The Inside Joke

After a full day building camp, several friends formed a group to go out. Of course I wanted to join! I grabbed my necessities (headlamp, toilet paper, goggles, emergency champagne) and hopped on my bike. As we turned onto the esplanade, art installations rose from the dust as far as I could see. I lagged to catch glimpses of them as we passed. Art or friends? Art or friends? Curiosity pulled at me. 
And then — we approached a pier. 
Group mission be damned! This was the emptiest the playa would be for the rest of the week, and soon the pier would be crammed with tourists.
I stopped and put my feet onto the dust. I pulled the scarf off my mouth and called to my friends: “Guys! I’m stopping to look at art!” Either they didn’t hear me or didn’t care.
Except for Kitten, my faithful companion.
“I can’t keep passing art installations. It’s our first night out,” I looked towards our group; they had already blended in with the other blinking lights.
“We have all week to find music, but we only have a week to look at art,” Kitten dismounted his bike.
We stepped onto the pier. Nets and ropes hung between posts, hammocks swayed beneath the boardwalk. A long string of lights romanced me. I hooked my arm into Kitten’s.
The boards creaked under our footsteps — just like the old boardwalks I’ve wandered along in seaside towns. And for a moment, when I relaxed my eyes and looked up, it felt like we were at the sea. But looking down, seeing the dry lake bed below us, I thought of the sheer genius and manpower it must have taken to build this dock — from the concept to the design to bringing the materials and assembling them in the middle of nowhere without basic amenities like running water. 
We arrived at the midway tower. We leaned in to view its inner intricacies. Some people were gathered on the upper level; I’d be willing to bet they were drinking whiskey.
“Want to go up?” Kitten asked.
“Not particularly.” I felt content looking inside the tower at the details that made it seem more like a relic than a modern piece of art. It gave me a sense of nostalgia for a time I knew only in turn-of-the-century novels. Antique photographs, compasses, hourglasses, bound books, and glass bottles — in all colors, sizes and shapes — the scene piqued my curiosity to touch and pick up the items. Every detail existed for exploration, a mystery to be revealed, a reverie in which to lose oneself. It was a living, breathing piece of art that transported us to a different time and place. The curiosity, the wonder of it all, put me back into the frame of mind of a child: everything was new and strange and deeply interesting.
On the other side of the tower, we found an antique desk — the kind in which the door to the main compartment folds down to become the writing surface. My literary heart skipped a beat. 
“And what could be inside?” My curiosity whispered with glee. 
When I opened it, I found the cubbies, that once may have organized papers and mail, were filled with antique glass bottles. How odd. I touched a few, pulling them out of the compartments and examining their details, trying to understand their riddle. And then — I found one that contained a piece of paper.
“A message in a bottle!” I gasped. I lifted it with awe. The bottle’s long, skinny neck was jagged at the top. “What kind of message do you think it is? Profound wisdom?” 
Kitten shrugged.
I slowly put my index finger into the bottle, careful not to touch the toothlike edge, but my fingertip barely reached the paper. I pushed in a little more until the base of my finger rested against the pointed teeth. I could only move the paper around in circles along the side of the bottle. The shape of the neck made it impossible to drag the paper out.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Kitten warned. “We are in the middle of nowhere and it’s dirty. You’ll want a working hand for the rest of the week.”
I sighed and pulled my finger out. “I’m just too curious.” I turned the bottle over and around, trying to see if I could read the message from the outside, but the paper was folded in half. Even more mysterious. I inverted the bottle and shook it, but the paper wouldn’t fall out.
“Oh well, let’s go,” Kitten said. “Slicing your finger is a bad way to start your Burn.”
“Let me try one more thing.”
I held the bottle so the paper was at the very base of the neck. I put my finger back in and pressed the paper firmly against the glass. It slid along the edge, I almost got it passed the base of the neck, but it slipped back. 
“Leave it, come on, there’s a lot more to look at,” Kitten said. “There’s bottles everywhere. Just look at all these bottles over here.” He motioned to a couple of antique suitcases behind us with bottles on top of them.
 “I have to know what it says!” I insisted. “I can’t just find a message in a bottle in a desk on the dock in the middle of the desert and just — walk away without knowing what it says! A message in a bottle at Burning Man. Who knows what it says? Maybe it’s written by the artist.”
I turned the bottle a little more, got my hand on the side with the shortest teeth and finally — I had the paper sliding up the neck and out of the bottle! I held it in my hand like it was a golden scroll of truth. “Yes!” I said to Kitten, my eyes wild with excitement.
I unfurled the paper and paused. I was hungry for the message I worked so hard to receive, but needed a deep breath. Delayed gratification.
“Come on, open it,” Kitten said.
I opened the paper. 
I read it aloud: “Go Fuck Yourself.”
Kitten and I looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“Oh that is good,” I said as I caught my breath.
“We should’ve seen that coming,” Kitten smiled.
“A special message from the artist,” I joyfully mocked myself as I folded the message and rolled it back up. “A message just for me! How absurd.” I laughed as I placed the paper back in the bottle, making sure it was all the way in for the next person.“Well worth the effort, I say.”
“It couldn’t have been more perfect,” Kitten agreed.
I put the bottle back exactly where I found it and closed the desk.
Kitten and I continued our walk along the creaking pier to the very end. I looked out at the playa — illuminated art installations dotted the landscape — and I realized this pier was on an endless sea of wonder.

