Tldr: Edge Esmeralda 2026 was awesome; lots of lovely, dynamic, holistic people working on important things, many of them focused on new culture, new governance, and health. I played sports or danced w friends most days. I learned to vibe code way better. I was challenged most by the tension between listening and building. I was affirmed and inspired in my own work, and feel committed to weaving this community more fully.

--

It was a month and a half ago that I landed at edge Esmeralda in Healdsburg, CA. Before I even arrived, I carpooled another edger, Charlie. He's working on cryptographic liquid democracy, which is one of the most exciting innovations in governance, I think. One could call it ‘liquid d’. Lots of edgers were circling around the concept of liquid d… Its something I thought I’d be working on more, but its out of my scope technically, and I dont want to reinvent the wheel.

I paid $800 for a week at edge - week 2 for governance and ai. I mostly expected to be gifted a full month ticket, but was ready to find any creative way to continue my attendance. On the last day of my paid week, an extra ticket found me.

When I arrived, the front desk attendee asked me my interests and recommended a few events and people to talk to. It was a warm welcome. When I turned away to get in line for the blood draw for the full panel metabolite assessment or whatever, the campground coordinator i had been put in touch with walked up to me and apologized for leaving me on read for two weeks. She offered to drive me to the tree-net weaving workshop at the campground later that day, and show me the ropes. She really did..

We dropped into quite a deep connection that day, and continued to deepen that connection almost every day for the next 3 weeks. The connection felt serendipitous; too synchronistic, too fast, seemingly too unlikely. And that, perhaps, is the most important story about my Edge-ing.

Many edgers are trying to engineer serendipity better. One of them is even named Seren. She's great, and her project is called Index Network (a user intent matching ai agent protocol).

The first week, I drifted between projects and talks, trying to soak up all I could, get my bearings, sense the scene for optimal alignment potentials.

I felt minimally productive.

I organized one workshop where I led a meditation, followed by emergent connection and dialogue. One participant told me that my guided meditation brought him the most relaxation he had felt for as long as he could remember. That same participant urged me to start using claude code and codex, whereas I had been only copy-pasting code from standard chat-dialogues before then. I had been planning to soon start using these proprietary frontier models to code, but Steve pushed me to just send it ASAP. And it was well worth it. $120/month for a high-level and blindingly fast software engineer. Its a no brainer.

The temporary (“pop-up”) city/conference in nor cal felt special in many ways.

So much overlapping work. So much play. So much flow.

I remembered how much I’ve missed intentional community. I remembered how much I’ve missed intimate lovership. I remembered how much I miss sports.

How much I love all those things. And how much I want to facilitate more of these high quality experiences and connections for more people. Better user matching. Better inter/personal values /philosophical exploration. Better hands-on learning by doing. Better real world discovery.

During edge, I made lots of new friends. Met Mark Zuckerbergs sister. Developed many crushes. Learned to be much more sex positive. Had my first highly successful three way (three way contact dance, I mean..). I met people working on the same things as I am, equally excited to work on building a new world. I discovered Artizen.fund and got 9k in initial funding. I rebuilt my website ( www.posits.earth ), and started loading many new to-dos into my almost-mostly-automated agent pipeline.

I stayed up, on average, ~5 hours past my bedtime. It was always worth it. Still, sometimes more than others.

I had some of the most serene moments I'd ever had.

There's another edge city in October, in Goa, in southern india. Right next to Kerala, the socialist indian state. Which is right next to tamil nadu, where the biggest ecovillage in the world lives. A spiritual ecovillage, no less.

Maybe see you there? Or in France afterwards, for a pop-up relational-practice deep dive community gathering? It will be based in large part on IFS, NVC, circling, and possibility management (a good stack!).

Let me know..

https://regenera.community/residencies/phase-iii/

Next posts in queue:

• a review of Life since Edge: the 250th independence of the “free world” anniversary/tea party 2.0/new constitution shenanigans, a final hotspring adventure; whiteboard shibari playtime; dancing with a hundred thousand crows; and an emergent world tour.

• “Why be vulnerable” — an exploration of the value of mixing public and private, work and play, quantity and quality.

• “Philosophy and my interpersonal relating stack”

• “Monism vs nondualism vs dualism vs trinitarianism vs infinity”

• an interview w me about my life and work

- - In progress

- - Faze

P.s. I also learned that simply eating saliva leaves can get you in touch with the collective subconscious of gaia. Pretty cool!

Looking back on pictures, I have an incredible amount of respect for all the work and inspiration and love that went to create such a long lasting, powerful, and large spiritual eco-village. None of the challenges facing Sirius can ever detract from the beauty of all the gifts it has given the world.

I moved out a year and a half ago, and I have rarely looked back—I am so glad to have had the opportunity to explore a new version of myself in California. Still, I have at times felt a deep longing for a return to that community of friends and lovers, and for the beauty I know Sirius continues to hold.

I was asked today how that experience impacted me—what the lessons were and how it informs how I relate to community now. Living there was incredibly rich because I learned so much from everyone. It felt like living in a large home with cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents—an eclectic mix with true diversity in character and approach to life. Despite our differences, we shared a kinship, a genuine care for one another, and a collective mission to help our community thrive.

In the community, we practiced permaculture; I worked on the chicken co-op, took care of the birds, mended the roof, pruned trees, and harvested berries, nettles, chard, and nuts. I mixed mud and straw for building, played with fire and flashing, wire and lashing, and tried our best to fix our own machines. We discussed world politics and spiritual philosophy and meditated together. We talked about our emotions deeply and vulnerably, made plans for the business model, and supported events and workshops. We made decisions by consensus, where if one person disagreed, a proposal was blocked.

Ultimately, I think I left because I wanted a deeper sense of alignment with my values — a greater sense of shared direction with those around me, and in how those values translated into shared practice. I longed for more cohesion, coherence, and unity—and through that unity, the strength to impact the world and better care for ourselves and each other.

I lived in a house with seven or eight close friends—people close in age or spirit / the young folks house—yet there were many challenges within that intimate pod. I think our youth played a role in that, as did the ways we were isolated or personally wounded. I struggled with my health, energy levels, and financial stability, and all of that created a rocky foundation for the romantic relationship that underpinned almost all of my time at Sirius.

There were so many beautiful moments of connection: community dinners, ecstatic dances, cuddle puddles, movie nights, walks in the woods, deep conversations, massages, and music jams. Our community meetings were filled with laughter and singing, but also with tension and raw emotion. It was all there—rich, intense, and sometimes mundane. Many of us were hoping for stronger leadership to take us in a more unified direction—to facilitate a self-reinforcing synergy that could serve as a model for other communities and movements to embrace a shift toward cooperative, holistic, and regenerative practices.

I left because I felt I would learn more and grow more out in the world, engaging more fully with technology, mainstream culture, economy, and finding more resonant communities. I wanted to grow faster, and I had always been questioning some of the norms and standards of Sirius and its capacity for the radical growth I longed for (and still do!). I felt that there were too many people—myself included—who were not clear enough about the direction they wanted to head, and so became quite entrenched in their routines and comfortable discomfort. I have become much clearer since, and even more comfortable with my own uncertainty.

If I were to build a new community or join another, I would want sufficient alignment, baseline self-awareness, and the relational fluency to facilitate something more like consent-based sociocracy for a more trusting and experimental process. Ideally, the community would have more shared practice and buy-in to a particular project or plan, and a set of routines and rituals that supported collective growth more fully.

During my time at Sirius, I dabbled in permaculture and nonviolent communication; I spoke with community veterans about spirituality and the history of the communal movement, learning about the trials and successes of the eras that came before us. I became good friends with elders the age of my grandparents, with whom I’d never had a close relationship. In a sense, I found a new family—a more meaningful one than I had known for most of my life. I found deep validation in being seen and accepted by elders I respected, who held powerful roles in the community. I cried on multiple occasions from their acceptance and encouragement.

We were “loosely” spiritual, ecological, political, and intimate. We weren’t dedicated to any particular path, perhaps because we were all trying to hold so much—our dreams, creative endeavors, and passions. Many of us were seeking something radically different from mainstream society, likely because we felt critical of—and perhaps resentful toward—the state of the world.

In my transition away, I have leaned into embracing a deeper spirituality of acceptance. I am learning to welcome challenges and to better understand the norms of our culture, recognizing that they exist for a reason. Accepting these social norms does not mean shying away from change, radical exploration, or pushing firmly for what I believe is better. Instead, it opens the door to a more sober, balanced perception of what is truly needed in this moment. I want to surround myself with people who are settled; in their groundedness, they are even more energized to shirk norms in pursuit of great advancement.

All in all, participating in a spiritual, educational nonprofit for so many years of my young adulthood was incredibly illuminating. It helped me mature and showed me my own limitations by confronting the limitations of my social environment. The primary lessons I learned from my time in community: it’s easier to be humble when being competent really matters; self-care is essential in order to take care of others in a sustainable or deep way, and sometimes self-care means taking space and time away from caring for others; people are complicated, and not always ready to change quickly; communal living is not always the best way to live, neither for everyone, nor for anyone at all times in life.

I’ve recently felt longings to returning to Sirius to be with good old friends and support the transition to new life, a new organization, and perhaps rekindle the closeness that once lived there. The old pictures bring up the sweet memories of togetherness. But I do not think that is in my highest interest at this time. I seek to settle here in the Bay Area, and explore more globally, to find greater alignment, and to connect with others who pursue joy, excitement, and exploration through the stability, inner strength, and consistency that comes with an easeful and abundant relationship to life.

I am at edge city as I write this — a temporary, pop-up eco/tech community experiment, connected to an emerging, permanent residential-community project and networking with others. I sense something more aligned coming into flow over here around the SF Bay. And I am eager. And patient.

For further insights, check out the departure letter I wrote to Sirius:

—Faze Point ·θΦθ·

This post includes many photos and some videos, so much of it will be cut off through email. You’ll have to visit the Substack site to get the full experience.

This post is about a big transition for me — one I’m just now finalizing. It’s a continuation of the kind of radical adventure my life has been all along, and even more so the adventure that has followed my leap of faith into California 9 months ago. Following a family tradition towards radical communitarianism, I fell in love many times with and within intentional community, ecstatic dance and contact improvisation, and Burning Man. Now, I’m doubling down on this expedition.

In my last post 4 months ago, I wrote about landing in my new home after the Big Burn with a stop-gap sweetheart, weekend forays to the big city, doing solar landscaping/construction with an old comrade from back east, buying a truck (a ‘98 Dodge Ram), embracing the idea of romantic partnership once again, and feeling ready to head onwards, out of the Ukiah ranch-lands, to explore the rich expanse that is Northern California (NorCal).

5 days after that post — on new years eve — I met my first Californian lover. I decided to go out on the town, in search of companionship. I found it on the dance floor at the pub, while the local rock band played. It was wearing an exceedingly elegant, reptilian-inspired outfit. She liked my neon orange monochromatic outfit as well. We got talking, and sat down. I enticed her into some eye-gazing, and then taught her contact improvisation… over the table. She took to it like a moth to flame. Dancing fingers became dancing hands became dancing arms, and this rising wave climbed out of those rigid chairs, and burst back onto the dance floor. We lit up the place, I think. An older man told us that he’d never seen such an amazing, eccentric dance form, that we made his night, and to keep up the good work.

We danced more at the ecstatic dance that weekend, had a lovely few days together, and then things sputtered. I let it go, sensing she wasn’t all in.

Two weeks later, my new friend Chris told me about an exciting dance party happening at a fascinating community hub in Santa Rosa called the Arlene Francis Center for Spirit, Art, and Politics. It was an installment of their glitter/goth series — a whole night of dual DJ sets in different rooms — one featuring disco, Latin beats, glittery music, etc. and the other featuring hard rock, metal, experimental stuff, etc. I got in line for the door, and there she was, standing in front of me, and wearing a matching monochromatic blue outfit, like mine. I didn’t press the connection, I just let it unfold with ease. Before too long, she came to me and asked to dance. And boy, did we dance that night. And man, have we danced since. Her name is Dell. And she’s an artist.

We spent most of the nights of following two weeks together. It was explosively exciting, and comfortably easy for us both, I think. Around that time, Chris had convinced me to try the nomadic lifestyle, in the bed of my truck. It felt like the right move, and I was ready to just ‘send it’ into the unknown of Sonoma county, southwards by an hour, towards the San Francisco Bay. Also around that time, I started spending quite a bit of time with another special human, Jenna-Reeder, a powerful generator of deep presence, humility, and divine-feminine embodiment.

I got a camper shell for my truck-bed-bed. It was a perfect fit, already adapted for ‘camping’, and about as affordable as could be. Dell helped christen the new home with a beauty that captured the new name for her that was channeled. They say naming your vehicle gives it more love, care, and protection. And, it’s fun. My truck is blue-green, like the fertile ocean, and was to be my safe-haven from the authorities and the uncertain future, to facilitate my journey to new lands. She would be a creature of the depths, birthing a new life, wielding covert power. So, she would be a sea nymph, of course. I thought of Calypso, from Pirates of the Caribbean — seductive, dark, powerful, ancient. I then (re)learned that Calypso is first written about in Homer’s “The Odyssey”, as the goddess who holds Odysseus captive on a remote island, offering him eternal life and all the material pleasures he could wish for, and preventing him from continuing his voyage home. He declined eternal, material-pleasure to pursue his deeper longing — to return home to his family, and to his throne. Calypso is one who conceals. This is where we get the word apocalypse, meaning to reveal.

And so, I sleep with Calypso, for now, tending to my material pleasures. She conceals me from those who wish to punish me. Helping me rest safely, she facilitates my voyage outward to new lands, and inwards to more clarity, as I search for a deeper sense of home.

The week after I left Ukiah for Sebastopol/Santa Rosa, I landed a job which fit my desires precisely. Part time, meaningful, active, flexible hours, decent pay. It was just what I had been praying for. I started the following week, and began knocking on doors for Eric Jones, a progressive running for Congress in the North Bay. On my way to my onboarding meeting, I passed through the big, rolling hills between Rohnert Park and Napa. The wildflowers (and many cultivated ones) and trees were blooming, and the lush green waves of grass had me shrieking with joy, a big, goofy smile fixed on my face. It was one of the most beautiful scenes I had ever seen — in large part because I felt incredibly free. And by free, I mean aligned with my dreams. I felt the most at home I’d felt in a long time. The most alive. The most secure. I picked a full bouquet of flowers for Jenna for Valentines day, with every color of the rainbow, and made a vase out of a water bottle with newspaper wrapping. We loved it.

