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Of these, I had only shelter, and no idea I’d need the rest.“Oh no,” my friends insisted, “there’s plenty of food there.In 2009, I made a pilgrimage across the country to my first festival in a veggie-fueled bus covered in a colorful mural and filled with equally colorful folks.I’d never heard of Burning Man before my friends asked if I wanted to join their road trip.Thus we migrate from haven to haven, from city sprung from nature to settlement carved into land to hold the communities we create and then disperse, from dust to dust.We squeeze certain peculiar things secretly between our hugs to reclaim upon our next embrace in another now. The elders still tell tales, with wide smiles and reminiscent eyes.
My way of being had shifted from reactionary to creationary, and my world had morphed into a canvas.
There are places hidden between stretches of normalcy that sprout and live full lives as cities with all their macro and micro cosmic moments of sonder before disintegrating.
Then their infrastructures wander elsewhere and only nature remains.
And while it would seem that its mundaneness is our motivation for escape to festivals, its dormant potential is truly the point and purpose of our travels.
Ordinary life is the canvas on which we brush the colors we collect at festivals.