Temple a bonfire of hope by dave washer

T E M P L E A BONFIRE OF HOPE IN DERRY IRELAND By Artist David Best, & the Temple Crew An Artichoke Project March 14 - 21, 2015

Words & Photographs (unless otherwise noted)

by Dave Washer

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I will meet you there. Rumi

I want to thank the people of Derry Ireland and the crew I worked with. I am so grateful to have been a part of this wonderful team of people. To build the temple in Derry was to provide access for someone to forgive or to be forgiven and the temple was a beautiful proof of that. Much love, David

“It is much harder to forgive or to ask for forgiveness, than it is to build a Temple” David Best Artist & Designer of Temple

Silhouetted in the distance in front of me there is a small group of people holding long burning torches. David Best has chosen this small group from Derry. Their stories are different, but each share a kind of deep loss and grief. Some are Catholic, some are Protestant, but for tonight those definitions do not matter. Behind me, circled around

the site are 20,000 people

of all walks of life, from

both sides of the divided city,

from different parts of

this beautiful country.

Everyone standing and

waiting in conscientious silence,

to witness this Temple burn....

This is more than a bon fire, or symbolic gesture towards healing, there is something pure in this moment, something profound....

The Temple is lit. It starts slowly and then roars. Not a word is spoken as the fire lights the night sky and sparks ascend upwards, spiraling into the darkness like whirling, soaring angels. It is elegant and beautiful, profoundly touching, not from sadness, but from an unfathomable gratitude shared in this silent, communal moment. The Temple stands proud against the engulfing flames, crowd is silent, until she finally gives in and collapses. There is a cheer, there is a release. She burns until ashes. We sit together for a long time as crowd slowly and quietly departs into the night. There is not a soul on this hill who does not feel some kind of forgiveness in their hearts.

The story of building the Temple in Derry is a personal one for me. There has been so much incredible press, almost all the major international newspapers made it a front page story. My friend Steve calls me, he writes for Huffinginton Post, the SF Chronicle and a bunch of other papers, and has called to tell me about the front-page story in the New York Times. I’ve seen it of course, but he is amazed by how important even the NY Times is saying this is. “It was the hardest thing I have ever done and the most profound thing I have ever done.” I tell him, my quick answer about building the Temple. I start to tell Steve about the difficulties in making this Temple, my own personal struggles, about the town of Derry and its tragic role in the history of Northern Ireland’s Troubles, about the suicides that take place on the bridges. The New York Times article and the BBC documentaries have told brilliant stories… but in my bones, I know there is so much more to tell. I have been thinking about all the parts I want to include in my writing, but suddenly as I am talking to my friend some pieces of a puzzle fall into view, a wave of emotion swallows me even before I can grasp the thought.

Something I had forgotten, something I overheard as I was leaving town. I begin to cry, not just a wee little whimper, but an overwhelming emotion where my chest heaves and I can barely catch my breath and my eyes are blurry. The tears are for the brother-in-law of our friend who worked with us on the Temple. He approached the Peace Bridge the night of the burn. He is spotted by the volunteer search and rescue and they take him home. He returns to try again and again they turn him away. I remember walking across that bridge at three in the morning and seeing a group from Search and Rescue standing on that bridge-- Stalwart and brave in the cold night. That night I did not understand. The temple had burned and the visceral memory was still vividly glowing. So many people came. It was perhaps one of the most beautiful experiences I have ever witnessed. There was the after-party and we danced and danced and hugged each other. We had worked so hard. In our moment of jubilation and celebration he came a third time, but this time nobody caught him, no one was there and he succeeded to jump into the swift moving River Foyle.

Temple is about the town of Derry, a post conflict city, its tragic role in the legacy of Northern Ireland’s Troubles.

It is about the suicides that take place on its bridges and the long and arduous road towards healing and forgiveness for community and families...

But these tears and this sadness are not just about sorrow for

the poor young man who was so lost that night as he reached that guard rail and could not stop himself. It is also for the people I met and worked beside, all their stories, all their hopes, their dreams, their visions, their love, their gratitude. It is for a community that walked to the top of the hill, regardless of their religion or philosophy and placed their loss together inside the Temple and created a far reaching statement of hope and healing. These tears are the overwhelming emotions of sorrow for loss and absolute wonder at the power and beauty of it all. So much life and love in every part of this. Healing Happens. Forgiveness Happens. In my kitchen on the other side of the ocean, the memory of building this magnificent thing suddenly overwhelms me. On the other side of the planet something has happened. It has changed me. I believe it has changed all of us who worked on it, all of those who came and visited it and all who came and watched the Temple burn.

It is for a community that walked to the top of the hill, regardless of their religion or philosophy and placed their loss together inside the temple and created a far reaching statement of hope and healing.