“The Pier” by Gurps Chawla

The Cows of Black Rock City

My bike, with twinkling lights strung around its frame and the chain clicking in a dry loop, glides along the dust, creating tracks on tracks, crossing tracks without pattern or reason. 

The high desert, in the dark of night, mirrors the midnight sky.  

Now, the thin layer of dust on my bike, by week’s end, will gather as though it hasn’t been ridden for decades, but instead, left old and forgotten, in the recesses of a workman’s garage. Dust on my clothes, my skin and my hair. I wear a scarf over my mouth and nose, but there must be — there has to be — dust in my lungs. By week’s end, I will also look old and forgotten.

Colored lights move and spin and dance chaotically. We become our lights in the dark expanse; nothing else to differentiate between us and the nothingness, we put on our lights and become technicolor shooting stars.

A herd of cows appears out of the dust and darkness, dim lights twinkle from their insides, the only thing differentiating them from the nothingness. I ride up to them. Stationary and unafraid, metal skeletons wrapped in translucent nylon.

Sadness wells in my heart.

Peaceful bovines, sacred cows. An object. Not a living, breathing, feeling creature. Yet these are the lucky ones, in the darkness of the playa, amongst the dust and the art; they are not trapped in a pit of manure, in line to die never having eaten a blade of grass or stepped foot in a meadow.

Their twinkling lights are the same as my own. 

Our shared reality — the degradation of life, the distortion of our divine nature. Yet I am one of the lucky ones, in the darkness of the playa, amongst the dust and the art; I am not trapped in a war torn city, used as a human shield.

I remember feeling this way last year — or was it the year before? The sadness of contrast, a melancholy inspection, sudden thoughts and emotions inspired by the depths of creation. Here in the dust — the critique of modern industry, modern society, modern greed — in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by darkness and lights.

The Herd of Cows in the morning

Burning Intentions 2017

It’s late and I’m watching the newly-waxing moon set in the west. I’m driving through the mountains, en route to Black Rock City for Burning Man. This will be my third time participating in the art and music festival. 
Last year, I set intentions that mainly focused on my interactions with other people. And although they were extremely elevated, I saw and felt my intentions manifest in some of my experiences.
I’ve been humbled and challenged this past year — especially recently — and my intentions reflect my need for deep nourishment and reflection.
To share our intentions is to empower them. Please read mine below:
I intend to reestablish my relationship with my creativity; to fully engage with the art installations at the festival and allow myself to be inspired and motivated by them. I need to reset my relationship with my creativity in order to create for creation’s sake without the desire to be seen, popular or make money. This will afford me the freedom I need in my artistic pursuits. I must reconnect with my truth that God’s gift to me is my creativity and my gift back to God is using it.
I intend to be open to receiving the keys I need to enhance my productivity and fulfillment.
I intend to continue the process of letting go of the pain and hurt I hold onto by releasing the people and events from my heart that continue to cause me suffering.
This year, I would like to feel and witness the expansive love that is my true essence, so that I will know who I am.


Photo by Juan P. Zapeda last year at Burning Man.

Playa Angels

“We made it!” I gasped when the first hints of light created deep blue swaths of color on the dark sky. 