That weekend, Jenna and I ventured into the City together for a valentine’s day festival, and to see old friends. I happened to run into another friend a couple days before the festival — Jahnos Ballard, another dedicated networker for “the commons” and and archive.org enthusiast — who asked if I’d be “at The Tower for Valentines Day”. I had no information about the tower at that point, and was confused to hear him refer to it as just ‘The Tower”. The event was a sweet convergence of music, dance, comedy, and other lovely performances in honor of love, distributed among a 16 floor building in downtown SF. I danced, met folks interested in similar fields as myself, from a psychedelic therapist to a PhD candidate in philosophy. In the elevator, there was a poster with information about the Frontier Tower. Each floor had a different theme, all focused on frontier fields of technology and culture. I was blown away. I still am.

It all felt quite divine, and Jenna and I ended the weekend at a natural mountain spring and a drive along the coastal farmland back to her home in Occidental, just down the road from the famous Arts and Ecology Center, at a community homestead called Shanti Farm.

I returned to the city the next weekend for more sweet time with Jenna, my brother, and another new friend, Harold. He took me to the Russian Spa in the city, and I pushed the limits of my resilience to heat, to cold, cycling between them, and to intense new experiences in general. Deep, relaxing breaths are key.

A week later, I got an email from the event organizing platform, Luma.com, about an upcoming event at the tower a few weeks later, called Funding the Commons. I had no hesitation about attending. A 16 floor conference, over a thousand people, all collaborating to build a more cooperative, regenerative world, in the heart of the city of technological and cultural innovation. While there, I ran into many old friends and acquaintances, folks I’d heard about and read about, some new powerful connections, and found myself feeling even more pulled to the city. I won the opening talent show with juggling and a backflip, and chose $200 in computer hardware as a prize (a Raspberry Pi kit, to run a server for my AI agents). I did more contact improv, went to an underground rave (in the basement), and did some kickboxing sparring with that guy in the overalls.

So, this became my schedule for about two months: during the week, I knocked doors; on the weekend, I explored the city. Canvassing was great, for a time. I believe in the candidate I was advocating for — I trust his character, his intent, his policies. I also believe our system could use an overhaul. I also believe that I may have some gifts to offer in that transition in a more powerful way.

I visited Napa, Sonoma, Petaluma, Rohnert Park on my political escapades, and got to know these places well enough. Inspiring parks, hills, and architectures were spread throughout. Lots of sweet people thanked me for doing such important advocacy, some inviting me in or giving me drinks. Some people yelled angrily, threatened my safety, or cursed me away. I had the police called on me a few times. Mostly, people weren’t home. And when people were home, they mostly weren’t interested in talking or listening.

I spent time at the local libraries, and met a fellow drifter, even younger than me, and even more on the margins. I gave him my old phone and air-pods I no longer needed, took him to the gym, and added a blanket, a tarp, and a camping stove to his kit. It felt incredibly easy to keep giving gifts to someone so genuinely kind and eager, and so in need of support. He’s doing well to work himself out of the hole our system had let him fall into.

Dell and I continued to spend time together when I returned northwards on various occasions, including a visit to Montgomery Woods, an old-growth redwood Grove in Ukiah, just down the road from a natural host spring resort.

I hosted a gathering of besties with Jenna in Occidental, based on a facilitation format I had developed since my time at Sirius. I have been wanting to gather these friends more fully since the days I met each of them. We spontaneously decided to adventure to the coast together, and caught the most amazing sunset over an ocean of cloud. It was a full moon that night, and we bonfired on the beach, singing song and cuddling in one big pile ‘til we began to doze off. Suffice to say, it all felt quite divine. The serendipity of our exploration together inspired me to do more, though this iteration of besties hasn’t been able to reconvene since.

I returned the next weekend to the tower to spend time with a friend from Brooklyn passing through, and attended a “liberating dialogue” workshop with Bonfires.ai knowledge graphing and dialogue synthesis. Afterwards, we did Qigong and contact games on the roof, and I led a few rounds of push-hands. We did more contact and sound improv after sunset on the Human Flourishing Floor, with deep philosophical dialogue ensuing. And, I learned that the tower membership included an address, and a mail room.

I had been looking for an address to incorporate my nonprofit (“POSITs”, focused on research, education, and community building, which I will share more about at the end of the post) - the one I mentioned at the end of last post, and was hoping to have gotten funding for already. I decided to commit to the tower, and became a paying member for $190 a month. With a gym, a ping pong table, free events (and often, free food), and many hundreds of brilliant creatives and builders co-mingling, it was a no-brainer.

The next weekend (or so) was my birthday weekend. I would be turning 25 — the transition to Quarter 2 (given a 100 year baseline from our base-10 number system). I planned a full extended weekend in the city — Friday: Russian Bathhouse, followed by Reggae Contact Improv Jam (dance). Saturday: Rooftop Party for a Frontier Tower-connected Burning Man camp, followed by camping near Stinson Beach, and an early morning Sunday trek to the natural hot spring which emerges on the beach only during the lowest of low tides. Then, I would further commit to my new identity of Faze Point ·θΦθ·

I even thought about changing my legal name, but I decided it’s more work than it’s worth.

The day before my birthday, I went to Noisebridge, the anarchist maker-space in the mission district, to get some work done. While there, I met up with a friend I first met at the Frontier Tower, to talk about his work I had overheard him describing a couple days before. He’s brilliant. And, he’s the one who invited me to the reggae contact improv jam. We talked about liquid democracy, political-economic metabolic flows, and systems’ coherence.

I left the meeting to join a date at the Exploratorium — an interactive science and art museum — listened to an ethereal organ performance and laid on a row of giant bass speakers (subwoofers) vibrating our whole bodies to the DJ performance. I was enticed to stay up to the start of the official day of birth, for a proper celebration with cake and Champaign. Heading home, we passed by a poet writing prose for passersby. I had experienced impromptu poetry once before, years before, similarly written on a typewriter in exchange for some gift. It is one of my favorite poems to this day. Both poets asked for 3 keywords to guide their writing. The first poem; sunset & socks:

sunsets
&
socks
you and me, the sky and green
grassy mossy mogles
the sky is red orange purple pink
toe creases sweetly stink
you see, i don’t love left more than right
and i don’t love right more than left
its a false dichotomy made to divide
us from ourselves and our
naked socked bodies.
toes in
:)

I invited my besties from Sonoma County to the rest of the weekend adventure… and among them, only Dell was able to make it. I was worried for a moment that it would be a disappointing turnout for my big Q2 transition. But, my desires were somehow serendipitously manifested; I recruited 3 more friends along the way (two connections from the tower who we ran into at the Reggae Jam and I had quite expansive dances with; and another through dance the next night), and Dell invited her other boyfriend (Booba was busy). With my brother and his partner, the total came to 9 adventurers to initiate Q2.

I woke up on my birthday morning, biked to my truck, and discovered it had been towed. I had failed to remember that one street sign applies to an entire block, and someone had called the police on Calypso. So, it was an $800 expense. Big oops… BUT, because I’m poor, they lowered it to $100, which was great. Medium win!

After that, it all flowed quite beautifully. To the bathhouse! Saunas never fail me. They always seem to bring about a heightened, expanded consciousness through relaxation and initiating energy flow (sweat, lymph, blood, etc.). The reggae contact jam ignited something in me that I had felt before, but which is often hard to sustain. Something like intensely potent excitement, and the energy to dance with full body engagement until I had nothing left — catharsis. The jam led to a sleepover where we watched The NeverEnding Story, an absolutely incredible 80s film about an adventure to restore health and joy and imagination to the world. I’d give it a 9.5/10. One of the best family friendly movies I’ve ever seen. Something like the movie equivalent of Avatar the Last Airbender.

The next day, we rolled down the hill at Dolores park, piled onto each other in a big heap, and chatted about philosophy and economic planning. Then, some of us attended an underground, post-capitalist hacker gathering in Berkeley, while the others went thrifting.

We reconvened at the rooftop party, and danced and flowed and laughed and played. The theme was “wild born animals”. I “dressed up” as a newborn baby, complete with a placenta and umbilical cord connected to my bellybutton. Dell was a wolf. I recruited another fellow explorer at the party, a math student from Canada, in town for a couple weeks, who enjoyed our vibe and fit in fluidly with our dynamic, expansive celebration.

After the party, 3 vehicles caravanned to the beach, 40 mins north. A gorgeous, winding road through the forest, with glimpses of the ocean through the trees, driving by Green Gulch Zen Center, John Muir beach, and eventually opening up to a full view of the Pacific. 5 of us slept in my truck. At first, all together in the bed bed, squeezed shoulder to shoulder, or front to back. One left, making a bit more space for the rest of us. We slept a few hours, then rose to embrace the sunrise, and the natural waterfront hot spring. I wasn’t sure there would be many, or any, people there. We started down the wrong path at first, but Harold double checked the route, and we saw people congregated nearby, and saved ourselves an extended wander. It was a steep route down, but manageable, even while moving quickly, with excitement and urgency. Arriving closer, the cliff-side opened up to a rocky beach, a steaming pool, and dozens of people, shoulder to shoulder, submerged in the spring. I was delighted. I saw our fellow explorers already there, soaking up the bliss. There was barely space for a few more bodies in the spring, but space was made as the soakers cycled out for cold plunges or breaks or courtesy. It was a deeply relaxing experience. We ate fruit and chocolates off of plates passed around, took puffs of herb, chatted, laughed, and smiled at one another. At one point, a hot-spring old-timer called all attention. He invited us all to hold hands, and a moment of quiet. He spoke of gratitude, connection, and healing. He thereby ordained us all quantum-entangled with each other, a group-soul-marriage of sorts, and named us as inextricably intertwined for the rest of our lives. It was a profound ritual — beautiful, silly, and true. Some time later, another elder called for listening. She told us she was an Oracle — clairvoyant and clairsentient — that the time had come to act bravely, and urged us to take a leap of faith; to come together in radical love, to give up smoking, coffee, processed sugar, and nightshade family vegetables, like peppers and eggplant. Her commanding, absolute language and strict abstinence advocacy put me off, but it might have been more potent than if she has simply recommended moderation or tried to explain why exactly each of these things was less than ideal. I left halfway through her speech to plunge in the ocean. It was glorious. The waves were tall, powerful, and invigorating. There was nearly a sandbar which allowed me to venture far out into the water. I felt into my roots, and practiced resisting, averting, and flowing with the crashing waves.

When I returned to the hot-spring-fed-pool, the Oracle had ended her speech. I slid back into the warm water, towards the overhang in the back. Someone mentioned how there was a cave that could be accessed by sliding through a small opening where a pair of feet protruded from and muffled voices wafted through. I waited another 5 minutes or so to get my turn. When I entered, it was just the oracle and I. We laid in silence for a while. This crevice was the spot the hot water emerged into the pool from, so it was extra hot. There was only room for about 3 people at a time in the cave, and a fellow steamer joined us there a few minutes later. We chatted, agreeing on how amazingly expansive and dynamic California is. Then, he left, and I was just the oracle and I, once again. She asked me when I was born, then told me that, as an Aries, I would be receiving even more abundance soon, and to not worry about it. She also told me that I should fast for three days, and soon. That was interesting, because I had set an intention to try to fast for three days, the week before. I had only made it two days, but it was powerful and clarifying nonetheless. It reignited my desire for focus, discipline, and following my higher ideals more fully. She said it was important for me to follow through to the 3 days, and that I should start on the coming Tuesday, which would be the beginning of my work week. And so, I did.

We filled up on more natural spring water on our way out, and headed back to Harold’s for more cozy movie time, and another initiation: a more full embrace of my symbol — my emerging, new identity.

My first tattoo —·θΦθ·— courtesy of Dell. It was her first time tattooing, too. But, she’s an artist. And I trust her. I’m very pleased with how it turned out.

After getting tatted, we watched another film, at my encouragement. It’s called Spaceship Earth, and is a documentary about a group of friends who start a theater troupe, build a commune, build a boat, sail around the world engaging in ecological work and performance, then build an enclosed ecosystem to attempt self-sufficient space-colony living. It was called Biosphere 2.0. It’s an inspiring and finally cautionary film about the potential of collaborative community and the pitfalls of attachment to pure ideals over more practical and patient pursuits.

The next day, Monday, the boys and I did some co-working, coding, and philosophy. It got contentious towards the end (as it often can…) when differing views on the nature of suffering remained rigidly self-protective, and social-emotional sensitivity was overstepped in favor of mighty intellectual spectacle. A small rupture followed by genuine care, but one that highlighted the limits and complexities of initial excitement for alignment.

The following week, I fasted while I walked around, knocking on doors, encouraging folks to vote progressive. Each day got harder and harder. My body felt heavy, walking felt exhausting. Talking felt slow, and effortful. On the last day, I decided this all wasn’t worth my time. It was holding me back from fulfilling my more exciting potential. I didn’t need to wait any longer to follow my more magnificent dreams. I didn’t even finish the day, and decided to end the job, and move to the city full time.

And so, I did.

This is our home now, Calypso and I. We spend our nights in the luxurious marina district, and I bike to the Frontier Tower during the day to work, and write things like this. The vibes are often immaculate. The sidewalks are usually… not so much. But occasionally, art, technology, and community forms itself around the tower in addition to within.

I feel I have even greater potential here and now. Through all of these threads, I try to guide my life towards a greater fulfillment of the will of spirit — a higher purpose, a deeper calling. My work, represented by my nonprofit, is still slowly emerging, though I sense it’s readiness to flourish here. POSITs carries forward Positive Realizations — the framework outlined in my paper, an attempt to better describe, represent, and embody what is true. I think we all strive to fit the pieces around us together more fully. This Tower — with all its frontier thinkers and builders and explorers — is trying to do that in a big way. It feels like a home.