The history I learned in school leaves me heartbroken on how little

I know about world affairs. Before I embarked on this journey to build a Temple in Derry, I barely understood what the conflict between the Catholic and Protestant communities was really about. I had heard the word “Troubles,” but really only knew the large headlines. I had heard about Sunday Bloody Sunday, but mostly by humming along with U2 (“How long, how long must we sing this song?”). I had made it my goal to get familiar with the history of Ireland before I left town, but getting out of town proved to be a bigger personal saga than I could have imagined.

I had heard the word “Troubles,” but really only knew the large headlines.

Arriving in Belfast the plane banks its wing and I look out the window. A fan-

tastic emerald green landscape and a beautiful expansive ocean appear into view. I am embarrassed to admit that as we touch down onto this historic, ancient island I arrive with the knowledge of a 10 year old about Ireland’s history. We are picked up from the airport by a driver and on the way out of town he points out an old military check point. We drive through an Irish village, seemingly quaint and pastoral, but taking up half of the city block is a large concrete fortress covered in barbed wire which our driver casually points out as the local police station. There is IRA graffiti on a wall out of town. Very quickly I start receiving my history lessons. We arrive in our dorms just in time for dinner in the cafeteria-- a meal under heat lamps of chicken in a gruesome curry, white rice, overcooked vegetable medley and three kinds of fried potatoes. There are bunk beds and I find one in a large room overlooking the park. Ironically, our dorm and the park were once the military barracks that overlooked the town of Derry. Below our remodeled building is the River Foyle and the new pedestrian Peace Bridge leading towards the walled city of old town Derry. It is truly an ironic sensation that we are here to build a temple and plan our day where 40 years ago in the same rooms the British military planned the details of maneuvers that would turn tragically deadly against groups of youthful participants in a peaceful civil rights march.

For the first few weeks our routine does not change much from driving to a ware-

house in cold wet weather and returning home to the dorm, the cafeteria style food and the camaraderie of exhausted friends. At night we walk through the park, across the peace bridge to a local bar called Sandinos. Sandino’s is something special and drinking my first perfect pour of a Guinness will not be soon forgotten. There are Republican flags, Palestine Flags, photos of Cherokee Nation members, Geronimo, Che Guevara Posters, and many other tribes, groups and revolutionaries who are all in solidarity with the occupied and oppressed. We drink beer and talk to the locals and our new Irish friends who are working with us on this Temple project. Every sip of my Guinness feels like I’m drinking history.

The Temple is designed by the artist David Best,

but this is a group effort of engineers, architects, electricians, riggers, and master builders who all offer assistance and their professional expertise. But most important is the Temple Crew, a group of inspired and dedicated volunteers, who show up to put their sweat, love and commitment into building these transformational structures. Even though it is a temporary building that will be burnt, it still must withstand 80 mile an hour winds, stand strong on a muddy sloping hill and be built in some of the most horrendous weather conditions imaginable. There will be an inspection for safety and code violations. There are 5 levels that are built and will be stacked on top of each other like esoteric building blocks. There are also alters, a giant chandelier, frames, posts, and endless organization of intricate amounts of DBS (our acronym for the artistic CNC cut-out plywood we reverently call Decorative Bull-Shit).

Photos by Non Stop Symon

When all the pieces have been cut and assembled they are taken apart and fork-lifted onto flat bed trucks and taken to what is called the Top of the Hill in

Derry. When the first trucks arrive there is a snow storm that last two days. We don’t stop working, we can’t. The deadline already seems impossible to meet and we

have just begun. There is 5” of snow on the ground. One snowy night feels magical as the town turns quiet, white and feels like wee bit of Christmas, but that story

book image quickly turn to a thick sticky muddy mess, equipment gets stuck, the

foundation is in jeopardy, and it is impossible to walk with out heavy rubber boots. Toes are numb and fingers hurt. It is obvious that this build will be no easy task. If

we weren’t so tired and sick we might be worried. Long underwear, m ud boots, 4

or 5 layers of shirts, thick sweatshirt, heavy rain slicker, knit cap, hard hat and hoody pulled tight to stay warm enough to keep working through, snow, rains, gail force winds, 6” of mud and endless drizzle. There are documentary crews that show up

every day. I have been here for two weeks have a bad cold, runny nose, a persistent cough. Every day there is a least one person who physically cannot get out of bed.

When a documentary crew puts a camera and a microphone in front of me and asks how do I like Derry? I have to look into the lens a bit dumfounded as all I know is

the warehouse, the construction site, the dorm and Sandinos that pours relief in a tall glass of Guinness…

“Haven’t had much time to see of the town yet, but so far the people who live here are a wee bit awesome!” But, first chance I get... I take a walk around this beautiful old town of Derry.

