A love letter to the most sacred space from Burning Man: Rites of Passage.
The Temple of Transition
I DECIDED THE NIGHT before she was meant to burn. I would meet her at sunrise, camera in hand, and would attempt to capture a small essence of her beauty.
When others ask me “how was the burn?” I tell them I was in love. With her soaring spires, arching walkways, and haunting orchestra that played as if emanating from the walls – this is what it feels like, I thought, to be at the edge of death. To be awaiting the true rite of passage. From form to non-form.
On the night of the Temple burn, I knelt as a perimeter guardian. I had sacrificed my chance to watch her for the duty of watching the crowd. In the eyes of my fellow burners, as the spectrum of emotions washed over their faces, I realized what my lady meant to them.