Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/356111
ground us, o er us an identity beyond the identity we have grown accustomed to in our daily lives. A M E R G I N G O F R I T U A LS Yoga, a ritual unto itself, is now ubiquitous on the festival circuit. Beginning with early 19th century fringe thinkers gobbling up translations of the Bhagavad Gita, yoga's ascension and evolution in the West has continuously re ected the changing goals and desires of who we are as Americans. In the process it has meant many things to many people, eschewing any sense of a "pure" yoga. e types of yoga we practice today are a far cry from the techniques and tools that have been in circulation for the last 4,000 years. Yoga has, however, always been tribal. us it is no surprise to nd yoga festivals paying homage to what has emerged as one of the most popular forms of ritual practice in 21st century America. First landing in Squaw Valley, California in the summer of 2009, Wanderlust is considered the premier yoga-music fest, having expanded to numerous locations over the last ve years. ere is nothing particularly special in the o erings of the teachers; there are simply more attendees for what they already do. It is in that "more" that the classes feel special, however. Our practice feels validated with larger numbers. e same is true of yoga/kirtan festivals, such as Pranafest in Ashland, Ore., Bhakti Fest in Joshua Tree and smaller regional collectives throughout the country. Last year at Shakti Fest, the spring goddess-themed festival, I spent more time in vendor stalls and around the yoga area than at the music stage. Conversation is companion to entertainment. Arguably the largest music festival that now includes yoga is Lightning in the Bottle, whose producers are Burning Man vets. Each year yoga classes have become more prominent; this year's advertisements featured instructors on equal footing with musicians. What was once a morning activity has become integral to the success of this popular California congregation. Breath and beats merge. T H E C O N S T A N T C O L L E C T I V E Ironically, the more populated a festival is, the more pioneering fans lose interest. Recall Burning Man, which began as a bunch of friends on the beach igniting a makeshi e gy. With 60,000 attendees it's impossible for any one camp to claim ownership of a "meaning" behind the collective. Instead, hundreds of camps o er smaller rituals, each with its own spin on the larger messages of unity, art and ecological awareness—though the last is hard to justify given the incredible amounts of oil and diesel necessary to fuel an entire city for a week. is is exactly how human beings have socially evolved, from tribes of 150 people or fewer to city-states that rst emerged in the Middle East over the last 10,000 years. As cities formed, divisions made up the whole. Regional ceremonies grew in size and scope; deities were traded and abandoned. What remained constant was the collective, regardless of what was being sacri ced or prayed to. e shape of the ritual was not as important as that there was a ritual. Yet for Burning Man, there is a central theme: the burning of the man in nuclear fury on Saturday night. e entire week of smaller rituals— yoga classes, ecstatic dances, communal chai, short showers and long naps—leads up to mass explosion that uni es the whole. Humans might be vastly di erent in how we celebrate together, but that we celebrate together is who we are as social creatures. Our rituals evolve to suit the needs of our times. For some work-weary souls, Spartan races—tests of physical and emotional endurance—provide the enlivening spark. Others have devoted their lives to festival hopping, like Deadheads in parking lots. But for those tired seekers whose sense of community feels stunted, the festival scene serves as a kind of reboot. A long weekend away surrounded by music, art and creativity o ers a primal connection that appeals to a lifestyle normally ensconced in urban anxiety or suburban tedium. For what has ritual or religion ever truly o ered beyond community? e interpersonal connection one feels with a deity can be accomplished alone, anywhere; what brings us together is never a bad thing. It is the spirit of gathering with thousands of like- minded folks that fuels the proliferation of festival culture. In the spiritual communion of music, art and movement we nd our mythological expression. Photos bottom to top: Jessica Gorman, Derek Beres, Daniel Jung LIB BURNING MAN BURNING MAN august/september 2014 23