First chance I get I take a walk around this beautiful old town of Derry

Town of Derry

This Temple Project in Derry, Northern Ireland has been conceived by

Artichoke over several years and has created the funding through grants and donations. This is not a Burning Man project, but Black Rock Arts Foundation has offered their guidance and blessings. Artichoke is a group of visionaries that work with artists in communities, including Helen Marriage, co-director of Artichoke, and Jennifer Crook the project manager. Artichoke had previously created a 4-day event called Lumier for the town of Derry, with a huge success. They had contacted David Best two years ago to create this Temple project, but logistics waylaid the plan. A wonderful group of people from the organization arrived in the desert at Burning Man to help David Best and the Temple crew build Temple of Grace. Out there in deep playa I had a conversation with Jennifer Crook (not knowing she was the producer of this event) and hearing her speak of what it would be like to take this idea into a city to create a Temple for healing the wounds of a fractured community. I still remember that night, our navigating the ideas and intentions of building a temple with goose bumps and tears. Now up on this hill, weather, budget issues, daunting logistics, press and more press, deadlines, illness, exhaustion; Jennifer is never off her cell phone, finding a piece of heavy equipment, raising more money or talking to the press. The idealism of that night in the desert exists somewhere, but in the stressful moment of building this thing-- you have to dig deep to find it.

David Best brings his vision and his type of inspiration and safety remind-

ers to our group of Temple builders at lunch and tea breaks. David has been planning this Temple in Ireland for a long time and it means the world to him. It is exhausting work

and he spends many 14 hour days between the building, non-stop public relations, tours with handicap kids, ra-

dio interviews and TV cameras just to mention a few of

his responsibilities. He is a whirlwind of inspiration and insight, but it is a good idea not to get in his way with a trivial question on this build. There is a group of young

Irish kids working with us, and there is a group of Cracker Jack master carpenters from Derry. There are about 15 of us who have arrived from the States. My son shows up

from Belgium and it is so nice to have him on site and to

work together. Artichoke paid for some of our plane tick-

ets and room and board. Our time we volunteer. We are becoming a close family, these wonderful people from Derry and our group of Temple builders from the States. The

cold and rain, the runny noses and achy bones, just bring us closer. Many of the young

kids have never had a “real” job or have never felt validated by work, family or school. They quickly bond with our crew. Here is a job site of major proportions and many have never worked with hand tools or power tools.

Their enthusiasm and quick wits have them engaged in way that they

did not know existed. Suddenly they are wearing hard hats and part of a complex and living team. When I need a ladder suddenly behind me is Cookie handing me a ladder. When I am looking for 80mm screw,

suddenly there is Lee Ann holding one in her gloved hands. Later I

am holding the ladder for Cookie while he strategically places some DBS. Nothing but smiles. There is no doubt that this Temple will happen. Just a wee bit of doubt how far behind schedule we really are.

But never doubt the strength of people, and the great attitude, sense of humor and hard work ethic of the Irish!!!

Photos by Jonny Delaney

Back at Sandinos we drink pints of Guinness and share stories of the

build and the history of the town. We have made friends in this place. Artichoke

believes in minimal publicity, but letting slow word of mouth trickle into the community. There is a lot of trickle theory happening here. Most people are intrigued and seem excited and positive. “Yes, I’ve heard a wee bit about that Temple up there! I’m bringing my kids and we’ll definitely come by and check it out!” This is a town that has not heard of Burning Man, David Best, or Temples that go up in flames. The Top of the Hill is visible from most angles from the city and there is a small but tangible buzz beginning to brew about town. Derry is like the angry little cousin to Uncle Belfast as the epicenter for the Troubles. It was a center for many of those hard times-- killings, disappearances, kneecapping.... You can feel the scars, but you can also feel the hope. The town is still divided, the schools are still segregated, there are more suicides on the bridges over the River Foyle than on the Golden Gate Bridge, there are more suicides in Northern Ireland than all of Europe and Derry represents the epicenter of this sad phenomena. I am standing outside pretending to smoke a cigarette. I don’t smoke, but it seems like everyone at some point stands outside in the freezing cold and smokes and it’s a good place to have relevant conversations. In Northern Ireland if something is cool they say “That’s good craic!” Or as a greeting, “how’s the craic?” Talking on the sidewalk smoking a hand rolled cigarette is definitely good craic. I am smoking and talking to the beautiful Monica about the Temple and three men in front of the door hear our conversation and one interjects with a kind of dubious tone in his voice. “So your building this Temple eh? What’s this Temple really about anyway?”

I begin to explain the idea behind the temples we have built at Burning

Man, but I’m interrupted before I get a few words out. “Who are you to think you can

come over here and heal our grief? People come over all the time and give us their holy-shit about helping us get over our loss. We’re not asking for help. This is our grief!”

