We sat there huddled against the side of the truck, trying to avoid the brunt of the dust storm's blasts.
The world of the last week
was gone from the landscape.
It was there, looking down at the dirt that covered my exposed belly, in the weak wind cover of the remaining 24 foot truck, that I realized the significance of "Surrender."
So much of the Burning Man experience happens when you allow yourself to surrender.
I am covered in dirt. I have cheese, bread, and water to keep me alive. Wet naps have served as my showers. I am wearing a pink boa in my hair that matches my fabulous skirt ensemble. We are missing keys.
Everything is going according
I enjoyed a period of dust-encrusted
Zen until something occurred to me:
The universe clearly was testing me. The challenge of dressing normal felt momentarily insurmountable.
Then a familiar car pulled
up to camp.