Music pumped from the Mayan Warrior’s sound system while its lasers sparkled and shot into the sky as if they sought to reach the stars. The DJ danced to his music in the center of the bus with his entourage around him. The crowd, enthralled by the music and the light show, moved rhythmically to the driving beat with their backs to the rising sun.

“Shall we?” my sweetheart asked.

“Oh yes, it’s time,” I said. I turned to our new friend Gregg and touched his arm with my gloved hand, “we’re going to celebrate the dawn with a bottle of champagne. Would you care to join us?”

His face brightened with surprise: “sounds great.”

We stepped from the crowd towards sunrise. Lasers continued piercing the darkness with criss-crossing patterns, but each beam of light lost its length as the darkness faded. Yellow and orange streaks appeared at the horizon. Some may say the heavy cloud cover blocked out a beautiful sunrise, but I think it created an intricate canvas for the growing light to paint upon.

“This is the real light show,” I said as a pink tints made their debut. “Even the most next level lasers can’t compare with Creation.”

The playa became white again and the mountains surrounding the flat lake bed appeared out of the darkness. We stopped far enough away that we could still hear the music, but not be distracted from the dawn. My sweetheart gave me the bottle of Champagne. I popped the cork and offered the first drink to Gregg. I took a deep breath as if to inhale the scenery and watched as the strip of sky between the earth and clouds became vibrantly yellow, orange and pink.

We drank our Champagne and soon the men began talking shop — both in the field of sound and music, they spoke in a language that I couldn’t understand. That’s when I unsheathed a pair of rainbow silk fans my friend and somatic healer, Muse, gave me in Spring.

As I touched the silk, her voice echoed in my mind: “These fans are medicine,” she said upon presenting me with the gift. “They will open your heart and give you more confidence; they will allow you to integrate more of your body into your dance; they will help you take up more space.” I didn’t understand what she meant. Why should I take up more space? For months they sat on a shelf.

Until that dawn.

I unwound the silk from the bamboo ribs. Wind immediately danced with the silk flagrantly showing off her natural talent. I hesitated for a moment, positioning my body so the silk could move and bend unobstructed through the air. Every color of the rainbow glowed in the morning light. Spreading the bamboo wide, the silk followed and softly, gently caressed the space around me. I lifted my arms and watched as the silk mirrored my movements, large rainbows flowing from my hands. 

I moved my arms in large arcs and my hands in flicks to create waves of color — the wind danced with me. Together, we celebrated the morning star; together, we paid homage to the Creator of All. As I danced, I felt beautiful, free, and connected with Nature in a new way. 

Vibrantly opulent colors at the horizon continued to announce the morning star, but to the west, clouds softened every hue.  

Suddenly, it hit me: I understood what Muse meant. The fans helped me move in new ways extend my body in all directions, I was dancing without the constriction and confines that I wanted to break, and in opening my arms I was opening and stretching my chest and shoulders — I felt confident and effervescent — a far cry from the way I normally danced. Like a flower, my soul bloomed with the rising sun. Joy coursed through me as the sun first peeked over the horizon; I had to share my newfound expression of Love.

I saw a couple embracing not too far from where I swirled and played with the wind. They, too, appeared to me as a perfect reflection of Love. Approaching the strangers, I did not feel one iota of doubt or self-consciousness. I let the fans lead the way, guided by the wind’s breath and the slow movements of my arms.

As I came close to the couple, they turned and looked at me with smiles on their faces. 

“Do you mind if I celebrate you for just a moment?” I said raising the rainbows into the air.

“Go ahead!”

I danced around them, extending the expression of my love and devotion to meet theirs and converge in reverence to the day.

“What’s your name?”

“Whisper,” I said, introducing myself with my playa name. “What is yours?”

“Out here, I’m Radical, and this is Kam.”

“It’s lovely to see you here,” I said. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Yes,” Radical extended his arms.

Kam opened his arms next, “thank you for the celebration.”

“I couldn’t help myself, you two are so beautiful — I was drawn to you.”

They both smiled at me and then at each other.

“Recently,” Radical said to me, “I’ve become interested in signs and symbols — as a way to communicate with — you know — Creator, Universe, One, Source, whatever you want to call it.”

“I understand you, whichever term you want to use,” I said.