I’m a bit startled by his vociferous tone and respond gently, “We’re not offering some kind of dogma or doctrine, no messianic sermons about healing grief here. Believe me I respect grief. David Best is a visionary artist, we build a Temple as a beautiful, artistic, personal place to leave something, a sharpie pen for a name, a photograph, a poem. It’s more about what you want or need to bring to it.” I am trying hard to not sound defensive, my words blurring with the background noise of the bar. “ Hey, and you don’t think we have our own artists in Derry?” He points to the table inside the window. “That table is all artists, writers, sculptors, actors, playwrights!” I look at the table and see attractive people of all ages in animated conversation. Behind them is a table of a drop-in Irish folk band with guitar, banjo, fiddle, uileann pipes and accordion. It is a colorful and beautiful night at Sandinos. “Obviously! I can see you have some very talented people here.” I don’t feel like these men are really being derogatory or inflammatory. I think they are just interested in what is really happening, and are expressing how they feel and what they believe in a direct way. The Irish have a knack to quickly cut through the bullshit. I shift the conversation and introduce myself and I meet Shay, Paul and Brian and we all shake hands. “I know loss and grief,” I continue. “Believe me I’m the last person who will tell you how to heal, when or where. I started building these Temples with David Best after I lost my 20 year old daughter in 2008.” I pause this is a big sentence and it takes my breath. “We’re here to help build something for this community. We’re working in the fucking freezing rain, snow and these torturing winds. We’re working with a bunch of young kids who have never had a job before, we’re working with some amazing carpenters from both sides of your city.”

Brian interrupts with a wave of his hand and says with a violent turn of

his shoulder, “You try watching your friend get blown to bits and tell me about loss!” He disappears through the door and Shay and Paul and I look at each other a bit dumfounded. His friend Shay speaks first, “Sorry about Brian, he can still get a wee bit upset sometimes.” I am quick to refute. “No, no, it’s totally cool. I mean I have so much respect for what he just said. That’s powerful stuff” It’s a strange feeling, but as gut wrenching as Brian’s statement, I feel honored that he spoke-out with such vehemence and tribute to such a deep wound he has had to carry for these years. “Things can get buried, but they’re not forgotten,” I say. Shay looks me in the eye, “Hey brother, I’m also so very sorry for your loss. The Temple sounds amazing. I’ll definitely be there.” He goes inside and unbeknownst to me buys our table a round of drinks. As I am leaving Sandinos I see Brian smoking a hand rolled cigarette near a bicycle and greet him. Before I say anything he looks at me and smiles and apologizes. “Hey, you guys are doing something amazing up there, I want to apologize…” “Dude, don’t apologize,” I interrupt. “I’m just honored to be standing in front of you. Your loss is an important thing. I’ve been there too. Sometimes we all just need to rant a bit.” Brian is a playwright and writes political plays and is trying to start a theatre group in Derry. He was 17 years old and was part of the “Peaceful Protest” that day when 14 local unarmed youths were shot down dead. His bike is an old mountain bike, but a surprising vintage for this part of the world. I comment on what a nice bike he has and tell him I have plans to try to ride mountain bikes in Ireland after we finish the build. Several days later he finds me drinking another Guinness and offers me his bike to use while I am staying in Ireland.

I greet an elderly woman walking down the path, she is holding the

hand of her grand-daughter and the grand-daughter is holding the hand of her mother. The little girl is here to remember her father who died (she does not tell me how) and it is the grandmother who is leading her. This is a place where the grandmothers are leading the way for the families to follow. I ask her what she thinks. “It is amazing. It is so beautiful. It’s a shame to burn it,” the grandmother says. She gazes at the structure with the city and the river behind it. There are other spires that seem to be aligned with this wooden one on the hill. There is a story book quality to it all. She looks at the Temple and then asks the question most often asked, “How can you burn something that has taken so much effort and is this beautiful?” “When you go inside you might leave something here for someone you’ve lost, someone you love and grieve for. Each person who comes here brings that loss, that grief and they all place it here, a note, a photo, a clipping, a sharpie scrawl on a piece of wood. These things are not meant to be left. The fire releases these prayers, it’s a kind of healing. It is not like we are burning the Temple to forget, we are burning it to remember, and to release something that needs to be healed,” I say to her.

“This will be a bonfire of hope then.” she says smiling.

Photo by Jonny Delaney

“Why do you burn something that has taken so much effort and is this beautiful?”

In Derry there is a long history of bonfires, as I walk around the

build site and down into the town there are burn ruins everywhere, small fields behind buildings, vacant parking areas, grassy knolls. These bonfires burn pallets, tires, mattresses and any other burnable thing on hand and are clad with the flags and effigies of the other side of the town. It is an ancestral wound hundred of years old, it is current history still not laid to rest 40 years later. Even though the Good Friday Peace Treaty happened in 1998 the old wounds are still passed down through a divided city, segregation in schools, the horrible rate of suicides and bonfires. This Temple may well be an opportunity to release grief and find closure for healing, but it may also play an important roll to re-frame the story behind why and how things burn in the city of Derry.