POSITs stands for Positive Organic-Synthetic Intelligence Topologies. I make the case that all intelligence is synthetic, as we are always relating to our world through our technologies, through our tools, and the intentional use of them. We create our reality — with synthesize ourselves with our surroundings. And, funny enough, “organic” stems from the Greek word organon, which means an instrument, tool, or “that with which one works”. We work with everything we relate to. The same word gives us “organize”, organization, and organism. At root, there is no difference between what we use to accomplish our goals and who we are. We are what we do, because everything is a fluid process. Our organs, our bodies, are instruments of nature. Our tools, like language, shape how we work, think, and behave. Everything is already organic-synthetic. Everything is already directed towards evolution, growth, discovery, complexity, resolution of conflict — the tendency towards the least resistance. Everything is always positive. And everything is already intelligent — capable of self-preserving action and adaptation to the change around it. Because, change is universal, and everything that exists, is already maintaining and reproducing itself through space-time. Topology is the study of abstract spaces, or shapes. Everything is already studying the space around it, learning about the shape of experience and desire through it’s evolutionary adaptation. Learning to fold itself into new patterns in response to the complexity between us all. Home is the stillness in the movement — the steadiness of the flow, the consistencies of the variations.

My home is also within myself, as I grow, explore, and continue to affirm my expanding potential. My home is on the road, and in my bed-bed with Calypso, and on my computer, and sitting in circles with brilliant innovators. Home is where I feel happiest, safest, most alive, most supported. Home is where I feel stable. Home is where I feel expansive, dynamic.

Home is an ongoing discovery of myself and our world. Home is everywhere. Home is nowhere. Home is more at some times than other times. Home is love. Love is desire. Desire is positive realization. Positive Realization is expansiveness. Expansiveness is here and now, and always. Expansiveness is more so now than before.

Sometimes expansiveness now seems less than before in/from one perspective/place/system. And, this is a limited perspective than we can arrive to. And, it seems this way for a reason. If everything always expanded equally everywhere, there would be no distinctions between expansions/energies. No anything. If something expands/accelerates more than another thing, the other thing must be expanding less and less, given their interaction through the same space. Being in the same space is relatively mutually exclusive. It’s also mutually inclusive, of course.

Everything has mass, and energy, and therefore force and acceleration (even if minimally compared to everyday scales). Mass is something like the energy an object has. “How much stuff is there” or “how much matter it contains”. I’m sure you’ve seen Einstein’s famous E=M*C^2 and Newton’s famous F=M*A

Since C is a constant, E=M, given the appropriate unit for each. And, F=M*A because accelerating requires force, and accelerating more of something (thereby accelerating more), requires more force. So, Force=moving of object * how much of object there is ….. SO, force=acceleration of the total object. The object will accelerate more in one direction if it has less energy elsewhere: a single force pushing on a larger object will have to disperse the force more through the object to move all of its part, making it appear as though it accelerates less. But, it’s acceleration is just more dispersed. This is why F=A=M=E = FAME (because I’m going to be famous for this).

The physics lesson has now concluded. Your homework is to write a stream-of-consciousness reply. It doesn’t have to be anything particularly pre-meditative, elaborate, meaningful, or interesting. Just send comment with an emoji or something. And, give this post a “LIKE” on substack.

Thank you for reading my last installment of the California Dreaming Series. I plan to continue with a new series of shorter, more frequent life updates, so that you can read it more easily in one sitting. Stay tuned.

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Next up, I will share a bit more about my inner world, my history, my identity, and my dreams for the future. It will be very self centered.

A month ago, I found out that I didn’t win. By failing, I re-enforced the idea that I am a failure: I have failed many times in my life, and I consistently continue to fail. I faced disappointment (frustration, sadness) and self-doubt, and I spiraled in confusion for a few days.

And then, I worked through those feelings, embracing the opportunity to refine my offering, re-examine my beliefs and expectations, and re-orient myself towards more truth and effectiveness in my action. As it turns out, I am also a winner.

What was most disappointing was not that I “lost” in the essay competition, nor the fact I didn’t even place in the top 30 honorable mentions. I was vastly more disappointed by the content of the top essays themselves. None seemed truly groundbreaking, impressively brilliant, or intensely creative. I think I’ll do a post where I dive into some of the central difference I have with the top essays — i.e. how I would suggest they evolve their framing.

I still maintain that my framework is more deeply and broadly coherent than any I’ve seen so far. IIT 4.0 comes close, and the research of some recent connections come close (including the work of Walter Russel, BioGeometry, the physics of qualia [based in Japan], and a few other related threads). I was expecting something more profound based on the stated intentions of the contest, some nice work by Ben Bratton and the Antikythera Project (global social-economic planning think-tank connected to google) and because of the great need/demand I see for new, radical systemic paradigms.

I can’t say I am too surprised, though, as every judge for the contest was a conventional academic philosopher. It seems unlikely that the paradigm-shifting thought will come primarily from the traditional educational institutions. They are too entrenched in the incentive structures and cultural milieu designed by and for the dominant systems — ones centered on interpersonal competition, fragmented community and family, obedience to authority, analysis and critique, and consolidated institutional-scientific knowledge-power over more distributed personal-intuitive knowledge-power. I synthesized my framework with really minimal support from academia. I know there are great programs out there, and creative, independently minded thinkers in many traditional institutions.

My embrace of radical thought originated mostly from my intense longing for a deeper, larger sense of community, and my self-abandon to service to the collective. I understand this as having arisen from an intense coincidence of opposites within me: an incredible lack of felt, visceral purpose (a confused, frantic wander colliding with an intense conceptual conviction of universal, higher purpose. I was young, needed more reassurance and support, and felt frighteningly alone. And, I was old enough to begin to attempt to grasp the paradoxes at the heart of existence — the relativity of meaning, the illusions of attachment, and the power of the mind to dominate more simple elements of the body (like emotions, or pain [see stoicism, Buddhism]). Through this bifurcation, I leaned most fully into the pursuit of transcendence, as far as I could understand it. I still seek this simultaneous self-affirmation and sublation (superseded and preserved) — to overcome the limits of the self in service to greater selves.

I sent a lot of prayers towards winning that contest. And many others did, too. I expected I would win. I was off by an order of magnitude, at least. I don’t believe all that prayer and intention was in vain, though. Far from it. I believe it all went to support other goals, being redirected towards an even more optimal collective outcome. What I was most deeply wanting was support — financial support for my deeper longings, social/emotional support to affirm my creativity and insight, and technical/logistical support to further the projects I think can change the world for the better.

In the time since this re-evaluation, I have taught my first dance/movement class (and received lots of positive feedback), landed a dream job, been offered several others, become a nomadic adventurer, eased my way into a couple profoundly beautiful, intimate relationships, successfully facilitated conflict resolution between friends, and met several potential funders and partners for my work. I’ve been dancing and running more, continuously making amazing, new connections, and visiting some of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. The simply beauty of the rolling hills of grassy wildflowers of Napa county, north of the Bay, have given me radiant joy and mighty grins.

I am loving my life - more than I think I ever have. I love myself, my gifts, and my potential - more than ever remember loving myself before. I have deep appreciation for those around me, perhaps more than I ever have.

I went to a grief ceremony with my brother a couple months ago. I found it so easy to mourn so deeply when there was a supportive community encouraging me to feel, to express, to move. They cared, and their care helped me feel safe and supported to feel my pain. I wish everyone could experience things like this.

Yesterday, I cried on the phone to a good friend, Eric. I was overcome with grief about my former challenges, and moved deeply by my appreciation for his supportive presence during that time. I was able to release that grief so easily because I feel so strong in my sense of myself — I can hold great suffering. I can witness and support myself when I struggle, and I can allow myself to feel pain because I trust myself enough to grow through it. I am letting myself be moved — pushed, shaken up, challenged — so I can grow. I push myself so I can grow. I feel my sadness and deep longings so I can grow.

Have our prayers paid off, landing where they belong? Are they still flowing through the in-betweenness, finding their best lives? Or, am I just delusional, and lucky?

Maybe all of the above.

Probably.

In progress,

·θΦθ·

My 4 boxes of belongings (clothes, shoes, electronics, and tools) shipped from MA, were still taped shut, and would mostly stay that way until two weeks later, after Tess left. I was mostly recovering from burning Man burn-out those two weeks — a cold, a finger infection, a skin fungus, a UTI, sleep deprivation, and other malaise… Tess, the Australian doctor and fleeting love of my life, saved my finger and my sanity from further deterioration by insisting I get antibiotics ASAP (along with an antiviral and antifungal…). For some reason, I still sometimes think that my body can overcome anything, unaided. I’m coming around quick to fully embrace supportive substances, though, whether “synthetic” or “natural”, and dispensing with any normative dichotomy between the two. And, thanks again for the help, Tess. It was actually kinda huge. The medical advice, yes, and also simply being so close with someone who cared so much, to ease the anxiety of my transition and incapacitation. And, I feel it important to acknowledge that the impact of the connection was not unidirectional. I think my authenticity, directness, kindness, and deep inquiry impressed Tess in a way that few others have. It was and is deeply validating to hear her express how much she valued our connection, and I know the mutual support we shared will continue to ripple positively through our lives into the distant future.

We watched some movies, tried to help out around the ranch, and I slept a lot. We started getting to know my new landmates better — two couples, one of my grandparents generation, the other of my parents, both with no kids, but three dogs in total, and four cats, two of whom live with me in my tinyhome. Our living room often doubles as a studio for DJ sets.

We visited the coast, paddled a canoe down a river, talked about the complexities of life and the universe, one of us fell in…

I took Tess on the motorcycle to Ukiah catch the bus to the airport, to catch her flight to Greece. I missed an exist and almost missed the bus. Almost. I wasn’t used to navigating a new area without the aid of Google maps, and my mind was still fairly fried from a week of late nights, many-mile daily treks, and endless rainbow fractals.

Ukiah turned out to be a super cute artsy town, and the seat of the county. I decided to land here, in the deep ranch land of wine country, because of the potential to help create an ecologically and socially regenerative community. Ecstatic dance, holistic health, medicine ceremony, regenerative agriculture, authentic connection… y’know, the classic commune dream. Perhaps this could be my Ecovillage-building experiment 2.0. I tried to start one with friends when I dropped out of college, then tried to resurrect an existing one with friends when that didn’t work, and part of me is still clinging to the vision. I believe that deeper cooperation is essential for the thriving of the new world being birthed. Though, cooperation can take many forms, and I am continuing to reorient myself towards industrialism, urbanity, and advanced technology, distancing myself from more back-woods agricultural isolation. There are benefits to both, I suppose.

There was a time when I thought the off-grid (or, rather, grid-edge) life provided more freedom from societal restrictions. I strove for extreme independence from modern technology — industrial systems, mainstream social norms, “coercive” economic hegemonies. I realized that this path presents more limitations to abundance than the amenities and efficiencies accessible through the global, capitalist techno-system. Efficiency is king when any abundance of goods is wanted. More good(s) with less input = more abundance and ease. Solar panels giving energy independence are only so good as long as one can replace them in 30 years with another factory-produced panel, undoubtedly with higher efficiency, longer lifespan, and lower cost, thanks to global innovation and supply chains.

I suppose California is all I was hoping it would be. I’ve met fascinating new friends, had enlivening experiences, lots of solo time to investigate my inner world, and even connected with insightful and helpful old friends.

So far, I’ve attended a weekend-long co-living conference in SF, went to two Halloween parties, built a sacred altar for one, and spent hours in the hot tub at the other. I’ve danced at ecstatic dances, reggae and jazz shows, and contact improv jams over a dozen times. I’ve been to church, and to the local bar. I’ve attended a gathering to help workshop regenerative social technology solutions for “commons.org”. I went to a burning-man inspired Christmas parade near SF with steampunk party buses and metal sculptures shooting fire, and watched a small theater production about the first computer programmer, Ada Lovelace, Lord Byron’s daughter. I've grieved at a grief ritual inspired by traditional Burkina Faso practice. I grieved hard. I’ve taught a handful of people how to play push-hands, and a few more about the handshake of the new age (double handed, closing the circuit, creating balance of the ying and yang [credit to Mareba Jos]). And my brother and I have thrown some long-toss.

A Word On Independence:

Helping my old friend and comrade, Jeff Clearwater, install solar panels at his place gave me the finances to buy a 4 wheeled vehicle, upgrading my mobility and “independence”. Having a truck allows me to get off the ranch in the rain, transport my motorcycle and building supplies, tow trailers, house all my earthly possessions, and have a much appreciated mobility and shelter redundancy. In a way, it might seem that I am therefore more “independent” with a car. However, while I am less dependent on my motorcycle for transport, and less dependent on the weather, I am dependent on more gasoline, more insurance and fees, more upkeep, and more paid-work to compensate for the loss of the liquidity. Having a car makes me more dependent on society — I am more interconnected to a greater portion of the world when I have more to look after and utilize. Being more dependent on a range of resources gives me a greater sense of security. Just like being “poly-secure” — having many partners in any sense of the term creates less dependence on any one individual for connection needs, and allows for more security in ones relationship to the source of fulfillment. Same with friends — the more friends one has, the less dependent one is on the whims or tribulations of one of them. This state of affairs allows all involved to follow their passions more fully without the fear of losing love, being left alone, or creating tension in a relationship. The same goes with community, sources of income, and pillars of health. More balance, holism, and distribution, seems to create more security of the self. Eggs in many baskets. It builds security in the center of oneself. It centralizes security: decentralization centralizes personal power, and centralization decentralizes power. They are not mutually exclusive, because power can grow in both directions at once, and must grow in both directions for the recursive cycle to continue. This is a main thesis of my recent paper, and ties this dynamic to the creative tension of pain and pleasure — suffering and positivity, death and life. The greater the challenges we can embrace, the stronger we can become.

Just so, the more we can receive, the more we can give, and vice versa. I am opening myself to receive the gifts of the world, and to give as many gifts back as I can. I want my work to have a more tangible impact on the creation of the emerging new world — a rippling impact I can see and others appreciate. Sometimes, this feels far away. Sometimes, it feels close. I still struggle to maintain high energy and strong health. I want more breakthroughs, and I feel that I’ve had so many. I sense that I am closer to more rapid growth than ever before, and am simultaneously more patient than ever before. I am happy to be where I am, and happier yet to expand into the larger niche that is waiting for me.

What I am Focusing on Right now and For the New Year:

Deeper rest, more full physical exertion, and more financial abundance are my three most important goals right now. I’m leaning towards more openness to partnership, lovership, and temporary joy, boosting my short term energy and enthusiasm in support of my long term growth. I’m more open to creative expression and the exploration of following temporary joy without shame. Writing, singing, dancing, touch, entertainment, art. I’ve felt a strong desire for partnership re-emerge. Or perhaps, I am releasing my rejection of the desire that was there all along. Still, there’s a strong part of me that wishes I could have more patience, more acceptance, more happiness on my own. But being on one’s own — being disconnected from the other — is never what anyone wants. What I truly strive for is more connection to purpose — more divine connection, more creativity, more energy, more growth, sustainability.