“Ok, so, I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but in the story of Noah, the rainbow appears at the end of the flood, communicating divine mercy — it’s an act of compassion, kindness, and love. It shows divine favor. And recently I’ve been thinking, the most compassionate and loving thing we can do for ourselves and others is to forgive,” despite his smile, tears sparkled in his eyes reflecting the sunlight. “I’m overwhelmed with the beauty of this moment. I feel so loved — seen — by the Divine. I’ve been feeling this gentle nudging in my heart and spirit to forgive, but my ego gets in the way. Now I’m seeing my true path — it’s one of forgiveness, love, compassion, mercy — for myself and everyone around me. The deepest desires of my heart and spirit — this force of Love that’s greater than us — it sees me, it knows my desires and it’s telling me I’m supported.”

I put my hand to my heart acknowledging the power of his statement. “I have been feeling the same way. I never considered that rainbows are a symbol of love, but that’s what I’ve been feeling, too. I brought them out to celebrate and appreciate the dawn. And your movement towards forgiveness, I can relate so well to your experience. I have also been wanting — needing to practice what I consider ‘radical forgiveness’ for myself, for the people I love, for strangers. And like you, my ego is the one that holds me back. But you’re right, that’s what Spirit wants from us. Even deeper, this moment, you — you’re also showing me that Spirit sees and hears my deepest desires. I wrote a list of intentions before I came to Burning Man. And our interactions right now are fulfilling, well, pretty much all of them!”

Kam raised his eyebrows and looked at Radical with a knowing smile: “I told you that you’d meet your mirrors on the playa.”

Radical beamed, “we are reflections for each other!”

When Gregg and my sweetheart joined us I introduced my new friends. Together, we rode past the lighthouses, through the speed-of-sound hoops and to the BAAAHS (an art car resembling a sheep). We danced, we took a slide through the sheep, we climbed to the second story and we talked about our lives, our experiences and our dreams. We even ate freshly baked chocolate chip cookies! Someone had the foresight to bring a portable oven and we were lucky enough to find them.

The sun lifted higher into the sky, the BAAAHS pulled away and we knew it was time to get back to our respective camps. On our way, we rode to the temple, which had yet to open. 

“It’s incredible the amount of manpower and care this construction requires,” Radical said. “And then for it to burn.”

I marveled at the stacked boards that created an airy, ornate pagoda. “Last year, watching all the art burn helped me learn to let go. We work hard, we want to create something with our time on earth, and ultimately we die. But it’s glorious. Our lives can be a work of art, created just for creation’s sake. And to make an impact on all those who witness it, however brief we exist and however many people we encounter.” I thought of the fans and Muse’s message to me. How could I have known the medicine she spoke of would connect me to others, spread Divine insight, and help me manifest my soul’s desires. 

“Maybe that’s part of the lesson of forgiveness. Maybe it’s an art. I know it’s a process of letting go, but it can also be the way we have an impact on others. Forgiveness is Love. Shouldn’t we give that to ourselves and others freely? We will burn away at the end of our lives, I think the question we have to ask ourselves, is how can we make our lives something beautiful? Even if it houses pain, like the temple. It can still be beautiful and an expression of Love.” Radical took off his backpack and began rummaging through it. “I want you to have this,” he held out a glass figurine.

An angel, with large wings and folded hands, looked up at me.

“I put this in my backpack last night,” Radical continued with a soft voice. “I believed I would meet an angel — I needed, wanted an angel. It’s you. You saved me spiritually this morning. You restored my faith. The Divine spoke to me through you.”

“What an incredible gift. I humbly accept it, but I wonder much I deserve it since the fans did most of it.” I held the gift in the palms of my hands and thought of Muse and the ripple she started. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Our entire experience has been an incredible alignment. I feel like it was destiny. Like I was in the right place at the right time, and that I followed the soft voice that told me to celebrate you. And as we are mirrors, you are my angel, too. Meeting you and having this connection is exactly what I wanted coming to the Burn.”

We hugged.

“Please come to our camp,” I told him. “This evening we’re having a party and I would love to give you a gift so that you have something to remember me by.”

Radical agreed, but we knew the challenge of meeting again on the playa — forgetting an address, losing track of time, or getting swept away in some other moment. We all said our goodbyes, thanking our lucky fortune for meeting each other. 