Before the Temple is opened to the public on Saturday we are all ecstatic to release

her and take group photos, hug one another and just stand back in awe that this was really accomplished. Six hundred people arrive that afternoon. Sunday is Irish Mother’s day

and larger crowd with many families are walking up the hill as I arrive with my rental

car packed and ready to go. The Temple will be open for one week and will burn on the

following Saturday. I have rented a car and like many of my crew-mates I am going to use this time to tour the Irish countryside and see a wee-bit of the sites. As I depart, the scene is joyous and feels like a place for families of all generations. There is no telling who is

Protestant or who is Catholic. I wonder if the people of the town will come or not, will they want to leave something, will they take ownership of the Temple or just visit it

like a curiosity on the hill? This has not been done for a

community before. I take some final photos and video. I say goodbye to the Temple and my friends and I drive off in my diesel Ford Focus and head towards the Wild Atlantic Way.

I drive down the Atlantic Coast and witness the most awesome skies and spec-

tacular coastline! Nothing but deserted beaches and small remote old world villages. I buy coffee and eat lunch and watch perfect waves with three guys surfing. I visit Galway. I visit Maggie Best’s mother, the elegant Joan Roth, at her beautiful family home. Time in Dublin with friends and see a concert of one of my favorite bands. I get an epic day of mountain biking on mossy green trails and meet some great riders who show me the secret trails. I somehow squeeze a trip to Belgium to visit my son and see the art he is working on... and just like that, my week is up. It is Friday and I make the drive from Dublin to Derry. As I drive into town there is a huge traffic jam. Grid lock. Is there and accident? Some big event? I’m still confused as I try to make it up to the build site. I finally realize that all these cars and hundreds of people are all moving in the same direction, with the same goal in mind. My god, It is a massive spontaneous pilgrimage to the Temple. I’m in shock and awe. I have a wristband which allows me access as I snake through the crowds and get to the top of the hill an hour just before sunset.

There are times when I see reality as if it were a curtain on a stage, when suddenly it pulls back and the mystic gauze that has shaded my view of the world withdraws and exposes life with majestic clarity. It is like watching a movie where the scene is visualized with a slow motion pan, provocative music and perfect golden light. It is like that field of dreams, where humanity finally arrives together in a place to put closure on the story. It is like meeting in that perfect field in Rumi’s poem. And even in our wildest dreams, we did not expect the reception of the temple to be like this... Even in the moment, it feels historic.

I arrive on site and go straight to the Artichoke trailer to check in and

say hello. It is like some command station in a James Bond movie. Jennifer of course is on the phone taking care of last minute details. There is a buzz in the room. I stand there dumbstruck and gasp in awe at the board hanging on the wall: NUMBERS Saturday 900 Sunday 2300 Monday 3700 Tuesday 5,700 Wednesday 6500 Thursday 11,500 Jennifer looks up and sees me staring at the page with the numbers of people who have arrived at the Temple. “Isn’t it amazing, and today it’s been absolutely crazy, all day there has been a steady stream of hundreds of people.” She walks to the board and fills in the day’s final totals. Friday 28,000!!! These numbers reflect people walking up the road that the guards have counted with hand clickers. There is another large group who live in the neighborhood who walk in through other directions. The amount of people who have visited posted on the office wall 58,600 but could easily be closer to 75,000.

Looking down the hill towards the Temple there are sunset clouds, the lights have turned on in the city, the golden Temple lights are on. There are hundreds of people still staying close. It is mostly families and young couples who have come. As I enter the area, I see our Temple crew, these amazing friends and comrades in arms, tools and muddy boots who are all standing around the Temple in different places, quietly taking in this moment with awe. We hug and whisper greetings as if speaking inside a great cathedral. We take sweet group shots and selfies of each other. LeeAnn and Karen both take a symbolic moment and cut their hair to donate for cancer wigs.

Inside the Temple, it is crowded with no room to move and no space

left to write. Every inch is filled with hand scrawled notes, photos, let-

ters and newspaper clippings. I see Crimson Rose (One of the founders of Burning Man and oversees the Black Rock Arts Foundation) standing outside touching the DBS softly as she reads the notes posted and scrawled on the temple. “So what do you think?” I ask. Crimson pauses and ponders for a moment. This is definitely an emotional moment for her. “Of all the temples I have seen built, this one standing here today is the most significant and the most magnificent.”

Photo by Jonny Delaney

David Best began the tradition of the Temple at Burning Man back in 2000 when a person on his crew died in a motorcycle accident just prior to the event. Since then the Temples at Burning Man have for many (I for one) the most important aspect at Burning Man. It is like the spiritual heart and center of this festival known for radical self-reliance and amazing art. At Burning Man there is a template now for how this idea works, People show up at the event and know what to do. We build the Temples out of wood frames and DBS but it is not until each person leaves something that they want to offer, to release, to heal that the space becomes sacred. In this moment something feels surprisingly different, something far more profound. Crimson is right, this Temple is by far the most beautiful and significant. Not for the architecture, (which is incredibly beautiful), but for how this moment has occurred.