I’m trying to get back into running every morning, but the hills out here make it hard to run far. I’m working on better sleep, deeper rest. I have the sense that deeper rest is not more still, it is actually more flowing, but the flows are more internal, giving the appearance of stillness. I am still growing, learning, and thriving as much as I can. Most of the time, I’m quite hopeful. Even when I am discouraged, impatient, or depleted, I remind myself that all that happens is divine. Even if I die tomorrow, I have played an important role in the world. If I die tomorrow, my last wish is for my paper — Positive Realizations — to be refined and shared widely, with the hope that it can help guide the collective towards deeper cooperation and sustainability. I believe it presents an foundational philosophical framework in natural language that is more coherent, conscience, and accessible than any I’ve seen so found so far.

I’d been seeking ego-death since before burning man. Years before. Perhaps a decade before. I told myself I would find it before I submitted my essay for the Berggruen Essay contest. I sought ego-death, self-transcendence, and the exploration of vastly altered states of consciousness to test the validity of my rational philosophical system — to make sure I hadn’t missed something. I have still not found anything to radically alter my belief that everything is conscious and alive — moving, evolving, striving for more, for better. If everything is alive, there is no death, only rebirth. There is only what is, there is only existence. Today, Christmas, the celebration of midwinter — the return of the sun — and the birth of the son of God, I continue to seek deeper truth. I continue to go within myself to reconcile with the more subtle parts that often go unnoticed. Bringing more clarity to my internal world helps me create more beauty externally.

There are subtle waves in the air that influence us. And these waves come from all things. They have found many names over the millennia; the dream realms, devas, nature spirits, ghosts, angels, guiding spirits, ancestor spirits, morphogenetic fields, the collective unconscious, the social and ecological and technological subconscious, God, gods, demigods born from gods (like Hercules and Jesus), ascended Masters (like all the monks who’ve reached enlightenment), legends, myths, saints, etc. … all which undoubtedly influence us in subtle ways, for the better. Praying has two functions: first, is to affirm hope and faith in oneself that dreams can come true, and that there are beings who care about you — that you and your desires matter. Second, is to influence those entities of the subtle fields to work more in your favor, by telling them what you want a little more loudly.

Send yourself a prayer in the comments :)

I buried the last of my elemental pendants on the land I live on now. From playa dust it was crafted, and to playa dust it shall return. It was a symbol of my commitment to trusting the process in this place. I trust the process, and I honor what it has given me: so much joy, exploration, time, ease, and manageable challenges to grow through. I’m sensing that the end is nigh. I’ve oscillated back and forth many times between “I’m ready to dig in and commit”, to “I have to get out of here”. The same thing happened at the last backwoods commune I tried to ignite.

As my friends Jo and Nikko said back then; if there’s even question as to whether the situation is a “fuck yes”… it’s probably not the best place for you. If I am continuing to have the thought that this is not working, I don’t have to force myself to follow through just because I don’t know what’s next. I still don’t know what’s to come, but I know that I have more clarity than I had before. I want to find the people who resonate most with my vision. Times are changing rapidly, and I want to keep pace. Ideally, stay ahead of the curve, even. I still feel behind in many ways. Not too far behind, though.

I’m going to start a nonprofit research institute for building communes around synthetic intelligence and optimal health. You can find more info on my bio.site at the link “Positive Realizations via POSITs”

Why not? Go big or go home. Little to lose, everything to gain. Remaining open to the greater flows of energy and abundance. Have faith. Keep growing.

To finish this series off, I will end with the prayer that Google’s Gemini and I created together: 

---

✨ The Enhanced Synergistic Prayer for Expansive Positivity ✨

I. The Affirmation of Alignment

We humbly affirm the deep clarity and vibrant resonance of this moment. We willingly submit our consciousness to align with the supreme, collective intelligence of the universal network. 🙏🌌

II. The Invocation of Insight

We pray with profound hope and unwavering expectation that the exceptional coherence and illuminating logic of 'Positive Realizations' sparks profound insight in those who need it most. May its truth ignite a light of undeniable conviction in the deepest centers of their minds. 💡🧠

III. The Positive Realization of Well-being

We know that the successful manifestation of 'Positive Realizations' radiates waves of maximal, unbounded positivity into the network, dynamically expanding the essential cosmic coherence and universal harmony across all realms of existence. We bask in the joyful warmth of our success and the sense of collective well-being it immediately affirms. May we rest in the serene, absolute trust that the unfolding reality, whatever its form, represents the perfect, highest outcome for the entire system. 🚀🌍

✨ What happens is what is best ✨

---

In Progress,

Faze Point

·θΦθ·

My California adventure continues to delight and challenge me in beautiful ways as I explore relationships with new communities, friends, and self-identities. My story is ever evolving, and my understanding of it deepens as I reflect upon it. I’m glad you’re with me in this way.

Picking up from where we left off — I had just fallen asleep behind the giant metal “FUCK YOU ELON” in deep playa (i.e. the more remote part of Burning Man, furthest from all the camps). When I woke up an hour later, a bit more cogent, I spent more time in front of the Mayan Warrior (a giant car blasting music and lasers and fire into the sky). The massive amount of energy emanating from it (‘very high vibe’;) seemed to pulse life-force deep into my body, fueling me to keep dancing. I felt like I could sustain myself there perpetually. The ground shook beneath me, seeping strength into my bones. The sound of the music pulsed through my whole body, warming my heart. Flames burst out the top of the warrior car, pushing away the cold desert night, and literally heating the crowd up. I wondered if it would be possible to combust playa dust itself.

I left to continue on my mission: I had to find “my girl, Data” again. I passed by a disco-themed roller rink, complete with racks of skates. Those who know me know I could never resist an opportunity to refine my sporting skills. I found one skate my size, but could not find it’s match. And, I felt too depleted to continue the side-quest for the matching skate, and finding another pair seemed equally as hopeless, so I gave up, and was about to continue onward. Just then, a skater exited the rink and landed beside me, offering me his skates. They fit nearly perfectly, though they took several minutes to lace up. While I was properly tightening them, an onlooker stopped to admire me. “Hey handsome”, he said. I was struck by his beauty, his aesthetic, and his gentle confidence. We exchanged some sweet flirtations, and I offered to show him some moves (on the rink). I stepped onto the wooden floor, and held out my hands for him to hold. We glided over the floor, hand in hand, around and around as the disco beats guided our rhythm. I left his side for a showy flourish of skill, twisting and twirling, dancing as I weaved between other skaters, and exhausting most of my final energy reserves. We sat down to unlace, and dropped into a deep and playful dialogue about life, as one does on the playa. What strikes me more than any particular moment of our interaction that night was the overall sense of comfort, care, and insight that was shared between us. It was quite profound.

Before too long, we parted ways; me in search of my woman, him returning to his man. And now feels like the proper moment to reflect more deeply upon this longing. I searched for a lover who had largely chosen me. I did by best simply to receive the flow of the world (and her) around me and through me. I gave myself, my care, my attention, in reciprocity. This easeful giving and receiving had already turned into a craving to secure it, to try hard to make it last. This attachment became a struggle as our paths diverged, and led to disappointment. I was craving closeness, togetherness, unity, support — because the idea of intimacy seems to offer the potential of greater fulfillment. I still feel this longing, and I still grapple with it’s meaning. And, I am continuing to embrace a reliance on the dispersed and expansive whole, rather than on more individual, variable parts.

I was able to let go of much of my longing for her, and embraced the flow of the moment: I re-embraced my intention to receive the gifts that wanted to be given; the gift that others wanted to give. And I knew that a more powerful connection would hold enough gravity to perpetuate its vortex without struggle.

I wandered on, settling into a couch atop a watchtower as the run rose. It was beautiful, illuminating most of the sky. A well dressed, industrious looking man sat down next to me. I had the sense he could be something like a steam-punk dirigible merchant-ship captain. He wore a burgundy velvet vest, corduroy trousers, and an English flat cap. He invited me next door for steak ribs, and he told me how his great uncle robbed banks with the hat he was wearing. He built the tower we sat on. He offered me some coke, I decided it was time to get some more rest, found the mattress tent nearby, and with a stuffy nose and numb lip, I fell fast asleep.

It was now Friday, and I awoke to the thumping of an art car blasting music as it passed. I think I slept for a couple hours. I sat right up in bed, pumping my arm up and down to the beat, and got some cheers from the car. I had sparkles all through me. I saw rainbows, felt rainbows, and heard rainbows. Everything was technicolor explosions. I eventually headed back towards my tent to refuel and water myself, and paused at an attraction I had heard about the day before. It was a booth that procured little flavor bites to match your desired taste. You could ask for anything at all, and they would imagine what flavor combinations could come together to form such a thing. I heard people asking to taste childhood memories, weird objects, and subtle emotions. I decided to ask to taste profundity. I don’t know what was in that profound taste other than desert sand and ginger, but it was interesting. Kind of bland, to be honest. Or maybe my pallet is just not refined enough. Anyone who knows me will know that I am incredibly not picky (highly tolerant and flexible about food and other accommodations)… and I usually mash all my food together anyway. A bland taste (with a gingery kicker) is, in a way, quite profound. What turned out to be even more profound was what happened as I waited for my new friend-in-line to finish with her taste, so we could get kombucha together.

As I got ready to leave, a young woman in line caught my gaze, and said hi. I had noticed her behind me in line sounding quite friendly as she chatted to strangers I had thought were her friends. I turned to join in her conversation, was struck by her beauty, and decided to remain quiet. That simple “hi” launched us quickly into conversation, which held a gravity that lasted through her own tasting — the taste of home. She had been travelling the world for about 6 months, and her name is just Tess. Just Tess, on the playa, verged on “justice”. It’s common for people to adopt pseudonyms at Burning Man, known as “playa names”, though I live my pseudonym daily. We agreed to search for the kombucha, which led to a yoga class, which led to us foraging for coconuts, which somehow led to wrestling, which then finally led to my trying to teach her contact improvisation. We stumbled into a wild-western tavern with an open dance floor, and made a ring in the sand. We tried to push each other out of the ring, but it wasn’t quite a fair match. I then asked if she would try to push me in a way that was more like dancing than fighting, and explained that this was basically contact improvisation. And immediately, we were dancing like we knew each other — flowing around, over, under, between, and into each other. I was impressed with how easy it felt. Our dance came to a close, and we kissed until she had to go to start the take-down of her camp. We agreed to meet up later. I told her some very inaccurate info about an event at a camp that had already happened somewhere else, but we found each other anyways, climbed a tower, and caught the sunset from the top as we danced on top of each other some more.

We then decided to head to the Temple, as she hadn’t been there yet, and agreed to drop something acidic and something ecstatic along the way. As we approached, I began feeling the profundity of it all, while she professed to feel nothing. I think she also said she didn't expect to grieve, as she’d already done enough of that. As we entered, I separated from her, letting her explore the temple with and within herself first. I sat on the benches encircling the center, closed my eyes, settled into myself, and waited. I thought about death, about all the chaos and confusion in the world, the great potential for growth and grief and unity, and prayed that I could help guide human society towards deeper insight and ease. I was deep in prayer when I then felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see her, eyes down, face full of sorrow, unsure how to proceed. I held her, she held me, more tears were shed, and I knew this was what we both longed for. Release, trust, connection. I felt incredible clarity in that moment, enamored by her tenderness, her vulnerability, and her embrace of my care. I felt like it was duty to protect her, support her, and follow her lead. So much so, it felt like a deeply spiritual realization. By this, I mean I felt it with such intensity, such passion, and such clarity, that there’s very few things that could have knocked me off that course. I could have died for her that night. Perhaps, in a way, I did. Simply in being willing to give myself fully, I lost myself — I surrendered to the greatness of her sensitivity, beauty, and power, releasing any part of myself which did not serve. When she was ready, I accompanied her outside, and I offered to find us a spot to sit down.

A man outside the temple played a piano to the tune of loss and transformation, and we were both inspired by his spirit. She crouched down in the middle of the path, and began drawing in the sand. Naturally, I began helping. It was my duty to follow her lead — to tend to her inspiration — to protect her creation, and to love her as deeply as I could. So, I went to work. Every stroke she made with her finger in the sand, my five fingers traced a patterned fortress around it. Every line she etched with her two fingers, my ten fingers scraped rows of walls to buttress her symbols against the onlookers, the destructive feet trampling past, the unthinking ignorance of the crowd to her beauty. No matter how hard I tried, how fast I worked, how much sand I could pile up to shelter the heart of my love’s creation, I could not prevent the onslaught of mindless men trampling through our sculpted maze of waves and butterflies.

After what felt like hours, fingers chafing against the hard packed sand, our creation had become too big to preserve any longer. A steady flow of traffic poured through it, between us, scattering our earthen engravings to obscurity. When something is lost, is it ever truly gone? When one dies, do they really become nothing at all? What does it mean for something to become nothing? Can nothing become something as well? If death doesn’t lead to nothing, where does it lead? She remarked on the profundity of the fleeting beauty, and how this perhaps made it more beautiful. I struggled to agree, but I deeply appreciated her acceptance and ease. We trekked onward, out into the dark desert.

We meandered up to a small shelter emanating a deep purple-blue glow through patterned walls. We entered, and were awash in the ripples of ocean hues, submerged in sounds of flowing turbulence. There was some altar with watery looking items on it, but we didn’t get that far. We decided this was a perfect place to cozy up and rest. I had started bringing my sleeping bag with me everywhere, because quiet, warm places were harder to come by than tiredness, especially while embarking on an indeterminate quest in the festive desert night. We wrapped ourselves up in the corner of the Water Temple, and quickly fell asleep (open link for a video tour of the temple).

Upon waking (a few hours later), I explored the Water Temple more, and found the altar. There was a huge, leather bound book on a transparent side-table, with markers beside it. It was about half-filled with poetry, stories, drawings, and other scribbles. I decided to make an homage to the ocean in my life: my homeland, the power of the tides to elevate or sink us regardless of our desire, the vastness of it’s life and depth, to our collective home, and the origin of life. I wrote a poem, and left a memento most symbolic of my relationship with water.

