Why is it that

...everything that makes us feel alive escapes language?

Or worse, seems capturable in language (hence poetry) but fades so quickly in the noise and fog of convention?

Sitting in the car, not dreading the work to be done back at the computer and voice conference, but already missing the heartbeat and perspective, navigating thoughts and words like landmines, psychic black holes on an astral plane returning us too quickly to the conventional sleep of consciousness.

Burning Wine

I don't know what to say about the vacation I just got back from. It's one of those things that you want to come up casually in conversation. But as I'm not conversing with anyone at the moment, I'll just jump right in.

This was a 3-part trip, of which I participated in 2 parts.

First was California. About 5 days. First night San Francisco. Next day to Monterey for whale watching and south to Big Sur. Next day to Calistoga in Napa valley and wine tasting. Next day to Healdsburg in northern Sonoma valley and more wine tasting. Then back to San Francisco (Richmond) for clothes and camping gear.

Then to Nevada for part 2 of the trip.

On our way to Reno, we headed through Donner Pass. Then on to Sparks, Fernley, and up to Empire and Gerlach. Finally around 10pm, we pull into Camp Fishie in Black Rock City, aka the Burning Man festival. Sandstorms and headaches, red eyes, dust everywhere, sore bottoms from cycling on washboard earth, punishing heat, more sandstorms, and thumping music. I can't possibly do it justice except to say that we all wanted to leave, we all seemed to lose valuable things there, and yet... It was like being a kid in a grown-up Disney, with all the hassle, noise, exhaustion, and amazement. I saw maybe 1/2 of 1% of it in 4 days, and I already wish I could go back.

More Pictures:

Someone else's Burning Man slideshow

Video to come.