"As long as we keep dreaming, it’s not over. It’s becoming." - JLG

Lately, there have been a lot of postings about Burning Man and what some are calling an “existential” crisis. I recently replied to a post on Facebook that was written by John Simmons, long time Burner. Here is his post:

I wrote back to John. I felt I needed to. I think it’s worth sharing here:

Hey John,

I’m really sorry, man. I know how hard it is to roll with changes, especially when something so close to the heart starts to feel unfamiliar. But if life teaches us anything with certainty, it’s that change is the only constant.

I genuinely believe the Org is doing its best to guide the community through uncharted terrain. Reading the wide range of perspectives in this thread only reinforces how complex the decision-making process truly is—even among the leadership of Burning Man. We forget sometimes that this is still an experiment. There’s no manual, no crystal ball. Just intention, effort, and the raw chaos of evolution.

Gentrification has changed everything—not just Burning Man, but the places that raised us. The towns that now feel like strangers. San Francisco, for instance, no longer resembles the city I grew up in. When I read Mark Mazzocchi’s post, I cried. His words hit something deep. He’s right. And truthfully, we’re all right, because our views are drawn from the lives we’ve lived, the burns we’ve survived, and the dreams we’ve lost or are still chasing.

Does it survive? Do we? No—nothing does forever. Everything has a beginning and an end. But is it over? Not by a long shot.

I just returned from AfrikaBurn, and the spirit—our spirit—is alive and well. Isn’t that the whole point? To carry the fire back home, into our communities, our families, our everyday lives? I remember sitting next to Larry Harvey at the Global Leadership Summit years ago and hearing him say, “We are everywhere.” That stays with me. So when I hear “It’s over” or “It’s not the same,” I understand the pain in those words—but I also take them with a grain of salt. Change is hard. But it’s not the end. Not yet.

Yes, the big burn has been gentrified. But so has the rest of the world. Reno. San Francisco. New York. London. Everywhere. This isn’t just a Burning Man problem—it’s a global reality. Rich vs. poor is no longer an abstract idea; it’s baked into nearly every corner of modern life. There are things I used to enjoy and now can’t afford—Whole Foods, dinners out, even gas. Housing. Burning Man, too, has become more expensive—especially if you’re trying to bring something truly interactive and impactful to that sacred desert stage. It costs a lot to show up meaningfully.

I wish I had the answers. I don’t. And these days, I often don’t share my opinions because they get drowned in the very things I believe are eroding the spirit of the burn: negativity, snark, gatekeeping, finger-pointing, and false assumptions.

That said—I’ll speak one truth I hold firm: I believe the Cultural Direction Setting Initiative was a mistake. Rather than evolving alongside the Plug-and-Play community (and yes, I’ve been labeled the poster child for it), they shamed people publicly—unfairly targeting individuals like Santiago Gomez and Jim Tannenbaum. In doing so, they pulled the rug out from under a part of their own patron base. That wasn’t stewardship; it was scapegoating. And it stifled the nuance we so badly needed in that moment.

We’re not at the end. We’re in a turning. An evolution. And like any evolution, it’s messy, uncertain, and filled with grief for what’s passed. But I still believe in the spirit. I see it in places beyond the playa. I see it in you.

I hear you. And I stand with you.

Someone

I hope my message to John captured the raw honesty, complexity, and deep love that so many feel for Burning Man and communities like Daydream. It acknowledges the pain of change without falling into despair, reminding us that evolution is not the end—it’s a necessary, sometimes uncomfortable step forward. By holding space for multiple truths, this reflection invites us to see beyond division and nostalgia, and instead recommit to the spirit that brought us here in the first place: radical expression, community resilience, and the power of showing up. The future of Burning Man and Daydream doesn’t lie in preserving a static ideal—it lives in our ability to adapt, create, and carry the fire forward. As long as we keep dreaming, it’s not over. It’s becoming.