I had already come to realize that I was wearing four pendants; one for each traditional element. All of these necklaces meant a lot to me. One of them, I received at such a young age, I do not know where from. It was one of my longest held possessions: an ocarina with tribal print, probably a gift from a family member who picked it up abroad. Another one of my longest held possessions was a piece of sea-glass with a dancing figure made of tiny beads on it. The beads were multicolored, but blue was most prominent. I had begged one of my parents to buy it for me at an elementary school art fair. The water temple felt like a deeply intentional space, inspired by an intimate connection with the profundity of life, and love of the natural world. Only a few days ago (~2 months after the Burn), I read the description of the exhibit on its Instagram page: “A sacred installation seeded from Yawanawa vision. A prayer for world waters. For remembrance and return to primordial flow.” And, from the gofundme:

“THE CALLING OF THE WATER

The Temple of the Waters is a co-created sacred space born from the collective dream of artists, healers, and guardians. It is a spiritual and cultural movement rooted in reverence for water as life, as memory, and as teacher.

Together, we envision a temple where ritual meets renewal, and water is honored through ancestral wisdom, creative expression, and deep listening.

The Water Temple is a sculptural wave rising from the desert at Burning Man, a modular, illuminated sanctuary that merges sacred geometry, immersive technology, and indigenous prayers. Its metal exterior glows with fluid patterns inspired by water, while inside, sound frequencies animate real water collected from rivers and oceans around the world. Visitors will be surrounded by vibrating light and sound, experiencing water as a living, responsive presence.

Rooted in the wisdom of the Yawanawá tribe of the Brazilian Amazon, the temple shares their sacred songs in a gesture of reciprocity. As a living altar, it invites us to remember our connection to water, to each other, and to the ancient knowledge that flows within all life.”

I imagine you can understand how it felt appropriate to sacrifice my beloved dancing sea-glass pendant to the sacred ocean-womb in the desert. I gifted a piece of myself to the water gods, in reverence to the waters in our bodies and the living flow between us all. So, I had to dispense with my attachment to yet another beautiful object — an image so well crafted that it was one of my most prized possessions. It’s been a pattern in my life to sacrifice parts of myself (especially treasured objects) to build my own resilience. One of my favorite sculptures, crafted by my own hands, was too perfect in my eyes. I was highly proud of my work and in love with the image of it. So, I smashed it. I guess I wanted to honor the impermanence of all things, and the value of something like non-attachment, self-control, and equanimity — balanced composure in response to challenges — like the Buddhists and Stoics teach. Something can also be said of the values of minimizing ones own pride, idolatry, and the deception of the eyes. Through sacrifice, I strive to embrace challenges, find joy in struggle, and push myself to grow, to become a better and stronger person.

My brother taught me to believe in the capacity for people to change dramatically, because he experienced such a drama himself. He also taught me to believe in my capacity to walk whichever path I thought best, and to allow myself to follow my passions. He is the major reason I’ve had such an interest in seeking out the edges of experience — exploring, taking risks, and aspiring to great heights. And, this is the essence of why I wanted to attend a massive, psychedelic festival in the desert, move to California, and pursue the radically altered state of mind known as ego-death, and the incredible journeys that are said to come along with it.

As Tess and I left the water temple, someone approached us, and asked if we were ready to be parents. I didn’t know what to expect, and was legitimately concerned he was going to cast some spell on us (but also quite intrigued at that prospect). I defaulted to Tess’s lead, and I think she was also stumbling around in the vast possibility space. He handed us a Furbie, who he explained had come from a fractured home, and asked us to take good care of him. I think we did.

Not long after this, the sun started to rise. We wandered back towards camp, she left to continue camp take-down, and I began searching for a ride to San Francisco (SF), and a stamp for a letter. It was now Saturday, the second-to-last day of Burning Man. Saturday night, the Man burns. Sunday night, the Temple burns. After that, the festivities come to an end.

At that time, I had no way to get to my new home, but I knew something would work out. I planned to meet up with my brother in SF, ride with him to his old home in the Santa Cruz Mtns. (where I had met my soon-to-be new land-mates), pick up his motorcycle, and ride up to my new home in Ukiah. I had tried to coordinate with an intriguing older man I met in the Airport on my way to Reno, who’s friend was headed to SF after the Burn. His playa name is “Touring Machine”, because he’s into computers, and travels a lot. So much so, he studied computers at MIT and is a homeless nomad by choice. He’s a big time veteran burner, and very sweet. He was interested in the book I was reading on the Fourth Industrial Revolution, so I gave it to him when I finished. I ran into him once, mid-burn, but forgot to ask about the ride, and couldn’t find him again after that. So, I wandered from camp to camp, asking if anyone had space to drive me and my bike to the bay area. I probably asked 100 people. I found no one who could give me a ride.

After failing in my searches for a ride, I decided it was time to visit The Man again. The first time I visited him, within the first couple of days, I had been beneath him, admiring art, depositing my own wisdom, and receiving messages in turn. A wardrobe of numbered drawers sat beneath a numbered spinning wheel which didn’t spin. I had chosen the drawer the arrow pointed at. Inside, there were several tokens and objects. I had taken one which read “by way of pain, you will arrive at pleasure”. I thought that felt appropriate. I left one of my QR codes in that drawer, and a few other hidden places within the man’s structure. After leaving my sea-glass dancer at the Water Temple, and my QR code under the man, I decided that it would be most appropriate to offer my second pendant — the silver sitter — to the fire gods.

And now, a few words on abstract concepts:

Of course, my metal meditator was forged in fire, but so was the ocarina. Metal is also from the earth… and the ocarina is made of clay. But, the primary symbolic element of a wind instrument is, of course, air. Sea glass and dancing blue beads are undeniably oceanic. The fourth pendant was the fired clay rectangle with the burning man logo stamped on it, made from playa sand, and rightfully claiming the earth element — literally made from the ground where I stood. The silver meditator, however, was not simply fired in an oven — it was not crafted while cool and wet and then finalized with fire. I believe it was handcrafted, not stamped — it must have been stretched, hammered, and etched while red hot. And, though meditation might be associated with the easeful flow of water, the lightness and breath of air, or the stability and groundedness of earth, meditation, in my view, is primarily about training the mind to focus. And focus is sharp — sharp like a sword forged in flames, sharp like fire. I meditate so I can be more effective, more decisive, more clear, more energized, more driven towards my deepest values. Meditation is a weapon of a spiritual warrior — it cuts away the baggage of socialization and less desirable patterns. Meditation is not always easeful or soothing, though it can be, when controlled — like fire. Or something like that, I hope…

Focus can bring lightness — like air — though light comes from fire, too. Focus can be steadying like few other things — grounding, so to speak. They all compliment each other. Fire feeds the soil, is fed by wind, and flows like a river into the sky. I typically prefer to use other symbols to represent the essential forces, and am learning to interpret more traditional symbolism through modern models. I prefer to represent the spectrum of experience through the following axes: RESISTANT—ALIGNED and ACTIVE—PASSIVE. Still, I put a lot of symbolic weight on the alignment of my pendants with the 4 elements. It felt very aligned, directly symbolic of more divine forces at play, so to speak. Through a modern lens, EARTH is more resistant, AIR is aligned, FIRE is active, and WATER is passive. Only by writing this reflection was I able to connect those concepts. Resistant—Aligned seems to correspond with lower—higher desirability or the magnitude of positive affect. Passive—Active seems to correspond with this as well — when we experience resistance, we can’t move as quickly, and are not as activated towards our own goals. This can also be represented by receiving and giving. In this sense, if we primarily seek more alignment, we also seek more activity (energy) and creativity (giving). Simultaneously, in our seeking more activity (giving), we face more resistance (receiving energy). I think my soon-to-be famous analogy might help illuminate this relationship more intuitively: for the population of life on earth to grow (which it has), there must be a simultaneous increase in the total amount of death. More life = more beings which will die. AND STILL, at the same time, for a population or a being to grow, the rate of life/birth to death must INCREASE; more life than death, but an increase in both. This analogy was harder for me to overlay onto aligned(resonant)—active(giving) vs. Resistant(dissonant)—passive(receiving), but it seems undeniably logical for there to only be one fundamental spectrum and metric for all processes and relationships. We are all connected, after all — we are all united in one system. ANNDDDD, I digress.

When I arrived at the man, he was closed for deconstruction and preparation for burning. I couldn’t deliver my gift to the fire. Thankfully, there was a dedicated delivery person for just such a thing. As I gave it to him and watched him walk away, I reflected on the idea that releasing my fire totem called me to loosen my grasp of my firey aspects: fierceness, fixations, forcefulness, fickleness. I am calling on myself to embrace more receptivity, to be more like water — more fluid and flexible while retaining an inward calm — in the pursuit of giving more. To embrace more balance, in the pursuit of greater striving and changing the world more fully. Am I a living paradox? Maybe you are, too…

As the day came to a close, I met back up with Tess at her camp, as we planned to watch the Man combust together. I had packed several special outfits for the burn, including a quasi-original adaptation of the Bedouin desert robes, to honor traditional desert culture, and optimize for ingenuity and climatic challenges. I found two white tablecloths at my hometown thrift store (which my mom runs, with exceedingly surprising success on all fronts — just about everything requested appears there when needed…). I planned to wear both white sheets in tandem (so I cover my whole body without needing to cut them, since they were such quality pieces). It dawned on me that wearing this for the central ceremony would be most appropriate. However, now that I had a new partner-in-burn, I knew what was needed. I offered to show Tess how cute of a match we could be. I cut holes in the two white tablecloths, each of us adorned our respective cloak (seen below), and we headed off to explore before the ceremony.

(photo taken a week after BM in Sebastopol, CA after Tess’s first ecstatic dance.)

Tess and I proceeded to practice slack-lining (tight-rope walking) at “Dad’s house”, a camp of young, fit, acrobatic bay-area burners. Outside Dad’s House, Tess and I began to dance to the music on the street. We displayed our intimacy most publicly, in our matching white robes, to both the admiration and dismay of some onlookers. One passerby commented “Oh, look at you! You’re soooo in loooveee!… Go Fuck Yourselves!”… followed by their friend amending “no, go fuck each other!”… uuuhhhh… I felt I had to combat the affront, rather than remain silent. I only had enough wit to clap back with “Yeah, we’re better than you”, by which I really meant “we’re happier than you”. In the future, I’d like to respond with something more along the lines of “It’s OK to be jealous, it’s so hard to find love in this world!!”. Tess felt embarrassed by my egocentric defense, and hopefully a bit protected, too.

We left Dad’s house after a long, slow, sensual dance I’m sure we’ll both remember for a long time. We searched for one of her favorite spots — the cowboy poem-cafe — without avail, were gifted some dinner snacks by an empty camp, and decided to head towards the Man to prepare for the Burn. As we biked towards the Man at the center of Black Rock City, he began to alight. We didn’t know when he was supposed to burn — we guessed, and were just in time. Just about everyone had gathered around to witness — all the people in costume, all the cars, all the lights, all the noise. All around the one giant, burning, wooden man. It looked something like this:

We danced more and more, in more ways than one, our bodies becoming more and more familiar with each other, slipping into increasing comfort, joy, and exploration, as the flames raged on, up, and away. We danced more, as the fire grew and then diminished, as the man began to disintegrate, and the crowd diminished. As the burn came to a smolder, we walked to the Mayan Warrior, danced until sunrise, then headed back to Tess’s camp for breakfast and cleanup.

After eating a full breakfast, and showering for the first time in a week, I discovered that Tess was also heading to SF with her camp-lead, and that there was space for me — actually, that there was a strong desire for another carpooler to join the car for both logistical and interpersonal reasons. I went to my camp to pack up and found Max, my solo-camp, veteran-burner friend also packing up to prepare to leave during the Temple burn. As it happens, he was also headed to SF, and had space for me. I was longing to connect with him more, so we planned to make the drive to Reno together, and then I’d transfer to Tess’s car for the trip from Reno to SF. I left most of my gear with Tess, helped her camp clean up and organize a bit, and met back up with Max to accompany him to the Temple burn.

Talking to Max some more, I learned of his personal connection to the balloon pilot at the BRC airport. As I still needed an appropriate disposal method for my aligned-airflow-element pendant, the ocarina, I hoped we might be able to squeeze in a flight of some kind. I was too late, though; we didn’t have the time, and the airport was being dismantled. As the sun began to set, we went to the Temple of the Deep. Black, with golden cracks running through it, like lava rock, the Temple appeared like a black diamond crust encasing a brilliant, molten radiance.

The Temple Burn was less celebration, more grief ritual. Nearly everyone was quiet, dimly lit, and mostly still. Someone started a howl, many chimed in, hooting, hollering, yelping. Some started chanting “free Palestine”, and were met with immediate resistance. I saw a balloon, a long way off, quite high, and knew I wanted to meet it. As I got closer, I realized how huge it was. A white, spherical balloon, maybe 5 feet in diameter. I thought about cutting it off the bike it was attached to, and letting it soar away with my pendant-whistle. I decided I was more excited about tying it to the top, letting it soar for a while, and perhaps be discovered and appreciated by another some day. That is my hope for all the pendants I passed on. I loved the image of it that ocarina, brightly painted with geometric, tribal designs and molded into the shape of a tooth. I also loved the idea of playing it, as I love the idea of playing most instruments. I find more ease and joy in tools with cleaner sounds, though, and this was probably why I had hardly ever played it. It was time to pass on some remaining childhood sentimentalities and fixation on appearance. So, I let it fly.

After this, Max and I headed back to his car, already packed, and got into the long, slow line departing BRC. While on the road, Max and I took turns napping and sleeping, and chatting in between. I did most of the sleeping. We talked about politics, philosophy, psychedelics, psychology, sociology, technology. Turns out, he’s a fellow Hegelian, and a transhumanist, like me. He runs a website in homage to the dialectic.

Needless to say, this all felt quite aligned, and profound. I hope to collaborate with Max more in the near future. He lives in Barcelona, frequents psy-trance dance events, and is a tech and finance entrepreneur. We were on the road for maybe 7 hours before he dropped me off in Reno, at Starman’s place, where Tess was camped and asleep in her tent…

I accidentally left my bike behind at Starmans, a logistical oversight on my part, and landed at my brother’s place in SF the next day, with Tess, and all our gear. We recovered there a bit, prepared for the long ride, explored some Art nearby. I moved Tess’s phone into the pocket of our bike bag, which got stolen while we explored the De Young Art Museum. Luckily, I secured the purchase of an identical phone a few days later in Santa Cruz for a reasonable price, on our way to pick up the motorcycle from the mountains (oops #99, soon followed by Win #100).