Most of the people who live in Derry have never heard of Burning Man, have never heard of the artist, David Best or what the concept of this Temple is. But somehow, mysteriously, beyond explanation I can summon, over half the town’s population has walked to the top of this hill and visited the Temple and have left something behind. I see young families gathered together in front of the different alters, grandparents, young lovers-- they are smiling, but also solemn. They are taking family photos in front of the Temple. They are leaving notes. This is Top of the Hill, a Catholic community and no one was really sure if the Protestant side of the city would even venture up here. Yet they all came. The city with all it’s sides and histories arrived and validated themselves and this place.

This temple holds all ages of humanity, all kinds of families, all religions, all

philosophies, all levels of loss, all stages of grief. The temple is very personal place to forgive and a place to ask to be forgiven. This is a town where healing had at one point started, but had no place to finish. No one gave out a notice of what to do, why to do it, or where to go. The Temple was built on top of the hill and it slowly emerged like a beacon. People arrived in numbers beyond anyone’s expectations. In my perspective I do not hold it as a miracle but as a kind of wonder. This Temple holds a kind of irrefutable proof that it is possible to create a sacred place for healing and forgiveness that is not part of a religious doctrine, cultural dogma, biased philosophies, antiquated mythologies, ancestral wounds and harrowing, dangerous dark stories that get passed on to innocent children. It is a place, not to loose one’s grief, but to separate the intangible dark strings that hold that grief hostage against your heart and find Grace and Release. It is a place to touch spirit and your faith and rewind those strings with gratitude, appreciation and forgiveness. In this moment I feel the global spirit of the temple, a gift for community, an offering to the survival of humanity. It is not some experiment in small corner of the Black Rock Desert. This is a place that definitively proves that we are all part of humanity and we all share the same DNA that holds one thing in common: Everyone on this planet experiences loss and grief and we all desire, need, healing for ourselves, our families and our community. Time and time again while building, or experiencing-- the temple consistently shows it is within our human nature to respect and desire a sacred place to release loss and grief and hold it simultaneously with gratitude and appreciation.

Photos by Jonny Delaney

Temple Interior, Midnight. March 17th 2015 (Photo Credit, Kevin McLaughlin)

Saturday morning, day of the burn, we arrive to prepare the Temple for burning.

Pallets and kindling are placed inside. Perimeter fences are put into place. Artichoke has

sold tickets for the burn. Selling tickets is more for a kind of crowd control, 100% of the proceeds will go to the volunteer Search and Rescue. Ironically, the Search and Rescue

spend most of their time on the bridges trying to stop suicides from happening. There have been 21,000 tickets sold for tonight’s event. People are already arriving. One of my last

jobs is to help install lanterns that have been laser cut by a local program for young kids. A

woman guard is obstinate that we not place these wonderful creations near the public as she is certain that they will get stolen.

“I know these people, they’ll take them as soon as it gets dark.” I have a different sense of how this feels. To me the people arriving are here for different reasons, the woman guard is doing her job, but she doesn’t understand. I tell her she can have one when the event is over and I bet her that most will still be here after everyone leaves.

We continue install the stakes and lights and there is definitely some kind of religious connotation of pounding in crosses on the road to the Temple.

David has chosen a group of people to light the Temple. These are people who share significant loss and so who share the honors of putting flame to wood. Something significant, as two men from Derry carry torches, a Catholic and a Protestant, both who have lost someone in their families during the times of the Troubles. They are standing together holding the torches. Tonight, these two men hold no grudge towards the other, tonight they hold the flame that signifies release and healing. This is an act of forgiveness. The group lights the corners of the Temple and she burns at first slowly, and then engulfed in flames with majesty and the roar and crackling of a living, flaming engine shooting sparks and ignited light into the dark night sky.

We linger for a long time as the crowd slowly departs. We head down the hill arm and arm towards our meeting place.

Photo by Jonny Delaney

The golden light ignites the area and looking around the hill top the crowd is silent, a feeling of awe in the night. People have come from all over to watch this. Children held in hand by Grandmothers. Families with arms around each other. Close friends who have traveled miles across Ireland to watch this. The silence of voices is contrasted by the roar and crackling of flames.

The sparks and embers floating across the night sky are like celestial objects with intentions of their own. It is another poetic reminder that we arrive together in this moment as a global community. We can find healing for our selves by sharing this experience with others who walk this life no matter their colors, histories, philosophies or tragedy.