As our bike paths diverted, I held the angel in my hand with gratitude and asked her to bring them to our camp that night. 

(She did!)

The Mayan Warrior as the Sun began to rise

  

The Crowd at the Mayan Warrior
Sunrise at the Horizon

    

The Mayan Warrior behind Us
Radical and Yours Truly
Radical and Kam Playing with the Rainbows
The Look of Love
   
From Left: Radical, myself, Kam, Morning Star
Friends at First Sight
Lighthouses in the Distance
 
Yours Truly Dancing in the Morning Light
Not Bad for a Total Newbie


The Gift from Radical at my Home

All photos and videos courtesy of Radical and Kam.
 

The Gift is for the Giver

On Sunday afternoon, the first day of Burning Man, I stood at the corner of 6 & E in front of my camp wearing a minidress and holding a megaphone. As my campmates assembled our bar and stage behind me, I heckled passerbys to pass the time. Instead of making fun or being mean, as usual heckling goes, I gave compliments and encouraged radical self-expression. One thing I loved the most were men wearing skirts (“kilts!” some would say). Many passerbys waved, returned compliment, and even said, “I love you!” It was a happy, warm, feel-good way to start the week — one that would likely induce eye rolls from snarky, fuck-yer-burn participants.
My true reward came when two men, one younger and one older, in matching outfits approached.
“Heckle me, please! I long to be heckled!” The younger man said in a British accent.

“What kind of a masochist wants to be heckled?” I said into the megaphone. As they neared, I saw they wore socks, shorts and shirts with small pizza slices printed on them. “One who wears a pizza outfit, apparently.”

“We’ve been giving away pizza!” the younger man told me.

“Where’s my pizza?”

“Somebody else has it,” the younger man said.

My sweetheart walked over to us, perhaps because he heard pizza mentioned. He began speaking to the younger man, which gave me the opportunity to engage the elder.

“How many times have you been here?” I asked, expecting a large number.

“This is my first year,” he replied in the Queen’s English. “I’m 68!”

“Congratulations, that’s inspiring,” I said, taken aback. “Welcome!”

“Thank you.”

“And what brings you here — aside from the opportunity to wear a pizza outfit?”

“I’ve come for the temple,” he said. “My father passed away and — I never had a good relationship with him. There was a lot of pain for both of us. I’ve come to make peace with him and our troubled relationship.”

“That’s beautiful,” I said. “The temple is the place to do that. I saw my intentions from the temple last year stick with me and bloom over the course of the year.” I remembered the note I had written to the divine, asking for help embracing the present moment and letting go of my compulsive obsession with the past and future.

“That’s what my friend here told me,” he gestured to the younger man. “He said I would find closure and peace.”

“Yes, you can create whatever experience you set your mind to out here. Especially something personal and internal such as yours.”

“My mother, I am so much like my mother and I pushed away my father, she thinks this is important, that holding onto the resentment and anger — it’s not healthy. At first, maybe I was doing this for her, but now I can see that it’s for me.”

“Do you have any children?”

“Oh yes.”

“What do they think about you coming here?”

“They laughed and asked me if I’m coming for the nudity and free love, but you know, after 45 years of marriage I think I’m past that.”

I laughed with him. “Maybe they will come next year after the hear what a great time you’ve had.”

“That would be fun.”

“And once they hear you’ve gotten what you came here to do.”

“I can only hope.”

I looked into his tender face and noticed his open heart. “Thank you for sharing your intention with me.”

“You’re welcome!” His eyes lit up. “I feel a bit silly, maybe even weak, for sharing something so personal, but my friend said out here people will love to hear it.”

“You have a beautiful reason for being here. I’m grateful that you’ve shared it with me and speaking your intentions out loud reinforces them. Do you have one more moment?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“I think I have a gift for you — if you are interested.”

He beamed, “a gift? For me?”

“Yes, I think I have the perfect thing for you. Follow me.”

We walked to the van I would call home during the festival. I opened the front door and pulled out a bag of feathers.

“I gathered these feathers from the land I live on in California,” I told him. “I learned their symbolic meaning and prepared a message for each feather. I prayed over each of them to speak into the heart of whoever chose them with affirmation or direction.”

I held the bag out to him.

“I just choose one?”

