That one time at burning man,
when everything made sense,
and people were respected for who they choose to be on that day.
Where everyone was grateful to share the
space and time and the energy
with beautiful strangers.
The art came to life,
and ideas became reality,
and the playa dust turned into costume.
The partiers partied,
and the truth seekers prayed,
and the yogis stood on their heads
while the city that was built from nothing evolved into absolutely everything.
This particular piece of art sang to me, literally.
Every corner that was touched made a different sound and with nothing else to do except be free, I played with this masterpiece for what felt like an eternity.
I am missing the playa,
missing the freedom,
missing the beauty.
I crave the acceptance and the intensity of the surroundings.
I long for the ability to express so freely.
I dream of this reality.
One day I’ll make it back home.
But until then, burn bright my friends.
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