cup of joe. Is there anything nicer than waking up to Jazz and being called "gorgeous" before you're really awake to the world?

This already feels like a really slow day. I have absolutely no desire to mount my bike or pick up the camera today - I'm visually exhausted. My brain feels like it can't possibly handle any more stimulation for a while - or it will have to explode and spill onto the desert floor. How unfortunate that would be... So I decide to just kick it, write in my journal, and hang out in camp for the day. Gryff and Toddler seemingly have the same idea - they retreat to their mosquito tent by the road, and as I slump into my camping chair and write, I can't help but listen to Gryff cheerfully hollering at passerbyers "Gorgeoussss, darling! Gorgeoussss!" or "Oh, yeah! Work it, baby, work it!" - and it makes me laugh. My campmate Sarah sleeps in, Aaron goes off to pursue his own activities.



In between filling the pages, I lay down my pen and watch the endless procession of Black Rock citizens walking, parading, running, biking or driving by (or being driven). I'm in awe.

To even attempt to describe the costumes and outfits here at Burning Man would be an exercise in futility. They are as individual as all of Black Rock City's nearly 40,000 citizens. There are no definable styles, fabrics, colors, or patterns. Nothing is judged, nothing is frowned upon. Everything goes.



Only one unspoken rule seems to apply - the more outrageous, the better. Anything that blinks, flashes, spins, twirls, or pulsates - preferably in a dizzying array of colors - is considered good. Anything metal or metal-colored is good. In general, the less thread your body bears, the better. And not just because of the heat. Fishnet everything, preferably from head to toe, combined with little else, is always an agreeable choice. Ditto with sheer stuff. And of course fancy underwear (I don't think I've ever seen so many thongs in my life before...). Painted body parts (as decoration or to replace the inconvenience of clothing) are always a crowd-pleaser too. The "birthday suit" however is a definite favorite for many Burners - it combines the convieniences of having a costume ready at the drop of a hat (or less, actually), and never having to worry about clothes-induced heat stroke ...



When Aaron returns to camp in the afternoon and attempts to check the time with the key in the van, we discover that the key (the one and only!) has vanished. As he was the last one to have used it, the burden of finding it quickly falls onto his shoulders - and so does the wrath of Sarah who is responsible for the rented van. I find it odd that we're having a serious issue with the key twice in two days - but it feels like this time, the playa gods are ready to teach a tough and loveless lesson. This time, I sense, the playa won't provide. We spent a good hour turning the van inside out and upside down - no key. As night falls, searching becomes impossible, and we decide to post-pone until the next morning.



The air at camp is thick - and not just because of the ever-present dust - so I resolve to seize the rest of the day and head out to the playa to explore the night. My destination is the Temple - the spiritual center of Black Rock City. Every Burning Man has one. But while every Temple is different in architecture (this year's is red and resembles a Chinese shrine), they all have one thing in common: they are a momument to loved ones lost.

Far away from the hustle of the city and the rest of the desert art, the Temple is a place of calm and quiet, dimly lit, surrounded only by hushed voices, if that. Although scarcely finished, the citizens of Black Rock have already made the Temple their own. I take my time in reading the words, poems, letters, and notes people have written on the wooden beams and columns of the vast structure. Most of them speak of love and loss, of pain and sadness, longing and grief. Some have dedications to dead pets; one is even framed by a dog collar hung on a beam. At times, photographs are pinned next to the written words. A couple of messages tell the stories of people trying to come to terms with their own sickness or addiction. They are all true, and raw, and deeply heartfelt.



I remember my own loved ones that have passed on - my dad, my cat Charly, a friend I'd lost to cancer - and I'm suddenly struck by the profound sadness the Temple radiates. I notice how the people around me mostly just sit or stand in one place, still, alone in their thoughts, solemn. A few are crying, others are engaged in silent hugs with their friends or lovers. I had no idea that amidst all that frenetic energy, that joy and happiness, the goodwill and love that is Burning Man, I would find a place of such deep pain and sorrow.

Overwhelmed by melancholy and grief, I walk away and into the blank night. The music, lights and noises fade away, and I'm enveloped by a vast, soothing darkness. There is only the warm wind around me and the black sky above me, ablaze with stars that shimmer like a million lazy diamonds. I'm alone out here - and yet I've never felt closer and more connected to the Universe and its creatures.



So maybe this is what Burning Man is truly all about - to give us a chance to glimpse, if only for an ever-so-brief moment like this one, that there is something out there that is truly bigger than us. To tear open our minds and make us realize that we are all connected - through time and space; through the past, present, and the future. And not just to the rest of humanity, but to the Earth, the elements, the Universe, every living thing on this planet. And ultimately to have us return from the desert, back to our normal lives, carrying the sense with us that we are not alone - that compassion, truth and love can and should be part of our daily existence.



I hope this sense never leaves me. And if it does - there's always next year, and another Burning Man ...

Day 5