reported through email, another anonymous and uncertain medium. However, the
story we present is typical of many other types of tale we heard while at Burning
Man about the event’s transformative properties. It was also chosen by the Burning
Man organizers as laudable and worthy of distribution in their mass email
newsletter. While many people consider Burning Man to be nothing more than a
terrific place to celebrate, gawk or meet people, an undeniable quest for self-
transformation also transpires. In interviews, some informants compared Burning
Man with other ritual therapeutic events they experienced—such as personal
growth seminars, dream quests, and sweat lodges. Others seemed drawn to the event
by a sense that it was a place they could go to learn more about themselves. Friends
also played a major role, often serving as the source of urging that culminated in the
desert adventure: “you just have to go; it would be so good for you.” Whatever the
source, a range of different participants end up telling tales of Burning Man that are
variations on the themes raised in the official Burning Man organization’s website
“Burning dreams” file and then shared with all the members of the Burning Man
mailing list.
For 11 or so years I’ve been in vague anticipation of The Event. First hearing
of it on one of the variety shows that comes on late nite [sic.] Saturday nite, so
many years ago. It took me so long because I really didn’t know what I could
have—what exactly was missing in me. On the playa, 2001 my first time, like
the first time in my life I felt a freedom and a sense of being alive so intense
that I never felt before, overwhelmed and strong. For an entire week I had
goose bumps. And I realized many, many things that week. The meaning of
life, and how it’s not the same for everyone. That there are places that people
can truly be happy and free. That I exist, I just need to know where to look.
And beauty. Pleasure and beauty, the two most important things in Living.
Beauty in all things. My dream for re-entry is my reality. To live for personal
freedom and excavate all the bindings that for a while, I thought I needed in
life to be happy. My entire life I’ve felt a sadness within me. A constant non-
existence of meaning. Fearful of any good feelings, fearful that they may end.
I’ve been in search of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Organized
religion always made me gag, and people in general arrrrgghh-ed me. But now,
things are different. It’s been over a month since The Event and there exists in
me a constant of a dust-covered happiness. I found myself in the desert. My
dream, is of living freedom. I’m a little new at it, but in my dream, I get
better. My dream is of beauty and experience, my dream is of the outrageous
and chaotic, my dream is of opening my eyes, and waking up.^5In this tale, Zelga articulates a kind of nomadic archaeology of self-realization, a
kind of ceramic theory of the vision quest, wherein the dust of the journey (and the
absent inventory of binding things) bears witness to one’s transfiguration. She hints
to us that one may see truly only with playa dust in the eyes. She gains holism. But
most important of all is the nature of this story as a tale of healing. For Zelga,
288 ROBERT V.KOZINETS AND JOHN F.SHERRY, JR