At Sandinos we celebrate! All the freezing, wet mornings, the damp socks, the coughs and runny noses, the sleepless nights, the cafeteria food, the pressure of finding ways to build her on time and get the Temple completed... it’s all behind us! We dance and dance, toast drinks, laugh and hug until the night is over and we are all in a sweaty circle arms around shoulders, swaying and singing together. It is close to 3:00 am when we walk back to our dorms across the Peace Bridge. There are 3 or 4 Search and Rescue volunteers standing bravely on the bridge in the fluorescent orange jackets. “Nice work, thank you.” We say as we pass by. “Same to you lads.” These brave men respond resolute, tired and glum at this late hour. Something registers, but it’s not for two weeks in my kitchen that I register the significance.

Sunday morning, day after the burn, is a rare jewel of a day. Of the many unaccountable things that have occurred it seems that the weather may be one of the biggest. The

formable tempests that dogged the build sometimes seemed

insurmountable. The last of the rains ended the day we finished the build and opened her up to the town. As if in celebration there were rainbows and puffy orange clouds to prove it. It

has not rained since, and this day after the burn is crisp, clear

and resonate with a sense of spring and fresh beginnings. The

Larks in the trees are singing complicated melodies, families are walking in the early morning with strollers.

I need to return my rental car so I leave the dorms while

everyone is still sleeping and head to the airport. Sunday morning, the Derry airport is

locked up tight and so are the

rental returns. At the round-about there is a sign with two arrows, one pointing west that says

Londonderry (with the London

crossed out) and the other points

east and says Giants Causeway. I go around the round-about twice

before deciding which way to go.

The coast is spectacular and I take many scenic and quiet detours be-

fore arriving. Not a breath of wind and you can almost see Scotland if you squint. The Giant’s Causeway is a bit like California’s Yosemite and the parking lot and the tour busses are bit of the same in both places, but majesty and grandeur trump the crowds and I walk out to the Geological wonder of Northern Ireland.

Past the crowds is a quiet place looking out to sea. I ask a young group of

college age, or perhaps recently college graduates, to take my picture (James, Alannah, Daniel, Jane & Deaglan). We share a laugh over my goofy pose. “Hey, were you in Derry last night?” I ask. “Yes we were!” they all say in a kind of unison. “What did you think?” I ask.

“It was amazing,” says Jane who is an actress in Game of Thrones. “One of the most powerful things I’ve ever seen,” adds Daniel. “ I live in Britain, we all went to the same school, I came over to meet my friends, had no idea this was happening… rocked my world,” says Deaglan. There are 5 of them, late 20s, an architect, an engineer, an actress, a musician, an artist. They look like a rock band and I take their picture. I realize there is a Led Zeppelin album Houses of the Holy that was taken in the same spot. I feel like I am staring at the future of the world. These are the voices that we hope will grow to change, redesign, rebuild the planet. This perfect still clear morning and here we are, strangers just sitting on this northern edge of Ireland looking out into a perfect blue horizon following the beautiful thread about what happened in Derry. “I was told that the police chief brought 3 or 4 policemen to the site. Someone in the force died, I’m not sure how, but they came to leave something in the Temple. They left their firearms up at the top of the hill, before they walked down.” There is a pause in the conversation and the five of them look back and forth at each other. James speaks up, “That might be the most inspiring thing I have ever heard.” “You don’t understand what that means,” says Alannah with emotion. “We’ve lived our entire life here with police, a distrust and unease of the police. Police stations here are huge. In southern Ireland, they have like flowers growing in pots in front of the police station. Here it’s a fucking fortress with police cars that look like tanks. The idea that police would go to the top of the hill in Derry, an IRA hill, and leave their guns is like some kind of miracle, it’s really means something huge happened!” James has just taken his test to become an architect he is talking with powerful emotion in his voice. “It means the Temple really worked, it really changed something. This makes a difference.”

I tell them 28,000 people came on Friday. “Saturday night you were a part of 18,000 people, God knows maybe more!” “This Temple, man it works, it’s fucking important!” Allanah pauses, “So where do you go from here, what’s next?” she asks. “You should take this to Palestine!” James says. “There are things brewing, but I don’t know if that’s the place or not.” “The message of the temple in Derry was heard!” exclaims Deaglan the musician. We talk for another hour about change and purpose, reforestation of Ireland, Temples, leaving old wounds behind, new ideas, new visions….

We walk back to the cars and James tells me about a project he is involved in called the West Project (Building Skatepark in the West Bank). He wants me and the crew to get Burning Man involved. “It would be so frigging powerful and in my opinion, it is the perfect time for such an act of peace. The Christian, Muslims and Jews need a collective Temple that they are all allowed to enter together. What you did in Derry is just the start. We’ve been talking about it all morning. Last night was fucking inspiring!” We say good-bye with hugs and the exchange of names.

