When I tell you that I have never felt so alone in my life as I did in the Temple at Burning Man I do so with liquid squishing out of my tear ducts.
I live alone. I've raised a kid on my own. I've owned 3 houses on my own. I showed up to Burning Man, a middle aged woman, on my own and camped, on my own, in the desert. And last year I drove across Canada on my own camping.
So this feeling of being alone, the terrible poignancy of it, struck me sideways. The resonance of it, over two weeks later, had me waking up in tears this morning.
It is a feeling I no longer can run from. It found me in the Temple in the desert and it is not going away. That's what I recognized this morning as I woke and recoiled from the desolation of being faced with that alone feeling first deeply etched into my soul in the Nevada desert.
For alongside that memory of stark barren aloneness is a treasure chest of memories on the Playa that assure me that I am not alone, I am lovable, I am worthy and my life has meaning - my mere existence is a gift in this universe.
My pilgrimage to Burning Man has shed new meaning on old identities: yours, mine and ours. And despite the discomfort, I am willing to continue the exploration. The journey is fascinating!