Bringing Burner Discourse to the Eclipse

[Lonesomebri]

The eclipse had a touch of the same reverence, awe, and introspection of the Temple Burn. I had seen the previous eclipse on the way to the Burn that year, so it was all on my mind this year waiting to see the sun blotted out from the sky.

We waited on the edge of a small lake in Ohio before the total eclipse. Apparently a bunch of festival people who listen to the same DJs that play the Burn were in Texas watching clouds and weirdos wearing fur and l.e.d. during the eclipse. I wondered if the DJs played through the occurrence. I chose to be thousands of miles from that, which was best for all.

We sit on some big rocks and wait. Along the shore are various small groups of other people; a retired couple or two with folding chairs, a half dozen friends a ways away, a few small families. Nobody is playing music, a silent joy, an eclipse day miracle. I'm packing beer and smoke. But all are far enough away that we have our privacy. It wasn't enough for me.

I looked at those people, hearing snippets of soft conversation, drinking my beer, and felt pity for these novice reverent occurrence nobs. I felt that sharing knowledge I gained from the Burn to strangers uninitiated was a calling that fit this sacred day. These special people gathered here deserved my gift. They deserved a positive memory. I slowly made my way, from group to group, approaching confidently, intimately, using hushed reverent tones and subtle inappropriate touching, fostering open communication as I opened their understanding of my point, the lesson from the Temple Burn. "What we have learned from the community, through years of shared ideals, is that silence fosters respect, we all appreciate and agree that you, or anyone for that matter, who is talking and blabbering during the eclipse is wrong. It is a lesson learned in flames. I'm a Burner. So please shut up. Thank you. Namaste."

I feel I touched the heart of everyone gathered there for this spiritual lifetime event on that shore we shared.

Unfortunately while I helped out the community, the eclipse happened and I didn't notice, as I was in someone's face explaining about being silent. I assumed the light dimming was a blood pressure issue.

[FlyingMonkey]

So you played Freebird as loud as possible?

[Lonesomebri]

...and the bird you cannot change...

[DoctorIknow]

There was a total eclipse that ran thru Florida in March 1970. It went thru a national forest somewhere between Tallahassee and Jacksonvile. I was part of a collective in Tallahassee consisting of FSU students, hippies, mothers and father with kids. About 40 of us went to the epicenter (?) of where it would be the most total. I had fresh oysters in a burlap bag getting steamed over hot coals. Others doing corn on the cob and such. Way deep in a national forest. Acoustic music and singing. Kids being kids. Weed in the air.

The time came to make a huge circle around the fire, now just glowing coals.

We all joined hands. Slowly it started getting a little dark, then a little more. The dog and kids got 100% quiet on their own. Then the eclipse, and no one said a word. Total night, not even stars as it was overcast.

I'm so fortunate to have been with that group of people, each understanding, with no prompts from anyone, to just sit and be one with oneself and the other humans and dogs sharing that moment.

Every video capture of the recent eclipse I've seen has people whooping it up, screaming, probably with their phones in the air, probably staring at the phone instead of looking up for those precious moments when no protection is needed for ones eyes.

And, yeah, maybe it was because so many left BRC as soon as they could, the Temple Burn 2023 was the most silent I've been fortunate enough to experiance.