Transformation. What does this concept mean to me? To you? To our nation?

I recently spent seven days on the Black Rock Desert of Nevada with 49,500 kindred souls surviving extreme weather conditions and celebrating artistic expression at the Burning Man Festival 2008. This is my story of the transformative power of collaborative creativity and what I think it means for the future of our Great Democracy.

Why would anyone wish to experience a place where 75 mph dust storms last six hours and create choking “whiteouts”? Why would I spend hundreds of hard-earned dollars and travel thousands of miles from my comfortable Elizabeth neighborhood home to near Death Valley conditions where you are responsible for your own survival and can only buy ice and coffee?

Why would anyone think this 22-year-old gathering of artists, performers, philosophers, inventors and revelers would be worth up to eight hours of waiting in line to enter and later to exit? I wanted to commit to the adventure of finding an alternate version of The American Dream, this year's festival theme.

As a performing artist – you probably know me as part of the mime company Omimeo – I wanted to find courage and inspiration. As a person, I wanted to become an agent of action, inspired by a new vision for the greater good.

My adventure began because I am good friends with Jim McGuire, one of the founders of “Big Puffy Yellow” – that's the name given to a group of almost 100 people from across the country who organize a camping site at the festival. Jim, a Charlotte photographer, has been encouraging me to go with him for almost 10 years. Once the pressing responsibilities of family and fatherhood had lessened and with the cautious blessing of my wife of 25 years, Linda, I decided that this would be my year.

On the last Monday in August, Jim and I arrived at the festival entrance with tents, bikes, food, water and all the provisions necessary to camp for a week. We each slipped into our alternate personas – Jim as “Jungle Jim,” and me as “Captain Rainbow” or “H-Man.” And we each had our own supply of costumes (for me, wigs, sarongs, a silver body suit) and artistic plans.

With the purchase of a ticket, each participant agreed to Ten Principles that would guide their behavior as a Black Rock Citizen: Welcome Strangers, Leave No Trace, for example. This community approach encouraged all of the artists to share their expertise freely through workshops and lectures. It helped keep “play” at the heart of every interaction. Being the playful freelance Jester to Queen Charlotte that I am, this was the perfect place to explore.

Once inside, Burning Man unfolds across the desert basin, a giant two-mile-diameter art gallery. At the center stands the 75-foot-tall wooden “Man” who is burned at the festival's end. Over 100 art installations are spread over the blank canvas of the hard, flat, dusty gray ancient lake bed. On foot, bicycle or any other people-powered contraption, you can visit these extraordinary sites to climb upon them, sit in meditation under them or participate in the experience.

Jim and I, joined by Charlotte hoop dance artist Spiral, shared a common area somewhat apart from the main camp.

We talked constantly of our lives as artists and the creative capital we need to survive and prosper. It was important to talk earnestly and with humor about our personal journeys, to support and inspire each other. Spiral is one of my Muses. I have watched her grow technically, emotionally and artistically over four years. Her commitment to her craft and discipline have inspired me to think deeply about my own dedication. Jim has stimulated my creativity with his photographic art and his vision for connection. To have had quality time to laugh, consider and trash each other was perhaps the best part of my Burning Man experience.

On Tuesday, our first full day, I knew I had blasted away from conventional reality: Spiral and I painted our toenails iridescent blue. Silly, I know – especially when most of the folks out there are tattooed, mohawked and pierced. No matter how you do it, there is a personal liberation through opening yourself to play. That's how transformation begins: Stepping outside of your everyday existence.

With Jim, we three headed to Central Camp for the first look. After buying chilled Chai teas, we climbed onto a 6-by-6-foot platform and surveyed the panorama. A woman was being gilded by a body-paint artist; a menagerie of jugglers kept hoops, hats, poi and other props in a cascade of continual motion; behind us the spoken word stage was alive with alliteration. To the far right was an Eastern European musical revue generating infectious rhythms; there were sculpture and art displays and people in costumes. My head began to swim in this intoxicating pool of creative energy.

Quietly, Spiral, adorned in a golden ensemble of her design, slipped down and began to swirl her hoops around her body. Jim and I looked at each other appreciatively, and we weren't the only ones transfixed. All I could do was wonder how I had come to be in this Wonderland. I knew then why people greeted newly arrived participants with a heartfelt “Welcome home!”

