I met you in June of 2007
Mike's parents were out of town
and he (probably) got permission to have a party.
He was 30, so I'm guessing it was ok.
I was in a time of full transition, looking for newness:
New people, experiences, passions, all of it.
The party was a surprise birthday party for your partner
and the Art Car was ready, bar fully stocked
for Burning Man, and, as this was my first year going
after a horrifying breakup
I was ALL about living and adventuring. I was open. OPEN.
I don't think I've been so open since.
The party was crazy, like nothing I'd seen before.
The whole Burning Man crew flew in
from all over; there was a real rockstar,
fire-spinning, inside jokes, and I was ALL IN.
I kept thinking "Who are these people?"
My sister had met them all a year before, her first burn.
I remember meeting you, but you didn't remember me (yet).
Then, on my first Burn, my sister and her boyfriend (now amazing husband)
drove me, and we setup camp across from you, at 2:30 and D.
You and Ilan flew in, Mike went to pick you up
at this random airport in the middle of the desert.
It was all an amazing blur. We hung out, and I was sad
when you flew out, sad to leave the playa
(except Mike and G-shell who got stuck in a 3-day
dust storm and were living off of tortilla chips and
beer, but I digress (I love digressing)).
We met for our annual pilgrimage at Burning Man
in the years following.
I had no idea what you did for a living, who you were outside
of the event, but it didn't matter...
What chance did we stand against kismet?
And, as the years progressed, we would fly to San Francisco
to see you, go to parties, dress up, and make merry mischief.
I remember celebrating my 10-10-10 birthday with you,
you made me feel so special.
Then, I had 2 miscarriages back to back, my sister was also pregnant
and I didn't want my situation to mar her exciting time.
I didn't know what to do or who to turn to.
My hands did the work, they called you, and asked to go
somewhere with you
where we could be in nature, out of my element
to shock myself out of grief.
You were all in.
You took care of everything. We went to a place in New Mexico
with healing hot springs outside of Taos, I had never been before.
We walked, did yoga (napped), explored,
and you took care of me.
You told me I wasn't broken.
And this was about the time I realized I was intertwined
with someone who is other-wordly.
You took me to a Catholic Chapel, El Santuario de Chimayo.
It was built in 1816, and has a reputation of being
a site for healing.
There is a small back room in this pueblo looking church
where there is a hole in the floor filled with dirt.
People are allowed to pray and take a small amount of holy dirt
which is supposed to heal physical and spiritual ills.
I still have some of the Chimayo Sacred Dirt on my puja table.
I had never seen anything like it.
We laughed, walked, spent some time in Santa Fe, and created
enough inside jokes to last forever.
Then I saw who you were, who you really were.
You always say you are a mix of the sacred and profane,
which is one of the million things I love about you.
You are a real healer.
We realized that we wanted to see more of each other
(please move into the basement, the offer still stands)
So, we started doing 2-3 beach weekends, or I would
come to San Francisco when stinky Ilan was out of town.
I didn't know then how similar we are.
Like the Jane's Addiction concert that we went to
and left almost immediately, both of us saying
"This crowd is full of bad energy, lets get the fuck out of here".
Another old soul empath, before I know what that was.
I helped you get more of your magic out in the world,
and you took me on as an apprentice of sorts.
I haven't seen you in 1.5 years, the longest we've gone
without seeing and spending time together.
But this connection, it is something that only grows exponentially.
I think of you every sunset (along with my Dad),
I thinK of you when I look at ski equipment,
I think of you when I see those giant inflatable ducks,
I think of you every day as you help me make the
transition into this new world.
I think of how much your love has cured me,
and of how much you love our two monkey children.
You are the light.
I will hold my candle with yours, to try to light up the world.
Now, hold my boots while I go into this disgusting porta-potty
in bare feet with a fake mustache on
smoking a cigar.
I love you.