The day begins with the murmur of voices, and the flap, flap, flap of hundreds of nylon tents, stretched like kites by the cool desert breeze. The sun hovers over the eastern mountains. A man rides by on a bicycle, wearing only a hat. Neighbors from around the corner, software consultants from Eugene, stroll over with the invitation to a pancake breakfast they are orchestrating from the back of their truck. Breakfast smells and the scent of morning coffee blend with dust, sweat, and sage. The sunrise yoga class is long over, and a dozen other folks are already chatting and carefully balancing their plates. Welcome to another day at Black Rock City, site of the ritual called “Burning Man.”
Many people accept the notion that “ritual” is a kind of prescience, a magic performed by people ignorant of how the world really works. The “informed” person inhabits a world machine, a world indifferently operating according to natural laws or chance. Ritual seems irrelevant, the needs it once addressed, eradicated. But are they? I believe that the Burning Man phenomena illustrates our deep need for ritual, for rites of the spirit that can restore the soul in a world robbed of its mystery. Examination of the ritual reveals a familiar logic, proof of the enduring power of ritual patterns etched in our collective memory. Participation in Burning Man can provide an escape from the confines of the individual self, demonstrating the accessibility of mystical experiences so often labeled mere psychological fictions.
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