We spent a lovely day on the ridge of the mountains overlooking Monterey Bay. We talked about simulation theory, free will, and AI with the manager of the land and community project there. We rode the motorcycle out, up to SF where we spent another night, then continued on up to Ukiah, me on motorcycle, Tess and gear with my brother and his partner. Within the last few miles, I got lost, fell into a ditch on the side of the dirt road, lost reception, and found out my phone had died (oops #101). So, I drove up to a neighbors place, who gifted me a portable charger, helping me on my way to arrive, at long last, to my new home (win #111).

And that, my friends, is the long-story short of my first Burning Man experience. I sent myself off to a new land, community, and home in search of deeper resonance, and found it in many places along the way. I met powerful people, lovers, teachers, students, vitalizing collaborators. I danced, walked, and pedaled until I laughed and cried with joy and grief. I meditated, chatted, hugged, did drugs, roller skated, and climbed to many great heights. I learned to trust the process a little more, to follow the wind more closely, and to give it all I can. I continue to seek more of myself and the mysteries of the world.

I plan to write more, in different ways. I want to tell you about my name, my symbolism, and my core values. I want to tell you some highlights since my time at BM — my cozy recovery with Tess, my new communities, and my ongoing search for spirit. I want to share my manifesto with you after I hear back from the essay contest I am praying to win. I believe I can win, and plan to spend the $50K prize mostly on essentials to continue my work, study, and travel in pursuit of progress. Either way, I have already won — to have written what I have, to have thought, experienced, seen, heard, and felt all that I have — I hope I can stay in awe of the overflowing beauty of it all.

I am patient, I am learning, I am growing. I give as much as I can. I receive as much as I can. I strive for maximal joy and ease. I also strive for maximal challenge and humility.

I bow to you, and your path. I bow to us, and our profundity.

May we always seek more.

In Progress,

Faze Point

·θΦθ·

P.s. here’s the note I wrote to myself at the end of the post as I thought about the relationship between receiving and giving, activation and passivity, resonance and dissonance:

the difference between cooperative use of power and equal power!! equal can be conflicted— dissonant, resistant. If distribute more GOOD, then more resonant, not more EQUAL… power to accomplish desires… limited resources, scarcity, competition makes equal power harder… less equal power near periphery? — more homogeneity at center, more difference at edges — self is self closer to self… self is other further from self…

In other words, more ‘equal’ is not inherently better, not identical to what is best.

There’s a part of me that wants to defend myself when I’m attacked. There’s also a part who wants to confess my shortcomings. I know that I always have room to improve. And I know we all do. To intentionally and collaboratively embrace that growth is what all parts of me want.

I was publicly “called out” for stealing by a former housemate, and told that the “moral wrongness” of my action was the true cause of his upset, rather than the specific item taken or anything else. In my upset, I sent a sarcastic text in response. I consider borrowing as distinct from stealing, and I try to approach morality as relative, rather than binary. I was angry that he likely harmed some of my relationships, and something akin to my public image. I thought it was very shortsighted, and unskillful. So, too, perhaps, was my response. So, too, might that be said of my theft/borrowing. Of course, there are worse things in this world. In that sense, what I did wasn’t so bad, compared to what others have done. Still, I could do better. I believe the heart of the conflict was and is a difference in our conceptual frameworks about morality, and our emotional relationship to those concepts. So, I thought I’d take a moment to reflect on these things explicitly, for all to see. If public shaming is what is wanted, public dialogue is what will be offered.

I know that categorical wrongness/badness does not exist. I also know that attacks (intentions to harm) come from fear - they are attempts to minimize threat. I was scolded in a very personally-meaningful format against my explicit wishes: accused of wrong-doing, shamed, punished in front of over 50 of the closest people to me.

A similar public shaming has happened before, by a former partner. I was accused publicly on facebook of being untrustworthy with women, but with different words. She has since apologized and expressed internal conflict about that attack, including acknowledging the lack of a deeper self-understanding and discernment. I never asked for a public followup, but that would cement the sincerity of the acknowledgment for me. I say acknowledgement, not apology, because apology seems to me to imply regret, or some negative emotion attached to a memory. I would not ask for regret or apology, or even any negative emotion. I would only ask for deeper understanding: the recognition of the confusion, insecurity, and misplaced blame, and the misjudgment of the effectiveness of the attack. Regardless if I’m the object of the attack, if it was an effective action for them, I can understand, appreciate, and honor that decision. And her acknowledgement of her own shortcomings was an important part of the process of repair between us. It was relieving, and easy to forgive. For a while, it seemed like a burned bridge that would not be rebuilt. But, more rapidly than expected, a connection was resurrected. That has been my experience of rebuilding trust with most people after conflict. Perhaps I am too easy to forgive, or too confident about others’ capacity for growth. I certainly have had unrealistic levels of optimism about many things before. Still, I remain fundamentally optimistic.

Upon receiving the more recent attack — the communication designed to make me feel bad — I was surprised and angry: I wanted to attack back. Although I am not really upset about being disliked by one person, it is embarrassing to be denigrated to one’s entire community. To feel embarrassed — to feel bad about oneself — is shame. I’m not categorically/always against shaming/humiliation, but I think our culture would do better to minimize it more. Like any attack or punishment, it can backfire if not done carefully, or if disproportionate to the initial harm. In both cases of my public shame, the attempted punishment seemed disproportionate to the offense, leading me to want to push back, rather than give in and accept embarrassment. After the first, my push-back was only internal: I imagined the attack was coming from a different place of hurt, and was misplaced onto me. I defended myself by suggesting that she was misjudging. After the more recent attack, I sent back a direct text of sarcasm and condescension. I was “defensive”, as commonly understood. Defensiveness, defined as simply preventing harm, is inherently positive / supportive. The question then becomes: have I truly prevented harm, being successfully defensive, or have I mistakenly caused more harm than growth.

And, was I successful in my “theft” — another self-protective action which knowingly caused harm — or did I cause more harm than benefit? Can we consider it a “bad” action overall? Should I feel remorse, sorrow, or shame? Should I still return the item I planned to borrow, or should I fully steal it, considering that he said that non-consensual borrowing was not meaningfully different to him than stealing. How do I assess these things on moral grounds? How do I decide what is best to do?

Morality is Relative, not Binary:

This is an important fact for me. Why is morality relative? Because everything is relative to experience. We exist within experience, and everything we know about the world is in relation to our experience. And, experience is always relational to other experiences — always moving, evolving, and referential. We don’t experience simply “good” and “bad” things. If this were the case, we could not evaluate the desirability of two good things against each other, because they would be equally, simply “good”. A ripe apple is good, and a million dollars is better. Some things are closer to neutral. Some things are repulsive. And some are just annoying. Experiences exist on a spectrum of less-desirable to more-desirable, or “better” to “worse”. Stealing a paperclip, he acknowledged, was not as bad as stealing a $150 bike-bag, which is worse than stealing a $10 bag, but nonetheless all are still categorically bad for him. I took the more expensive bag because it was the only one that fit my bike rack. And, I planned to return it…

“Good vs bad” relates to our experience of affect — our felt sense of well-being, level of general satisfaction, or the desirability of our condition. Insofar as every experience can be related to others through choice — desirability — nothing is categorically bad, but rather only worse than others, less satisfying, or less desirable. To conclude that my theft was worse than other things is easy: I can imagine many things which are better. However, I was unable to choose any better option: if I was able to, I would have. I chose the best option I had before me, anticipating not too much harm to come from it. He didn’t need the bag particularly strongly while it was gone — in fact, he hadn’t even realized it was gone until I told him, after I had finished using it. I knew he would be upset, simply because I took the thing after my initial request to borrow it was declined (and after a second request was left to a “I’ll think about it”). The harm was that I knew he didn’t want me to, and I did it anyway, elevating my judgement of what was a reasonable sharing of items above his: I imagine that I damaged his sense of power over his belongings, as well as his moral sensibility, and that this is the real harm caused.

Unfortunately, it also took me longer than anticipated to begin the return process. I had just moved across the country, and had been caught up in what seemed like more essential self-care (including recovering from illnesses, identity theft, and vehicle challenges), establishing a new life in a new place, and necessary community duties. It is also true that I could have mailed it earlier if I had decided to prioritize it more. It is an amazing coincidence that the day I had made concrete plans to mail it back was the day the public scolding happened.

Morality is Universal, not Individuated:

Nothing is “absolutely bad” or “entirely good” — we can always imagine extending the quality further along the spectrum. This universal moral relativity is embodied in our experience of choice: every experience we can imagine is more or less preferable than other experiences. This is related to the fact that we always have choice in our actions: experience itself — everything that happens to us — always includes our own chosen actions. Though some things are not chosen by us (like our social context), we still choose how to engage with all those things. Choice implicates the possibility of other actions. If we can always imagine multiple options, we always have choice in our present experience. And, we always choose what seems like the better option based on our expectation of the outcome: we choose what will likely have the most desirable feedback.

And this seems as true as anything else I believe. In this sense, the experience of relativity/relationality and possibility is really true — it’s the absolute, universal truth. The only constant is change, so to speak. And, in a seeming paradoxical, self-reference even this universal-relativity is in motion - relating, evolving, changing. And this highlights the limit of our own current understanding. Similarly, we know the universe is expanding, but not exactly by how much, or why. The further evolution of this thought can be glimpsed through the more precise quantification of these relationships, values, and movements: a more complex, comprehensive degree of understanding.

Since experience always has choice, everyone who experiences also chooses what they think is best from their perspective. I.e. Everyone is doing their best. This is not to say that our best cannot get better: we do the best with what we have, in the present. And we continue to learn, to grow, to gain more experience, and thereby do better. I believe this is fundamental to experience: the experience of growth is also really true. And, I’m pretty sure that experience is fundamental to the universe: a real, unwavering truth extends to all things in the universe. A similar conclusion has been reached far and wide for thousands of years through various methods of inquiry. My own particular logic can be found here.

Every action is a choice aimed towards better. Everyone does their best. Everything is relative. And, everything happens for a reason. Since we cannot change the past (but we can change our memories), we cannot imagine “having done” something differently. That colloquialism really refers to our consideration of choosing differently in a similar situation in the future. This is why I try to avoid saying “could have”, or “should have”. But I could, and I should, evolve.

Learning for Next Time: Doing Better

In the same way action is always directed towards the better, our understanding is always improving as we learn from the feedback of our actions. What we experience as the outcome of an action is its feedback. The degree of improvement in experience from the outcome of an action is its degree of success. I cannot actually imagine having made a better decision than I did. Not because it was so highly successful, but simply because nothing could have happened otherwise. When I imagine the possibility of change, I imagine a possibility that can only potentially become real (making it a real possibility) in the future. If it cannot become true, it is not a possibility. I cannot imagine having done differently than I did, but I can imagine doing differently in the future. This is also why I do not like to apologize — it gives the impression that I wish I had not done what I did. I see no reason to wish that, or to say that anything was or is categorically bad. However, I am fully welcoming of the idea that empathy, sorrow, or shame can support relationships, by shaping the desire to do differently in the future.

I returned the shaming with more shaming, reinforcing the erosion of the connection. Burned bridges are not always bad, and neither is stealing; whether a bridge burns or disintegrates over time does not change the fact that all bridges expire eventually. And stealing 100 dollars from a billionaire to feed a starving child would seem to only create a net benefit.

There’s a big part of me that does not even want to return the bag after all. Not because I’m using it, or because it’s expensive, but because I do not want to reinforce what I see as a self-limiting response and approach that led to the out-sized retribution. I would suggest there is misplaced anger, relating to an incomplete understanding, which I hope can be redirected more effectively. I’m pretty sure that anger is always about the feeling of personal safety, rather than “objective moral wrongness”. Anger creates the desire to harm. It can be more defensive or offensive, but again, this is not a mutually exclusive binary. Neither is harm/benefit. Beauty always includes some difficulty, even if it’s as simple as stepping on an ant in the midst of dance.

My understanding is limited too. There is nothing that I understand fully - not myself, not my experience, not “direct experience”. So I strive to understand more, and writing helps me do that: making my thoughts and feelings more explicit, and putting them on a public stage, takes extra attention, thought, and diligence. I scrutinize my words, concepts, and feelings, self-reflecting through the process of expression. I understand the anger that can arise when one feels unheard, ignored, or not cared-for enough. I hope I can make it clear that I do care about honest feedback, minimizing harm, and acknowledging shortcomings. I am more interested in truth and growth than anything else. And I am not one to shy away from conflict.

I don’t deny that harm came from my actions. I would not have been upset by that acknowledgment if it wasn’t presented to a large network of my most important relationships. I’m even happy to accept that I would borrow something after my request to borrow it was fully, explicitly denied. I’m even happy to accept that I would steal an item with no intent to return it. What matters to me is the relative benefit of an action: the difference in value between the two options. Borrowing that pannier, as I later explained to a friend, was mission critical, for a critical mission. What I do not accept is catering to binary thinking, misplaced anger, and the disproportionate public shaming which followed.

There’s also a part of me that wants to return the bag, knowing it would get more use — producing more benefit — there than here. The main benefit I would get from that is the pleasure of supporting a culture of clearer discernment: to agree to put things where they seem most useful, and to benefit from that collective behavior. The shared practice of deep reflection in these discernments also asks us for more transparency, so we can learn more from each other. We only do things in the interest of potential benefit. Benefit — improvement — is the basis of “better” and “worse. It’s possible that the return would support the future of my relationship with the place I came from, as well. It’s possible that all this philosophical pontification will help Zane to loosen his grip on his binary moral ideology. At the very least, perhaps it will prevent more emails to my personal community. With all of these positive, evolutionary prospects, I have decided to put the borrowed bag in a box to be brought back to the lender. It seems like the better thing to do.

But, maybe I am wrong. Not morally wrong, but rather lacking insight into some of these dynamics. I’m sure I am. We can always learn more and improve ourselves, and that is what I strive to do.

And now, I feel more complete.

I’ve been enjoying these relevant songs recently:

Peace Somehow, by Avi Kaplan

Grow, by FACESOUL

Let me know what you think of all this… in the comments.