There are so many stories and inspirations that revolve around what happened to

make this Temple. You wonder what changes this started when you came back to Derry in a few years. The night of the burn someone was not stopped but perhaps two other’s will get to the edge of that rail and feel different and walk away and because of that, two more and that will become exponential. Perhaps the stories the teachers and parents tell their kids will have a positive spark in the light of education, history and future dreams? Perhaps some young people will take an idea to build a skate park in Palestine and feel confident in what they do as they saw what a little inspiration and hard work can do for a community. Burning man has consistently been a genesis of new ideas, but seeing these ideas put too work into the global community is so much more far reaching. David Best is brilliant and his ideas and his inspiration are huge, prescient and have had significant impact on thousands of people, but now we are talking about a shift in paradigm, a shift in a way to heal, to transform wounds residing in darkness with a blazing fire of release. A way to ask for forgiveness and a way to receive it. The Temple in Derry may be the beginning of David Best’s and Burning Man’s greatest legacy. It is a simple technology that has proven that human nature, the grandmothers, the parents, the children, the wounded men, want to find healing and will walk to the top of a hill holding the hands of their loved ones to do it. It has no sides and it has no boundaries. Human nature under it all has a place that resides in love and the desire to heal their families. Where is the next Temple built? Belfast, Cuba? Vietnam, Paris? I do not know, but I do know an amazing group of people who will show up and help build it and I for one will be there to join them.

Portsalon, Co. Donegal. Ireland. November 2nd 2015.

I Remember the Temple in Derry By Kevin Mc Laughlin

It was a great privilege for me to work on the ‘Temple in Derry’ project. I was aware of David Best’s work as I had recently returned to Ireland after a decade in California and had seen first-hand some of his Temples in the desert at Burning Man. To have one of David’s Temples come here to our community was a real honor and I was inspired to participate in the art project and see it come together in all it’s intricate ways and also it challenging ones. I was also touched and inspired how our community here took it to their hearts by investing so much of themselves and their stories into it. My own personal memories of the project where I served as a carpenter/ladder-holder, photographer/video camera-diarist are inextricably interwoven with those of the collective of volunteers and staff who shared in its creation. When I reminisce on the project, I remember the bright mornings out in Campsie, the warehouse loaded with stacks of lumber. I remember meeting all the crew for the first time around a 64 cubic foot bin of thousands of bits of wood dumped out on the floor. That was where I first met Nonstop Simon (Happy Birthday Simon!)- sitting in the middle of it all sorting mosaic - the ‘Buddha of DBS’ they called him!. I remember trips to the lumber yards around Derry with David, Scott & Jack, looking at plywood, drinking coffee and talking ‘journeyman carpenter’ shop-talk. I remember the daily lunchtime pep-talks, the crew gathered in over delicious soups & stews and sandwiches when David would take the floor briefly, cussin’ up a storm (not literally, the worst word I heard him say was Bullshit) in the good name of team safety and the transformative power of art.

Photo by Kevin Mc Laughlin

I remember the load-out at Campsie, the trucks bringing all the sections up to the site above Gobnascale. The rain, snow and high winds were the main weather factors we had to contend with. Other nuisances such as jet lag and winter colds were nursed in Sandinos!. I remember Sandinos. I remember…… Sandinos! With the deadline to finish looming, I remember the last big push the crew ‘heaved into’ on the last couple of days to get it finished and meet the deadline. The energy was electric; the whole crew was ON! David was in his element creating, inspiring, directing and encouraging volunteers in the finer aspects of DBS sculpture. “”Nail It!” He would yell when something fitted and came together in a way he liked. It was a pleasure to be part of a crew who could work with such dedication to build a Temple to help the healing of our town. During open week I remember the crowds of people coming and going and all the activities being presented there. I remember especially the illuminated interior of the Temple at night, the chandelier and the altar dominating. The power of grace held in that space when all were left but one or two of the build crew comparing notes in whispers. I liked that, and no one could say anything in a voice but had to whisper, surrounded by the mementos, relics and votive offerings to the memories of loved ones lost and found, it just seemed appropriate.

I remember talking to members of the local community during the open week, I found that one of the most common sentiments shared was that it was ‘ a shame to burn’ such a wonderful work of art. “Couldn’t we keep it?, Let it stand?”, they would ask. This is a beautiful paradox at the heart of not only this Temple, but everyone of the Temples that I really love. Its inherent transitoriness and the mystery of the impossible knowledge about ‘what it means’ or ‘what is it about?’ that gives it such life and healing power. A mystery that everyone holds their own key to, a mystery that every key unlocks. Although at the time of writing this, the Temple project is several months past. I cannot over state how fondly remembered & much discussed the project still is throughout Derry City and beyond. There is tentative talk of plans for an annual commemoration of the project. Will there be a celebratory bonfire on the site at Kellys Field on the 2016 spring equinox with surprise guests from overseas? Who can say? Truly, I will remember all of this for as long as I live. I will never forget what this meant to me and to our town and country. Photos by Kevin Mc Laughlin

Thank you David Best, The wonderful visionary people at Artichoke, and especially the fantastic and dedicated people, who became my close friends, working on this inspiring project together...

TEM PLE D E R RY I R E L A N D M A R C H 14 - 21, 2 015