“Yes, whichever one.”

He reached in and pulled out a large feather with a string that tied a small note to it.

“Which did you choose?” I asked.

“‘Goose,'” he read, “‘signals an opening to new possibilities, new creative portals, new directions, and new ideas. Affix yourself to your path and fulfill your vision.'” He looked at the feather and caressed it a few times. When his eyes met mine I saw they were filled with tears. “This is about my father.”

“Incredible,” I whispered. I could barely fathom the perfection of this message for him. Although I had prayed and set intentions for weeks before the burn, I was moved by the alignment.

He put the feather to his heart, “this one is just for me. Thank you.”

“Can I give you a hug?” I asked.

“Of course.”

At the end of our hug, he looked into my eyes, “I’ll treasure this,” he said, lifting the feather.

That is more than I could ask for,” I said with my hand on my heart.

We walked back to the street where his friend and my sweetheart waited.

“Happy burn,” I told him.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting the feather again. “Happy burn!”

***

Two days later, in the middle of the afternoon, I rested in the van. A small knock sounded and I opened the door. To my surprise, the elder man stood in front of me — wearing his pizza outfit.

“Oh, you’re resting,” he said. “I can come back later.”

“No, no, I’m just lying down, I’m not sleeping.”

“I came back because the gift you gave me, it touched me deeply. And I wanted to make sure I told you that.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”

“I have a gift for you as well. So that you can remember. I have watches, if you want one. I put them together.”

“Oh yes! I have been wanting a watch!”

He pulled out three watches. “Let me show you. On the front it has the directions because you can choose your direction out here without ego interference. And it says ‘now’ because the time is always now at burning man.”

“I love it. That is so perfect for me,” I laughed, acknowledging the serendipity of his gift like a wink from the divine that I had been heard last year.

“And inside,” he opened the watch, “I designed the vitruvian man for this year’s theme and there’s three compartments with mini candies: gummy bears, mints, and jawbreakers.”

“This is wonderful! It’s so thoughtful! And I can share these little candies with people as well. It’s the gift that will keep giving!”

The wrinkles around his eyes, now pronounced by the dust, crinkled as he smiled, “I knew I had to give you one. You can choose whichever color combination you like, the faces are all interchangeable with the bands.”

I held the three watches in my hands. “I wear a lot of white out here, and tomorrow is white Wednesday, so I think I’ll choose the white and silver.”

“That’s a great choice,” he said, putting them together.

“Thank you,” I said as I gave him a hug. “This, everything about this, means so much to me — more than I can express.”

“You’re welcome. Your gift means a lot to me. It couldn’t have been more perfect to set the tone for my experience. And to show that what I’m here for — it’s destiny — my heart’s desire is important and heard. I’m just glad I have something to give in return.”

“It’s incredible,” I said. “I feel the same way. And I thought my gift was just to see the feather spoke to you. I love this. Thank you.”

“Enjoy,” he said. “And happy burn.”

“Happy burn,” I said as we waved goodbye and he walked out into the dust.

The Time is Always Now
Interior of the Watch (the gummy bears were eaten in an instant)

Burning Intentions

At this very moment, I’m on the road heading northeast to Black Rock City, Nevada for the art and music festival Burning Man. Far more than just a party, last year (my first time), I learned the truth of the saying “the playa delivers.” I got everything I wanted and even more of what I needed for my transformative path. Now, sitting in the front seat of a cargo van — packed full with supplies and costumes — I know the most important part of my preparation has been setting my intentions.

Putting intentions into words and sharing them with others seems to strengthen and solidify them. And so, I would like to share my Burning Man 2016 intentions with you:

  • To have deep, meaningful interactions with friends and strangers; to speak into peoples’ lives with wisdom and love.
  • To see the divine Light shining from the eyes of those around me; to feel divine peace and love; to feel the oneness of my divine nature.
  • To see beyond and let go of my self-limiting beliefs; to access new levels of consciousness; to step into my authentic truth.

When I emerge from the dust, I will have stories to share and I will let you know what became of my intentions.

Below is a video shot by Evan Halleck capturing a group hug from last year. I appear at about 50 seconds, wearing a white jacket and holding the hand of a very dear friend of mine.

Bikes on the Playa 2015; photo by Louise Lodigensky emsky.me