Monday, August 25th, 2025 — Day Four: Solitude & First Ride
At dawn, I walked alone across the Playa. I had expressed one intention: To explore by myself at some point. This morning, after the storm, I put on my big boots, expecting mud... but the playa had already hardened into a nice dry crust. It was just me, the dust, and the towering wooden Man at the center. No phone. No music. Just silence. It wasn’t fireworks or spectacle—it was solitude. And it was sacred.
This was the moment I had aligned to, the moment I had manifested, and I fully received it. More than the lights, more than the music, more than the art... it was just me and the Man. I AM the man... that was the message I understood.
When I returned, it was Rebuild Number Two—cleaning mud from the camp after last night's rain storm. Then finally, we dragged our bikes out, and Jennie and I and Jim biked out into the hot vastness. Art cars rumbled by, sculptures gleamed, music floated in the distance. The day had begun, and the denizens of Black Rock City had, for the first time, truly begun to stir.
Later, after the sun set, the rain came again... and I was filled with certainty. It would pass. It would not stop our one and only excursion into the Burning Man world.
And it did stop, and magically the muddy playa hardened almost immediately. Bikes, adorned with lights were prepared, and off we went, following Jim and Sarah.
It was muted. But beautiful. We went slowly, we explored. Jennie fell off her bike (be careful of that soft playa sand that can sneak up on you!) and we walked, talked, looked at art, and got... a touch, a taste of the magic offered by the Burn.
That peaceful night ended back at camp, when at 2AM, three giant tour buses pulled up beside us, blasting music so loud it rattled our bones. Sleep was a fantasy. But still—we’d gotten our first taste of the Playa’s beauty.
Tomorrow: Leaving early, questions with no answers, and the strange phrase that defines it all—Fuck Your Burn.