I've just gotten back from a spiritual pilgrimage into the desert where I experienced five days without consumerism, five days without corporate media, five days without strife. I wandered amongst other pilgrims, most of us devoted in one way or another to a world without hate, one in which capitalism does not determine our dreams and limit our possibilities.

Most of the time I sought to be of service to others, helping friends and strangers with their own journey. Also I opened myself up to deep feelings of grief for my father. When they came, I listened; hastening out to the temple, I wrote him a letter in the book someone had thoughtfully provided for just this scenario. The tears spilled out as my despair sought expression. Then needing even more privacy, I rode further into the desert, finding a space alone to sob and scream, to let go of my dad, the past, our relationship, his life, my life.

At one point during this episode I felt despair so profound that I was uncertain as to whether living made sense. It doesn't, really, in the abstract, since ultimately we die; all of our scrambling comes to naught. Having two dead parents was making this all too obvious for me and I hit an existential bottom, completely incapable of imagining why I should struggle along just to die. I'd never felt so alone, so sure that I could not stand this pain. And so I did something I rarely do: I demanded that my god show me immediately that it was o.k. Five seconds later a man rode up on a motorized scooter. "Are you ok?" he said.

Now this poor bastard had a tall order. He'd been sent by my god, that much was obvious. And so I expected him to be MagicalSacredHolyMan, but he was just some guy. Some guy who wouldn't go away, I might add, for I wanted him to, torn between recognizing that he was precisely the sign I had requested and hating having pedestrian human contact when I was at such a nadir. Of course this is exactly what I needed, to be drawn back into the human family, and there's no better way to do that than have a stranger come up—in the middle of nowhere, remember--and express concern.

As we talked I felt myself coming back into my/self, that part of me that exists on this planet and is comfortable in her own skin. He said things about my relationship with my father that made real sense, even though he hadn’t known either of us; I could suddenly see again the beauty dad and I had shared, the joy that he had taken in my love for him and in my own personal wellness, the unconditional care that I give him, particularly in the last decade of his life when he most needed it.

And I ultimately realized that this man next to me too was a soul seeking comfort. Balance returned as I was able to show him support and compassion. He was experiencing his first Burning Man without the companion who had originally encouraged him to come. He’d not found human connection yet, which can be really alienating at this festival in which there seems to be so much of that going on around you. Finally, we shared a hug that was, well, MagicalSacredHoly.

He saved my life, that regular guy. How appropriate. And in return I was able to touch his. Beautiful. I pedaled back to what passes for civilization in Black Rock City with a huge smile on my face, knowing I had served my parents well, accepted their dying, sought to become a better woman throughout the process, and continually seek to become a person who gifts the world with her presence rather than demanding that it serve my greedy needs. That's the meaning of life. Death has its own meaning, but not today, not for me.

Saturday evening, at the culmination of the week's events, I was wandering back to my camp when I experienced a sense of utter and total satiety which was unrelated to having my needs met. It was, instead, the total absence of desire. It was nirvana, at least as close as one gets on this planet. I’ve never known such complete satisfaction, not from any drug, not from any drink, not from any external stimulus. I walked by thousands of people in varying stages of hilarity, able to see and appreciate their different state but in no way desiring to join in. At one point a lovely young woman in a nurse's uniform bounded up and offered me a cigar. It was so disconcerting, the thought of taking a toxic substance into my holy body, that all I could do was touch her shoulder and look into her eyes and say "thank you for the consideration." There was simply nothing on earth that I lacked and I marveled to think that not all people felt my same sense of wholeness. But I also felt no judgment of them whatsoever. We’re all seeking, every last one of us; we are not, however, on the same path, nor have I always been at the point in my journey that I am now.

Now I am home, wondering if I might keep this sense of utter peace given the myriad demands on my attention. The problems large and small that need consideration would rob me of this serenity, that is if I let them. My father's house requires fixing up and selling in a market that has slowed; my beloved terrier is showing signs of aging and approaching death; Donald Rumsfeld accuses those of us who seek peace of being fascists; women continue to be encouraged to damage our bodies in pursuit of acceptance; Norway pumps carbon dioxide back into the earth in hopes that this will "solve" our greenhouse gas problem; corporations invent diseases so that we might further medicalize ourselves at a time in history when we need to be more active than ever.

The Iroquois nation asks that before people make a decision, they consider what effects it will have for seven subsequent generations. My society seems to be doing the opposite--ignoring the impact of our choices on the rest of the world and the folks yet unborn--let alone the damage our materialism and prejudices do to our own soul. There also seems to be such contempt for those of us who stand up to question our values that it's tempting to head back into that desert and give up. But there's no real hiding from these problems, even as I enjoyed being freed from having them shoved in my face all week. I'm called to speak, and speak I shall. For if I refuse to be me, who will?