I awoke again around noon, getting more sleep than I had any right to expect. Sunday was a relatively peaceful day for me, my wanderings far less than on previous days. The weather again drew a glowering overcast over the region and winds raised screens of dust in the distance. Some of the major landmark encampments were being pulled up and a sizable number of people were leaving, removing in the course of the day any concern that we wouldn't be able to get out because of being blocked by neighbors. I concentrated on picking up what litter I saw around me, especially near my camping area and continually found things blowing in the wind that I made it my mission to catch.

The major destination that day was the Temple of Honor. This beautiful spindly palace was the focus of a lot of intense but quiet attention. Everywhere on the walls and in improvised central shrines were eulogies to deceased people of all relations and ages. There was a poster sized print of an infant, many photos of older people, sad and even bitter statements on the death of friends and loved ones written in felt markers and cloths, books, shoes and scraps associated dead friends and loved ones.

A pair of Tibetan bells were laid on the dirt floor and rubbed to fill the air with a beautiful resonate tone. I stood for the last time inside this tall wood and paper wonder looking straight up at the central hanging sculpture swaying gently in the breeze, than stepped outside and stared at the upper spires. For a moment I was reminded a little of seeing the pointed towers of St. Basils cathedral in Moscow near the end of the Communist era, then as now nearly silhouetted against a gray nearly somber cloudy sky. The sun was indirectly visible as an odd bright spot in the overcast. This was the way I wished to remember The Temple of Honor, whole and in earnest use.

For this reason, and my wanting to get an early start on my rest for the exodus tomorrow, I wouldn't be going out to see it burn that night. Walking to Tethered Aviation to say my good-bys I passed the charred location of the Man, and digging a little I found a nail and section of partially melted neon tubing. Again the comparatively small size of the remains impressed me and already it was being covered by other wooden things piled on top to burn that night. At the Esplanade I turned right and at Tethered Aviation found Carter and some other friends We said our good-bys and exchanges hugs, and obtained some last photos with each other just as a gathering dust storm flung barriers of dust from the south.

 I hurried back along the Esplanade as a great mountain of thick airborne powdery playa dust enveloped the region, effectively creating a 'white out' condition. It was like being in a dense fog, landmarks mostly gone and only the street marking the way. Even fires were invisible a small distance away in the dust pall. Dismayingly, most of the street signs had been stolen earlier that day and I could not recognize where I was until things cleared up a bit, after I had passed my 'block'. Once back at camp I set to work packing up everything not needed to sleep that night. The dust waned enough to reveal a gray cloud overhang partially open to the west, where the sun would soon appear. The conditions looked favorable for a great sunset so I made sure my film and digital cameras were ready.

The sun broke through the cloud gap just as another great tide of dust began to sweep through. The sun glared fiercely through the gathering dust, then its light was spread through thicker dust clouds until the brightening gave way to intervening thicker masses which dimmed the light. The dust storm shrieked through the region as the sky prematurely darkened. Dense shredded cloud like billows passed in overlapping layers across the dimming sunlight. The white disk of the sun itself could be unflinchingly seen as a pale round disk vaguely surrounded by a modest cool gray glow emerging from the dark tan gray surroundings. The sight resembled what some automated landers have photographed in the dusty skies of Mars.

As this storm steadily swept by the overhanging clouds caught the last red rays of the distant setting sun a little, giving a last Burning Man sunset as the rear of the great dust storm withdrew to the north.

That night while finishing my early packing I saw the light of the Temple fire emerge and grow dramatically even from a mile away. The light of that fire lit up the surrounding mountains and gave a golden glow to the sky surrounding it. Even from this distance I saw a major fire tornado emerge and stand nearby, perhaps bringing to many the idea of that which was focused there being released.

The persecution of the participants was not as bad as the last few years although there continued to be signs of official harassmant. The police had apparently kept a lower profile than in previous years. Occasionally a sheriff truck would be seen but hardly any uniformed cops rode around in those toy like big wheeled All Terrain Vehicles. There was presumably a greater undercover effort. I did hear of a 'Grand motherly' woman being busted for giving away Cannabis enriched brownies.
As before Bureau of Land Management rangers pulled guns on people for smoking Cannabis, repeatedly roaring out of the darkness and frequently searching widening zones of tents once a pipe or a little cannabis was found somewhere. Coached to write as many petty citations as possible uniformed thugs essentially took money from people at the point of a gun dozens of times during Burning Man. At least one person was plausibly reported fined when his cigarette rolling papers were considered narcotics paraphernalia! During roundups and arrests foreign nationals were said to be given special scrutiny. In the sinister climate of the current American administration it is not hard to imagine word coming down to clamp down on something counter to their political and religious agenda. One normally doesn't think of the BLM as jack booted oppressors but they have earned that reputation at the event, issuing 102 drug related citations. I can only hope that in karmic retribution some of these awful people will themselves experience something like what they inflicted on people who didn't deserve it. I am ashamed that they work for the same Department of the Interior as I was professionally nurtured within decades ago.
The police to their credit apparently wrote only 9 citations, but 3 of the five arrests they did make, according to a report I consider plausible, occurred in one incident as a trio of men being amorous with one another at the chill room of the 'Space Virgins' camp were rushed upon and arrested on charges of 'Infamous Crimes Against Nature'. They were handcuffed, locked up in the Lovelock County Jail for 12 hours, then had all charges dismissed the next day and were driven back to the event!
There was also said to be a more stealthy presence, reported with varying plausibility, of various federal agencies testing out crowd monitoring cameras and other devices amid the revelry in the darkness.

