The Stench (Immediacy 2018)
Initially shared on the badbook, 10 October 2018.
Post #4. I’ve decided #2 will be shared last, because edging is fun.
But really, what can anybody say about Immediacy that hasn’t already been said? It’s for-sure the sexiest of the Ten Principles of Burning Man. Who doesn’t love tales of capricious, wild abandon? Gather rosebuds, gather plumeria! Take no thought of the morrow!
It was a lot of fun having all that sex in my late 20s and early 30s. And all the K. And racing in all those marathons and shit. I am eternally beholden to the Lord of Loins whoever that may be; is it Lono? I figure he’s in charge of agriculture and fertility, right? Anyway, I’m sincerely grateful that I was able to bang that homesick bartender in Pisa, and the Albanian expatriate in Istanbul, and the Brazilian journalist in Rome. Oh whory day!
Things are different now. My appetite isn’t the same. I’m perfectly happy being alone. Too happy, I wonder.
I’ve already slept with the only 7 or so people on this island who I’m compatible with, who are or were available. I wouldn’t know where in Hawai’i to find the drugs I like most. And the only running store on Hiloside closed a year ago. My poor vices. They might starve to death. What will become of me?
I smell shit on my flip flops. It’s not real. Sometimes when I get anxious I experience olfactory hallucinations (phantom smells) and it’s always the same odor: shit.
I’m worried about a lot of things right now. I was worried about many of these same things when I was out on the Playa. Knock, knock: enter the foul stench of feces.
It happens. I have mechanisms for dealing with it. I could get drunk. I could go to sleep. I could cry like a sissy. I *am* a bit of a lush but when this happens I usually just go to bed, because the only thing worse than smelling phantom poo **is smelling phantom poo** and being wasted.
I played a lot of things safe at this year’s Burn, other than simply being at Burning Man, which in itself is not the safest thing to do. Sure, I received blowjobs from strangers. That’s actually not so risky. I received lots of free cocktails and bacon, too. Someone at the Naked Pub Crawl dosed my drink (unbeknownst to me) but I think it was an accident; cheers to free acid, I suppose. The cholesterol, nitrites, and nitrates in that bacon were collectively much more dangerous than the surprise LSD. I climbed a few structures, but nothing too wobbly.
I went to the mental health camp and talked about… stuff. That was easily the most scary thing I did during those two weeks. So all in all, it was a very safe year.
During Exodus I found myself wondering for the better part of a minute: was my Burn TOO safe? Did I dance too little? Did I make too few new friends? Did I chicken out of scaring myself as much as I should have?
Then the rational side of my brain shouted a declaration as obvious as the sky is white [at Black Rock City]. With fervor and passion, it evicted all my self-doubt and all my FOMO with this atomic truth: that every action we take and every decision we make is an example of Immediacy in practice.
The thing is, we practice it whether we’re conscious of doing so or not. It is, in every respect, a litmus of our character. It is alive just as we are and it exists so long as we exist.
Immediacy is, in another word, existence. When we realize this, we are able to fully appreciate just how radical an adventure our lives actually are even during moments of peace and tranquility, or if we ever feel stuck or lame. Inaction is action, too.
Immediacy is not about saying yes. It’s about demonstrating our integrity and honoring our passions. It’s about trusting the direction we’ve chosen. It empowers us to disavow regret. It makes room for wisdom and bliss, even if we arrive somewhere that sucks or if our friends have a stellar time without us.
I walked a lot during Burning Man this year. I didn’t talk much. I delivered a few pieces of mail for the Post Office. I had pretty good poops all week long.
Whenever my family sailed out into the Deep Playa at 2:00AM, I stayed in and slept like a baby. A dusty, gross baby.
I’d wake up early and walk some more. I’d get drunk by noon and I’d nap from 3 to 4. And it was wonderful.
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Sometimes I don’t know if I’ve opted out of something because I wasn’t interested in it or if I was derailed by fear, or depression, or outright laziness.
There are lots of things to be afraid of. Rabies is pretty scary. That’s fine, I don’t need to pet every strange dog I meet.
Installing a metal roof with zero experience is scary. That’s also OK. I can ask for help. So, fear doesn’t have to stop me.
I pop pills and pound coffee to stave off depression.
Laziness… I’m not sure what to say about that. I’m not a lazy person. Sometimes I opt in to being lazy. Those moments are what others call “rest”.
I think the answer to my question, “Why do I opt out?” has more to do with my true colors and priorities than anything else.
So what do I do with this newfound realization that Immediacy is something everyone is always engaging in, consciously or otherwise?
I consider everything: naked truths and tall orders. What I choose exposes who I am. It’s a great responsibility. Nearly overwhelming.
Who do I spend my time with? How do I spend my last $5?
Do I ride my bike or call a cab or should I walk? If I walk, do I pick up litter along the way or do I pretend it’s not there?
Do I show up?
Do I say “hello” to a passing stranger? Do I honk my horn? Do I run through the sprinklers?
Do I get busy with the hot dummy *or* the brilliant chubster? Do I proposition both of them? Do I just stay home and masturbate because that’s great, too?
When do I confront my fears? My shadows? My foes and my bullies? When do I surrender? When do I resist? When do I duck for cover? When do I let go? When do I start anew?
What’s that I smell? Oh no. It’s happening.
Think, Jared. Think. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m able to choose some things, not everything. Life is a restaurant and time is my server, she’s waiting for me to order. Quickly, the odor is intensifying.
Scruff and a side of tequila? Sleep, served with procrastination? Dance party and a singalong? Burger King and YouTube? Let’s go to the beach? None of this is going to help. THINK.
At last it comes to me. Be immediate. Gather those fucking flowers and assert a “yes” or a “no” or anything at all; just stand by whatever your answer is.
“I’d like a double order of unconditional happiness. Thank you.”
And just like that, the stench is gone.