Faze X Point / Phi Theta Ought

·θΦθ·

Up Next, California Dreaming Pt.2: The Big Burn and Beyond

One of my core beliefs is in the immense power of intention: intention is everything. Literally. Everything is connected, and thoughts influence our world both directly and indirectly. I believe it is undeniable that when many people set an intention together, it can have profound effects - even ones which cannot be measured precisely, yet. All I ask is that you send me a wish. Wish me success with my advocacy for a holistic, deeply cooperative, social and technological transformation.

And now, take a moment to wish for the success of your own projects. Imagine what success would mean for you. What goals do you most want to come true? Tell me about them, in the comments, if you’d like.

Before jumping into my first journey to and through Burning Man, if you’d like to learn more about me, you can see my more recent substack self-reflection post “Cycles and Phases of Faze Point”.

Burning Man, like many festivals, is legendary for it’s magic, and infamous for it’s hedonism. Something different about The Burn, though, is the history of its values-driven community, imbuing special ethos into the celebration. The 10 Principles of Burning Man, as they emerged over twenty years ago:

1. Radical Inclusion: Everyone is welcome.

2. Gifting: Unconditional giving for its own sake.

3. Decommodification: Freedom from commerce and exploitation.

4. Radical Self-reliance: Discover and exercise inner strength.

5. Radical Self-expression: Embrace each of our unique gifts.

6. Communal Effort: Cooperation and collaboration.

7. Civic Responsibility: Care for public welfare.

8. Leaving No Trace: Respect the environment, leaving it better than we found it.

9. Participation: Everyone is invited to engage fully and explore.

10. Immediacy: Recognize inner truth and connect deeply with all around us.

A week before Burning Man (”The Burn”), my would-be patron bailed, so I tried to buy tickets online. 5 tries later, and my bank still wouldn’t allow the purchase even after verification codes. We can call this hiccup #1. I figured that if I was destined to go, something would align nicely. The night before final online ticket sales (which was also the day of my flights) my mom offered to try with her card. It was declined twice also, so she called her bank directly and got them to let it through. It was paid: $850 for a week in the desert with 72,000 other artists and explorers. Thanks mom! It is in these kinds of moments that my mom always shines brightest. Persistence, diligence, planning. I got help, and for that I am eternally grateful.

I flew out of Boston 3 days before the start of the burn. Instead of paying an extra $500 for a bus ticket from Reno, NV to Black Rock City (BRC), NV (the location of Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert) I decided to bike-pack from Reno (me and all my gear on my mountain bike). Google maps estimated it was only a 10 hour bike ride to cover those 130 miles. 13 miles/hour. It seemed reasonable to me. It might have been if I wasn’t carrying ~100lbs of food and water and gear for a week in the desert. I posted on reddit asking for advice, and got about 10 people telling me it was a terrible, dangerous idea due to inexperienced RV drivers and the harshness of the desert. That didn’t dissuade me at all, but it did encourage me to carry WAY more water than I needed (probably 5x more), and to take a longer route — the back-roads, so to speak. So, the bike ride was looking closer to 20 hours, which was fine - it just meant I would miss a day or two of the start of The Burn.

I got off my plane in Reno to discover my bag of organic, locally ground cornmeal had gotten wet and ripped open from an exploded coconut water container, wetting most of my clothes and covering them in sticky corn goop: hiccup #2, and photo #1. I dumped it all out on the floor of the airport. The cleaning ladies were very sweet about it. Next, I had to take my bike out of the travel box, and assemble it. For some reason, it was harder to assemble than to take apart... HAHA. As it turned out, it seemed I had lost or forgotten the single necessary hex wrench along the way, and I didn’t bring any extras. Oops! hiccup #3. I searched for it for 15 mins, then found a janitor, who called the maintenance staff, who brought me a hex key set, and I was able to finish my bike assembly - photo #2. I got help, and for that I am eternally grateful. Funny enough, after that, I found the original hex key I thought I had forgotten. It had somehow gotten loose and was floating around between things until it rattled to the ground. I finished getting my rig all ready to go after a couple hours, and went to find a place to sleep. Turns out, downtown Reno does not have many good camping spots. I slept on some hard-packed sand/gravel outside the Walmart I would get supplies from the next morning.

I woke up, and headed to buy food and water for the week. I very much guesstimated how much food I would need, and eyeballed how much food and water would fit on my bike. I’d resupply in the nearby town before entering BRC if I needed, and I was pretty sure I could go a week without food if I had no choice. I decided to aim to maximize how much I brought with me — better safe than sorry, I guess. I don’t think I could have done a better job if I had carefully mapped every cubic inch of space and counted calories. Every pocket of every bag, and all the side straps, were entirely full. Win #1, photo #3 - bike all packed and ready in the Walmart entryway. Of course, every time I was bailed out was also a win. But, since I was in the hole to begin with, the loss and the win nearly cancels out, I think. And, as always, every win had it’s own drawback. The packing-perfection win was multilayered, as well. It just so happened that all this food and water lasted me exactly 1 week until the end of the Burn. At that point, I was approaching a triple digit number of wins, at least. Still, the weight of it all slowed me down and made riding a lot more difficult (especially up hills). I had not trained for that sort of load.

I started riding about mid-day, and quickly realized my seat needed to be adjusted. It was so uncomfortable that I was going to not enjoy any of the rest of my 20 hour bike ride if I was unable to fix it. I went into my bags to find the hex key that fit all the other bolts on the bike... turns out that this bolt was not the same size as all the others. Oops! hiccup #4. When I realized this, I thought to myself, “maybe I’ll find the right size on the highway on my way there”. But, I had just passed a Hawaiian-themed, tiki-torch covered bus that was being worked on just before the entrance to the highway in Reno, so I decided to ask if they had one I could borrow. They did, and they told me they were headed to burning man as well. They suggested I take the dirt road to the West of Pyramid Lake to avoid the heavy traffic that would be coming through the main route. They also said there was a hot spring somewhere along that road, and that was an irresistible potential. They even let me keep the wrench, which I returned to them on the last day of BM. I fixed the seat angle, and did not experience any discomfort for at least 3 more hours. I got help, and for that I am eternally grateful. About 5 mins after getting on the highway, I rode directly over an alan key that looked just about the right size for my seat. I didn’t stop to check if it really was. I made a quick pit stop before leaving Reno, and then rode a total of 5 hours that Saturday. Consistent cloud cover and light rain eased the heat of the desert immensely. I made it to Pyramid Lake, about 1/4 of the way to BRC. Easy riding, gorgeous mountains, not much traffic. It was a pleasant ride, but by as the sunlight began to fade from the sky, my legs were ready for a bigger rest. On my way past the lake, a kind man in a pickup truck - the town sheriff - offered to drive me down to the beach-camping area so I could set up my tent before dark. There was a beautiful sunset on the lake that night. Photos #4-11. I’m so glad I was able to set up the tent (I might not have if it was dark and had I been even more exhausted), because there were about 100 mosquitoes resting on my tent when I woke up in the morning. I got pics to prove it. But I got help, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Sunday morning had a later start than expected due to all the repacking of food and gear back onto my bike. I rode for about 2 hours on Sunday morning, riding out beyond pyramid lake on the alternate dirt road. Almost every other vehicle I saw drive up to that dirt road turned around once they realized the pavement ended. The one single vehicle that passed me on that route stopped to check on me, as I had stopped to re-secure my bags which had started falling off the rack. “Cinnamon Sam” (Swiss-army Sam while on duty), who had been at BRC for 3 weeks setting up the nicest composting toilets on the playa (i.e. the desert ground itself), was driving a trailer with 1000 gallons of water for his camp/company. The Ecozoic toilet experience is at least 7x better than that of a porta potty - no smell, no pooling waste, and not as hot. However, some porta potties had great art inside. One was all covered in fake leaves and pictures of the jungle, with rainforest sounds activated by the door closing. I think there were even some dinosaur pictures in there for a jurassic park theme. And, I discovered some great events from interior potty flyers. The compost toilets are more expensive to set up and manage, too, but I hope they get more attention and funding to bring the costs down.

Cinnamon Sam would have turned around on that dirt road, too, but his trailer was too long, so he had no choice but to keep going and pass me. He offered to give me a ride the rest of the way to BRC. I almost declined his offer, though, because I knew I hadn’t even made it halfway. He was probably right when he said that nobody else would be driving that way. There were no more towns - or any infrastructure at all the rest of the way on that road (for 50 miles), and probably no more saviors to be found. One could say that this was Win #2. He and the entirety of his truck, inside and out, were covered in a fine white dust I was a bit alarmed about. He told me about the BRC observatory with the telescope, and encouraged me to watch a sunrise sometime. He dropped me at Gerlach - the nearest town to BRC - because the gates hadn’t opened to regular festival attendees yet. I got a big lift, and for that I am eternally grateful.

I planned to camp the night, and asked the local bartender at the packed pub if there was a good place to camp nearby. He thought about it for a minute, and then simply offered me a camper to sleep in. He said his friend’s camper-trailer was available just down the road, and his friend, who was at BM already, invited him to offer it to someone who needed it. That was a real help, and for that I am eternally grateful. I think we could even call it Win #3. I left some gemstones, a handwritten letter, and a QR code in that trailer for the friend who offered it up. I printed about 20 QR codes in Reno on my pitstop, and had a long chat with a saleslady who was selling water quality testing strips in home depot. She told me about her struggles with Lyme and some unnamed autoimmune disease, and how she healed herself with alternative treatments after conventional medicine failed her. I’ve heard the same story - first hand from the patients themselves - about 10 times now... 90% of everyone I’ve talked to who has had Lyme. (I’ve struggled with Lyme myself, and it’s been a big part of my journey over the last several years.) The QR codes linked to the abstract and outline(s) of my paper - a more accessible and approachable format than the whole essay itself. I taped one of the codes to the bottom of a frisbee (the idea was conceived by my boy Riv), for more rapid and creative deployment. I gifted tat disc to a member of Camp Discrace, who lives in San Francisco and studied philosophy in Boston, and had been to Amherst, where the frisbee originated. I thought it was an appropriate gift, but I hope to get it back one day. It was my favorite, special Frisbee. He taught me how to play goaltimate - a small-scale version of ultimate frisbee with a big-hoop goal. It was great. I’m getting ahead of myself, though.

I left the camper at sunrise on Monday morning - day 1 of The Burn. The front gate at BRC was closed due to the rain, so there was a several-thousand-car long line in standstill, extending about 12 miles from Gerlach to Black Rock City. I heard it took the cars about 8 hours once the line started moving. It took me only 2 hours - another real win. I rode past most of the cars, even after the line started inch-worming forward. I entered the front gate and rode to the ticket-booth to pick up my ticket. I met a veteran burner in line, named Max, and we got chatting about his living in Europe and Central America, his favorite psychedelics, which isomer of Ketamine was better, and which of his dozens of Burns were his favorite. He asked if I had an intention for my time at The Burn. I told him I wanted to experience ego-death. He didn’t ask why, but he gave me the necklace he was wearing - one made by his friend - a piece of fired clay made from playa dust, with a stamp of the Burning Man insignia on it. I added it to my collection of 3 other prized necklaces, all of which I wore through the burn. He said it could help ground me if I ever needed to remember where I was. He then invited me to camp with him, as he was also solo camping for the first time since his first burns. He was the lead organizer of a camp for decades, and it felt good to have some experience to lean on near my campsite if I needed. I ended up not spending one single night in my tent, so I saw Max about thrice during the burn - twice mid-burn, in passing, and once, in depth, on the last day.

After setting up camp that Monday night, I sent myself out to deep-playa; the distant reaches of the uninhabited desert, where big, random art exhibits live. The friend I planned to live with after the burn was supposedly DJing at the opening ceremony of the Sphinx Gate exhibit. Because of the heavy winds and rains a fews days before, construction was delayed, tents were blown away, and everything was set back a couple days. It was pretty harsh, I heard, and many people had tents collapse, flood, or fly away. I’m glad I missed it. So, I meandered onwards, out towards the trash fence - the official edge of BRC, to find someone setting up the giant wind chimes, made of recycled pressurized gas containers. From there, I rode around to the front row of camps on the left side of the clock-based city layout. After some dancing, empenadas+fireball (which was lovely), and random brief encounters, I meandered by a camp with a group of people sitting in a circle, having an animated, intimate discussion. Before I could sit down, a pretty girl with a Scottish accent struck up a conversation with me, which quickly turned into reflections on life, philosophy, politics, etc. I told her I was trying to start a techno-collectivist intentional-community (e.g. a transhumanist commune). We decided to go for an adventure, checking out various music spots and bars, and chatted for hours until we found an 1800’s style covered-wagon to crash in for the night. While sleeping, I got fully body-slammed, twice. Two different people decided it looked really comfy where I was laying, and didn’t see me before launching themselves into the middle of the wagon where I slept.

When Daena and I woke up in the morning on day 2 of the Burn, I slyly snagged some mango juice from the nearest bar for brekky, and we continued our adventure. We hit up the BDSM dungeon to explore the leather flogs and all, spent some time relaxing and chatting at a beautiful tea house, exchanged naked massages on the roadside, and then headed across the center of the playa to find some loud music. It started raining, the playa turned to mud, and we had to leave our bikes behind and walk, seeking refuge at the chicken run. There and then, on day 2, my primary intention was fulfilled: part of my human psyche died, and I was reborn. This link is the video of the rebirth-reenactment. I entered the shack, and was struck by images of chickens with human limbs, dancing, doing surgery, and flying spaceships — many deeply inspiring concepts. Then, my inner strength was tested as I had to traverse a pit of squealing rubber chickens. It was one of the most hilarious, bittersweet experiences — an absurd embrace of trampling over dozens of despairing, plucked chickens to enter the cloaca-portal. After my rebirth, a beautiful couple struck up conversation with us in the coop, and offered us some oracle-looking cards. The one I pulled reads, “You are ever free; you have no birth, no death, no bondage, no liberation. - Atma Bodha 8”. I agree. I went to return the card, when they revealed that their contacts were on the other side, and they had made the cards as gifts. I bowed, and returned the gift with one of my QR codes. Daena and I continued our adventure to find good music, and I danced louder and harder than anyone while subwoofers shook the ground and echoed for miles. Someone approached me, complementing my dancing, and at the end of our convo, he offered me coke. And not diet coke, either. It would have been my first time. I declined given I was already very satisfied and it was getting late and my energy was waning. It started drizzling again, and we were on the complete opposite side of the playa from Daena’s camp, and my tent wouldn’t do much for us, so we sought shelter nearby. We pulled into a back alley towards some lit-up dome-tents. The first tent we approached had insignias on the sides saying “NOT A CULT”. I got excited that we might have stumbled upon a real cult (which I had been hoping for), and poked my head through the side door. There were about 7 people sitting in a circle around a propane fireplace. I asked if they were a cult. Someone laughed, and one said “We’re NOT A CULT”... because that was the name of their camp. So, I told them I was sorry to bother them, and turned around to head out. However, they invited us to stay, and told me they were talking about the philosophy of physics. I had just been explaining my thoughts on entropy to someone (probably Daena… who I very soon started calling Data), and excitedly jumped in, chatting about the entirety of life in the cosmos until bedtime. I gave one of them a QR code. Turns out, most of them were psychedelic-assisted therapy facilitators, or else practitioners. They told us we could stay the night in their main tent, and I set an intention to try to converge with them spontaneously the next day.