The 'Eyes of Gawd' floating in the darkness were later rumored to be part of a surveillance experiment. I pass this along as a baldly untrue rumor rather than something represented as a fact if for no other reason than to record that such stories were being circulated after the event. In fact the 'Eyes of Gawd' was a creation of a creative group called 'The Tribe' with no nefarious affiliations. Stories of federal agencies curious about what the hell goes on there is something difficult to evaluate. In the sinister climate of the current American administration it is not hard to imagine word coming down to clamp down on something counter to their philosophy. While a reasonable person could plausibly discount the idea as paranoia there may yet emerge credible stories about this shadowy topic. One E-playa post of apparent but unknowable sincerity relates an alleged quote from a 'fed' that "We're not concerned with the behavior of the people here. We are just testing equipment that's designed to keep track of traffic patterns at large remote encampments" A high end fishing boat radar capable of seeing even distant objects on the playa a few inches (about 10 CM) in size was said to be mounted atop a tower near center camp at the corner of Certain' and 'Authority' provided an electronic overview of the surroundings, and was said to be always on the lookout for gate crashers.

As things turned out over 2000 people required medical aid, over a quarter for dehydration and exposure to the elements, especially skin cracking due to alkaline dust exposure. Hundreds more were banged up such as in bicycles while going too fast for the visibility, or from being scraped, bashed, and cut in various mishaps. The sense of being aware only of local events by and large seemed to continue through the event, although to their credit the Black Rock Gazette brought their daily information out with both good and bad events covered. I never even heard about the two plane crashes past the far end of the city at the time. The major personal danger this year was probably being struck in the dark by lightless bicycles hurtling by. My always having a flashlight on at night probably helped to avoid even close calls such as I had experienced in previous years.

Monday September 1 started for me at 6 AM with a hurried rolling of the sleeping bag and breakdown of the tent under a golden cloudy sunrise. Due to previous effort the region was spotless, with pristine playa textures revealed from underneath our tents, tarps and cars. By 7:15 we were on our way out of the Playa, passing rapidly dissolving camps. We got out of there at the beginning of that days tremendous exodus although the number of departures yesterday seem to have made leaving the Playa happen more quickly than last year. On the way out traffic was stopped for a little while by an accident involving an RV which lost control and dug itself into the roadside. After getting gas and the usual breakfast in Fernley we uneventfully drove to Grass Valley. There I had a hot bath and an unexpected gathering with some old dear friends who had gathered there to meet us that day. It was a reunion of people who had lived at the communal mansion household in Atherton we had come of age in during the 1970's, crossing paths again after so many years. As I fell asleep that night the Playa was again receding into a dreamlike memory, as it would remain until I again drove tent stakes into the cracked playa.

               Below is an elaborate large Theme Camp banner, with imagery based on the work of Alex Gray

Some concluding thoughts:

Although I continue to think of myself as a 'latecomer' to the event, of the people I spoke to almost all had only been there two or three times, with perhaps a fifth being there the first time. I am making the transition from being a 'newcomer' to an old 'timer' at the annual art festival, with trends and highlights defining themselves. When I first went to Burning man in 1997 the event was half its current size and you could do anything you liked with impunity so long as it didn't involve guns, explosives, and non art cars. There were no arrests that year, the police serving as a constructive rather than a harassment influence and no greedy gun toting BLM goons peering into private areas.
Of course now long gone are the days one could safely light up a pipeful of Cannabis or urinate out in the emptiness. A web of surveillance using night vision equipment provided nearly as little privacy, even out in the open, as in a prison yard.
This years Burning man festival was in my observation a fabulous thing to experience, undoubtedly continuing to send out cultural 'echoes' as more people realize what fun such a thing can be. There is more talk of regional similar events springing up. Perhaps at such smaller burns the initial freedoms will be enjoyed until they too grow large enough to attract the attention of the cops and especially the BLM. Inevitably with enough people involved things have to be reigned in a bit to keep folks from getting killed. Such concerns as well as the headaches of grappling with federal agencies and groups hostile to the event have confronted the Burning man organization over recent years. As the gathering gradually escalates into a sizable movement a lot of dedicated smart people have done what they had to do so the event would survive. Whatever criticisms old timers may have about what no longer happens there, the fact is that the festival is thriving and continues to work its influence on the culture by 'rolling with the punches' thrown at it and continuiously incorporating safety and logistics issues into its next event cycle based on previous experience.
Being away from the world of jobs and car traffic and corporate assault on our sense breeds an awareness of what can be brought forth when people assume responsibility for their surroundings.

Don Davis

October, 2003