Sitting at night on the temple grounds early in the week, we had a hobbit or something come over and tell us not to smoke. he tried to play cool by telling us that cops had been thru earlier so be careful with what is being smoked. I thought, no dude, you're the cop. That's exactly how I want to honor my fallen homies; playing by the rules and worriedly watching my back. And I didn't want to cause any trouble at the temple, so of course I was sitting down. Meanwhile, in the sacred space, the sound of ohming and chanting, the hippies' Freebird, filled the air without complaint. Later, at the burn, I was kinda glad about the solemness of the occasion, seeing as how we had run out of beers to give away.
Ps. love the hobbit and all, would not change a thing, and I can't.