The next day, one mile across the playa, I approached an artistic outpost that featured a white teepee with the 13-star U.S. flag flying above it.

In front of the teepee, women knelt in a circle. The women were actually life-size plaster casts portraying Native American women, all painted white. They seemed like marble ghosts who could remanifest if the breath of life were blown their way. Each face expressed an attribute written across her chest: Intuition, Empathy, Love, Healing, Wilderness, Laughter.

An empty chair beckoned me to sit with the women. Suddenly I was part of the circle of feminine consciousness, and I found myself thinking of all the women who have helped me in life. Somber, but wiser for it, I then entered the teepee and heard the recorded voices of President Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and others. The words filled my heart with a message of struggle and the pursuit of happiness.

On a small circular writing table was a box of pencils and strips of paper upon which each person was encouraged to pledge their allegiance to…

It made me think – what do I pledge my time, talent and energy to? Once written, my message joined the hundreds of others on cords interlacing like a spider web above us. I pledge to attain my highest artist, love of family and friends and spiritual creativity. A paper next to mine held the pledge “porpper spelling.”

I was both charmed and humbled by this metaphor to optimistic engagement.

Of course, I was at Burning Man to grow in my performance art, too. The weirdest thing I did was perform a character I had created just for the American Dream theme. Uncle Frankensam represented the monster that many around the world think our country has become. He was Frankenstein in an Uncle Sam Costume.

He had a mask of George W. Bush affixed to the back of his head representing the tumor that I believe Bush has become on the brain of our democracy. I staggered him out late Friday night and proceeded to stumble onto dance floors and into theme camps screaming and jerking my way through the crowds. It was a triumphant failure; few people “got” what I was doing as political commentary, or so I thought.

Another favorite transformative experience came when I awoke at 2 a.m. Friday after falling asleep early to the constant beat of our DJ crew.

I got up and dressed for the cold clear night. Time to go wandering, gathering dreams, images and impressions of the night action. Riding a funky bicycle, I set my sights on climbing the towers and experiencing the installations.

As I ventured to the farthest boundaries I was surrounded by a kaleidoscope of color and sound. And then alone I looked up and all of what I had seen suddenly was dwarfed by the immensity of the Western night canopy – millions of star systems, galaxies, nebulae as far as I could see.

No matter how creative and innovative we as humans are, we can never rival or surpass the enormity of Creation itself.

As the “rosy fingered” dawn shifted the night away, I walked following a great arc of pinpoint stars in the sky.

The early morning light revealed that this mile-long line of lights was actually suspended a half mile above by 200 perfectly spaced 12-inch balloons, each affixed with lights. One end was anchored at an unseen stationary point and the other end was tethered to a person moving slowly across the desert, thereby constantly changing the orientation of the arch. He came toward me and we met. This was his installation. It blew my mind as I realized this unique, simple contribution seemed to be the point of this entire festival: Hundreds of artists of all media gathering to offer ideas and images for consideration, interaction and participation.

Later in my tent I cried freely in gratitude to all who had made this come to life. The only way to give thanks was to give back, be it there or in the communities to which we return.

I admit it. I have AACCD, Adult Artistic Creative Chaos Dysfunction. (It's a self-diagnosed condition from which I hope never to recover.)

I still have to pay taxes and attend to the responsibilities of everyday life, but I choose to do this with a certain aesthetic savoir faire. (That'd be “Git'er done” artistically!) We all need the release into the off-beat world and toward the transcendent experience that energizes our lives and lets us truly imagine ourselves as children of a Creative Spirit.

I call my personal view of the world TAOFA: The Art of Free Association. It's a faith in the spontaneity of the world and the desire to see and participate in the progress of our species.

It's about transformation – of yourself, your community, your nation and, yes, your world. That's what made the Burning Man theme of American Dream so timely and poignant.

I see our United States of America in transition. Our democracy allows for this and, yes, demands it of us. We must have the courage to open our eyes to the vision of a renewed America. It is a call to take responsibility for our survival by expressing our hopes for the greater good.

It is a call to celebrate our freedom while we make the vital commitment to ensure just that.

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