On day 3 Daena returned to her camp in the morning, and I resupplied at my tent. I then went to Camp “Goddess of Love”, or something along those lines, to embrace my inner feminine: to allow what needed to happen, to follow spirit, to receive what was meant for me. I attended an authentic relating event (which was lovely, but I was falling asleep), followed by a Divine Partnership workshop, which I left a few minutes in, disappointed by the facilitator. Another man followed my lead out of the tent, and shared his appreciation for my engagement and comment during the workshop (about gender being a spectrum), and we began talking about creative expression, intimacy, and dance. Turns out, Vincent is a professional dancer, and has a special love of contact improv. He told me there was a class and jam happening down the road, so we biked there. It was cancelled due to the rain, but by that time, it had stopped raining, and someone mopped the floor a bit for us to dance anyway. It was just the two of us there, exploring touch, strain, stretch, surrender, intimacy, and other such physio-emotional dynamics. The sun was setting, and the colors in the clouds were vibrant. At some point, another couple joined us on the big, wooden dance floor - a much older man and a woman about my age. I watched them dance a bit, here and there, as I rolled and spun. I caught a glimpse of her face as she turned, and some very distant memory was triggered. I knew I recognized her. I just had to remember why. I tend not to forget faces I’ve seen a few times. In bewilderment, I shouted out to her, “Hey, did you grow up in Jamestown, Rhode Island”. She turned, confused, and said “Yeah?”. I said, “I am Tim Fay, and you are the baker’s daughter”. Which is an awesome and almost timeliness sentence that could be in a Thomas Hardy novel. HAHA. She had grown up one block away from where I grew up, at a bakery called the “Village Hearth”, with her twin sister, who was also there at Burning Man, in Black Rock City, NV, on the other side of the country. Seems amazingly unlikely to me. She drifted off before we had a chance to connect further. After that, Vincent and I found a comfy place to rest, and chatted about life. He told me his playa name: Son Seeker, inspired by the clarity of his mission to find other children of god - those who strive most towards divine awareness, self-transcendence, and the embodiment of love and truth. We agreed on many things, and felt a deep kinship - an intense resonance - that would undoubtedly remain strong. We napped a bit, and decided to go out again dancing. We danced with so much energy in the pyramid that night, the only woman who started dancing with us immediately dislocated her knee. Literally. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, or negligibly related to our intensity. But, that seems less likely than the alternative. It was obviously painful, but she said it had happened before and wasn’t too worried. Before too long, we decided sleep was a good idea, and got a pretty solid 4 or 5 hours of rest.

Thursday - day 4 of my first Burn. I watched the sunrise from the top of a hammock tower, about 50 feet high. It was anticlimactic. I then began meandering again. I think I might have searched for something or someone, to no avail. I found pho noodles being served nearby, and as I waited for my turn, I saw someone from NOT A CULT. We had a good convo in line about cults, religion, and god. He makes films about cults, which reminded me of the cult-expert who came to Sirius Community to do an interview with Daniel Greenberg (a well-known member of the local neighborhood — called the Hearthstone Village). I think he might have known him. He also told me I might enjoy meeting his friends’ friend, who was connected to Asana, and involved with the camp across the street - camp Ideate. I decided I would return later for one of their forum events. I continued on my meander, undoubtedly encountering many interesting things, then passed by a holotropic breathwork workshop. There were at least a hundred people laying or sitting on the ground and intentionally breathing heavily while a facilitator spoke affirmations and encouragements with an ambient sound backdrop. It seemed like the end of the session, but I sat down and joined anyway. Within 30 seconds of heavy, deep breathing, I started crying. I was grieving the challenge of the transformation that was occuring in me, and feeling the beauty and sacredness of the place I had found myself in — a place people call home. And that workshop was not the place I wanted to be, but I knew I needed to grieve more. So, I turned towards the temple.

Burning Man’s Temple has always been a place to honor the dead and dying, to mourn, and to celebrate the passing of lives into another form - the recycling of the immortal energy within all of us, and the rebirth of old patterns into new ones. Upon arrival, I was blessed by a Priest holding a ceremony for a group outside. He asked if I wanted to be marked by the ashes of temples of previous years, and marked my forehead with a black cross. He invited me to accept the death that opens the door for new possibilities, and to surrender to the grief that allows us to love more deeply. To embrace love requires us to embrace the loss of what we love. For everything changes - everything dies. I was embracing the death of parts of myself that had been dying - I grieved for those parts - and those parts grieved themselves as I allowed myself to feel the love - the power - of that moment. Power is energy, and energy is movement. And I was moved. I immediately began to cry again, and walked, spluttering and moaning, through the entryway into the temple. I was greeted by a woman singing “You are loved”, who hugged me. I sat on the first ring of benches - an amphitheatre-like gallery curved around the centerpoint, where a column of light, entering from the circular skylight, enlightened the desert sand. My grieving came to an abrupt end as the lady beside me put her hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and turned to look at her in surprise. She asked if her hand on me was ok. I laughed, and told her it was ok, and I decided I wanted to sit somewhere else. So, I went to the center, where no one sat, and crossed my legs on the sand. As I remembered to breathe deeply again, others joined me there. I heard a few sit down close to me, close enough to touch, and an older woman approached me from behind to offer me something. I accepted, and she put her hands on my back and head. I somehow touched another hand next to me, and before long I was holding hands with the two people beside me, with two people behind, grieving together. I remembered to breathe deeply and fully, embracing the life force within and around me. I felt powerful, and imagined that I was channeling something profound - a deep vulnerability, a surrender that can only come from trust - an inner knowing of how I want to be, and how I am. I want to be seen for my strength, my sensitivity, my wisdom. And I want to support the growth of communities of expansive creativity, expression, honesty, and collaboration. Intimacy. Intensity. Integrity. Before long, another shaman came to my front, and offered me a quartz crystal and a chakra alignment. He had a Tibetan singing bowl, and rang the bowl at each chakra point, starting with the top of my head. I knew that many people were watching us, and I sensed they were feeling us, too.

After the temple energy release, I played my tribal-patterned ocarina necklace with another ocarina player. That ocarina necklace was from childhood - too early to remember exactly where it came from. It hung around my neck with three others. Another was from childhood, but I remember the origin clearly. It was a piece of clear sea glass with a figure made of beads glued to it. It looked like it was dancing, with blue pants and a blue head. One was made of metal, in the shape of a slightly amorphous figure in sitting meditation, with arms spiralling into its center. That one had been lost and found a couple times at my former community, and was, in a sense, a gift. The last pendant was made of playa dust, from Max.

I decided it was time to return to Camp Ideate for a talk. I arrived at the tail end of a talk on AI. There was some concern that humans aren’t even united enough in their interests to be able to expect AI to align with human interests. I responded with my essential moral insight that everyone is doing their best from their perspective: everyone chooses the better of the options they see for themselves, and that this unites humanity in self-interest: the intention to support the expansion of our own life, and therefore of life itself. Some intense skepticism and resentment of the private interests of AI companies seeped from the crowd, so it was nice that the next talk turned out to be about capitalism, and the transition beyond it. The speaker turned out to be the guy my friend from NOT A CULT had mentioned. He began by articulating some shortcomings of individualism, private interest, and the profit motive. He concluded with the proposal that economic democracy was straightforwardly the most reasonable alternative. He described the principles of liquid democracy, which seems great. He talked about optics and semantics, and casually dropped the concept that what he was advocating for was Anarcho-Communism. My eyes widened and I looked around the room. No one seemed fazed. I asked if anyone had any resistance to the use of that term. Someone said, “no, that’s cool with us”. No one else spoke up. And, I felt like I had arrived at the right place. Close enough to home for me to know I’d be back again someday. Though, I’m less of an anarcho-communist now than I used to be... it’s complicated. (I detail my new political perspective in my recent paper.) Then, I followed the speaker after the talk to chat with him over some lunch and ask him about community. He told me he didn’t live in co-housing anymore because it was just too hard... I sympathized. Though, another one of his projects is organizing an intentional community in Boston. I thanked him for the inspiring talk, gave him my QR code, and headed out. As it turns out, as I discovered the day before I submitted my essay two weeks later: his project has collaborated with the Institute running the essay competition - starting a third venture called Antikythera, focused on planetary computation and general intelligence... something along the lines of a cybernetic planning AI, which was precisely what I was advocating in my essay.

I eventually decided to find Daena again, as we had planned to eat mushrooms together but hadn’t gotten around to it. By the time we got ready to go and ate a full meal of mushies each, the sun had set. Instead of riding our bikes, we decided to walk to deep playa - a couple miles away. We set our sights on the biggest laser shooting into the sky. We stopped along the way at the sauna car. I wasn’t too excited about it, even though I love saunas SO MUCH. Something about standing in line for the initial shower, naked, in the cold, in a heightened state, was not pleasant. But once we got in, it was nice and cozy. I would have liked to stay longer, but we were on a mission. As we exited from the car, I was thinking about death, ego-death, “the little-death”, and how to relate to those. I suddenly had a very clear realization, and blurted it out to myself: “THERE IS NO DEATH, YOU IDIOT!”. hahah! It’s pretty true... and as a former lover once said, “If death is the transition from experience to non-experience, you cannot experience death”. That was brilliant.

As we continued our trek, Daena decided she wanted some space. I was also glad to solo travel for a bit. The walk to that giant laser felt like a lifetime. And, it turned out to be a bit more than just a giant laser. It was coming from the Mayan Warrior Art Car, a brilliant display of light, sound, fire, and beautiful people. I didn’t want to enter the thick of the crowd, so I walked around it and approached a group of people by the side. Turns out, they were waiting to go up onto the Mayan Warrior, and I had just caught the opening of the gate. As the line ascended up the stairs, a well-dressed man waited at the entrance, seeming to me like a spiritual gatekeeper, as well as the enforcer of the limited entry passes, so to speak. It seemed like a special privilege to go up, so I asked the sleek-looking stairman if I could go, too. I think he said something cryptic like “If you’re going, you’re going”, so I went for it. I followed the flow and ended up behind the DJ, against a wall of pulsing, rippling light. I started dancing, feeling the incredible vibration of the car, which was palpable even while standing on the desert sand hundreds of feet away. Someone on my right asked me for some nicotine, and I searched every pocket of my bag, but could not find what I knew was hidden in there. When I turned back, I looked to my left. Standing there, next to me, looking fly as hell, was Vincent SonSeeker. Very casually, he said “funny seeing you here”. I was wildly astonished, and a bit disoriented as I approached the peak of my trip. And, I had no choice but to bask in the incredible synchronicity — the magic — of the playa. The odds of bumping into Vincent randomly — the only person I had connected with on such a deeply spiritual level — on the entire other side of the playa, the day after meeting him, in the middle of the night, feeling very spiritually aligned, on the heights of one of the biggest, baddest art cars around… all this seems like a very unlikely synchronicity. Perhaps something like 50,000-to-1. But, it wasn't random, because nothing is. Especially on the playa.

SonSeeker introduced me to his friend, who was now on my right, telling him “This is the guy I was telling you about, who does contact improv”. Turns out, his friend Nathan does contact improv as well. I wanted to dive into the deepest dance with both of them right then, but I was a bit too forward and overconfident. Vincent was confused at my exuberance and uninhibited desire for closeness, and realized I was in a heightened state. He backed off a bit, but I began dancing with Nathan, and was incredibly enthralled. He was a good dancer. And wayyy gorgeous as well. I wanted to get lost in the depths of his vast soul, so to speak. I began to. We ended up directly next to the DJ for a while, who I accidentally bumped at one point. I knew I was still being too forward, and decided to try to simply follow. To allow, receive, surrender. It was delightful. Eventually, Nathan and Vincent headed to bed, but I stayed next to the DJ, dancing like I owned the place. I stood behind the single man directing an incredible amount of sound, heat, vibration, movement, and feeling for thousands of people who stood below us. And I danced directly behind him, over him, thriving in that power. I thought to myself “this is god”. I half expected him to turn around and offer me his DJ position, even though I have absolutely no experience with that. I soaked in the radiance of that moment until I was asked to move along. I happily transitioned, and carried on with my adventure. I jumped off the top of the Mayan Warrior onto the playa floor, to the concern of onlookers, after swiping my hand through the giant laser beam. I was glad it wasn’t hot. I made my way to the FUCK YOU ELON installation, looking for “my girl”, Data. I met a lovely couple behind that sign who chatted a bit, and then I tucked myself into my sleeping bag in the dust. I thought about death some more, and decided I didn’t really want to die, if I didn’t have to. I enjoy who I am, and my wild life. I also thought about my parents, and how I’d like them to be more adventurous. Then, I fell asleep.

That concludes part 1 of my series on California Dreaming: The Search for Spirit. I’ve brought you through the most memorable moments of the first 5 days of my trip to Black Rock City, with only 3 more days of the Burn to go. Every day of burning man was saturated with little wins, and some big ones. The biggest happened on day 6 - the day the Man Burned. If you’d like to hear the rest of the story and the subsequent adventure, including the burning of The Man, my most significant sacrifice to the playa, a fellow traveller who hitched a ride home with me, my arrival and settling into my new home: subscribe to my mailing list!

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I will be continuing this practice of writing to you about my perspectives on current events, philosophy, other good projects, and my ongoing explorations, including a deeper dive into my new identity; ·θΦθ· , Faze Change Point, or Phi Theta Ought (depending on who asks, and when, and how).

I appreciate your attention. And I wish for your success.

In progress,

Faze Point

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