There’s so much to be said about SOAK, but I think the first thing to say about the event is thank you.
Thank you to the amazing organizers who make this regional burn a possibility, to the hosts who share the land with us human critters passing through for one weekend per year, to the volunteers who ensure that the event goes smoothly come what may, and to Captain Commander Banana Hands and Nobody Yuno for hosting me at Cats in Space during my first SOAK ever.
Even though weather precluded the burning of both the Temple and Baba Yaga’s Hut, our combined efforts were nothing short of incredible at creating an environment that can only be described as a “happening.”
What’s happening you might ask? Whatever happens, man, whatever happens.
Whether it’s a Mrs. Soak Pageant at Glowdeo Drive going off the rails, a series of coleslaw bodyshots at Frisky Brisket, a wild goose chase to free an alien from imprisonment, or bubbles popping in slow motion at dawn with Cats and Space, one can bet that something is happening somewhere. And when there isn’t, the principles of Burning Man challenge us to make something happen.
The biggest thing that happened to me at SOAK was that I fell in love. I fell in love with the people, the place and the activity. Camping with Cats in Space gave me a greater appreciation for the people I have wanted to call friends for years now, but with whom I was too shy to be known.
This was all part of a psychological game I played with myself. In previous years, I had been holding on to a guilt that went deep into my psyche. It was a guilt of the self that let unkind people and impostor syndrome take me out of my zen.
Not this year. This year I was committed to helping my friends throw the best goddamn parties. Whether that’s as a fire performer ensuring the circle is a safe place to burn, as a hostess with the mostest passing out berries and other natural treats around camp, as a simple sweeper ensuring no matter remained out of place, or getting down to quesadillas and “Strange Magic” by Electric Light Orchestra at eight in the morning, I wanted to be present for these Cats at every waking moment.
In that regard I was successful in ways I would not have been in years past.
It was the letting go of that guilt that led me into so many connections. Whether that was by making new friends in Zee and Corey, two incredible flow artists with whom a mutual admiration flourished, crafting a deeper acquaintanceship with TamTam, Dairy and Childish Camdino, a multimedia artist and notorious leviwand lad, or just taking a one-on-one workshop with DJ Weatherman to learn how to craft my own set, I found all of these connections by ridding myself of guilt.
And yet probably one of the most important connections I have ever made at a festival happened with someone outside of Cats in Space.
Her name was Lemur and I first saw her dancing during my safety shift on Friday. She looked like Rosie the Riveter with a rope dart and a bandana to boot out in the fire circle. So perhaps it was the groundwork, perhaps it was the manic pixie dream girl effect, but for once in my life I swallowed my fear and said hello. And unlike times past, I did not regret it.
We spent three whole days workshopping a partner act that went beyond just the technical knowledge of our props and into philosophies of dance, performance and improvisation. Like two astral bodies passing through the dark of space, we met each other on a cosmic chance and for three nights, we orbited. There were no thoughts or preplanned movements to any of our performances, just the instinct and intuition of two persons. Soon enough, we discovered how to navigate a flowspace as partners in the moment.
In the days since, I’ve been thinking constantly about a lyric from the 1975, the ultimate fuckboy band: “Don’t fall in love with the moment, you might just think you’re in love with the girl.”
In the past, this would have been great advice—I have made that mistake many times in the past and become someone I did not want to be—but for these moments with Lemur, it would have been impossible.
She was moment. And I was categorically head-over-heels for her. Had it been possible for me to carve the sun from the sky, set it in stones gathered from the surrounding rock faces and place it upon her brow, I would have. You might say that I am a fool for this, but my friend Shawna counterpointed that there is nothing foolish about being a hopeful romantic.
And despite all of these loud emotions, it’s the quiet moments I reflect on the most. The moments spent writing devotionals on the walls of the Temple, nestling in Baba Yaga’s hut, asking her questions and reading her answers, or just sitting riverside on Sunday morning and watching the water flow like time. Watching it catch moments in swells and colors, ripples of blue-green-brown reflecting, rising, cresting and then passing us by. The challenge was to let them go.
The one moment that was captured forever came from the brush of Cimarron, a self-described slow motion photographer. As he painted us on record, in blues, greens, browns and more for his last canvas of the festival, I quipped that what I found was short-term relationship therapy captured in slow motion photography.
And in our last moment by the river, I knew what I wanted to take with me outside of SOAK. A model for what I want from any future relationship: I want someone with whom I can inspire creativity and cradle peace, someone who values communication without stressing it, and someone who can dance with their inner fire just as much as me. It doesn’t have to be with Lemur, either. It just has to be whatever my next relationship is.
As for Lemur and I, we made clear the terms: the realm of SOAK was temporary. She has her life in Seattle, I have mine in Portland. Not an insurmountable distance, but there are other complicating factors. Factors that made it impossible to maintain the same kind of connection we had at SOAK. Will it happen? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. And I don’t want to presume anything, I just want happiness to find us both.
What I do know is that if we never performed together again, the world of flow arts would be done a disservice. So we’re planning on meeting up at Flow Fest Seattle for a fire jam.
Alas, there are so many tasks to complete before then, so many words left to be written, so many pictures never taken. I always tell myself I will be the best possible photojournalist at events like these. But every time, I take photos when it occurs to me, not because I make it a point to do so. In this way, every picture I fail to take is a reminder of immediacy, to let moments be moments, to watch them catch in the swells of this river we call time, and to let them go.
I hope you enjoy some of the moments I did capture on both phone and camera. Because they’re on the internet, they’re likely to live forever, completely effacing the point of this writing. In the likely event that I stumble upon them again in the future, however, I’ll know just what to do.
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