Where ropes glow and dragons burn

A Glimpse into My First Burn

A Burn is not a festival.
It’s a state of being. An invitation. A space between the worlds.

It’s hard to put into words what happens when 1,700 people come together—not to party, but to create.
Some arrived to consume. But for many, it became a vast field of creativity and self-expression.

Burning Man Netherlands – Where the Sheep Sleep - was exactly such a space.
A lush, green meadow, embraced by trees, filled with camps that were more than tents: small universes with kitchens, fire pits, workshops, and art installations.
A place without food trucks. Without commerce. Without spectators.
There was absolutely nothing for sale. 
Instead, you could stumble upon clothing swap stations—a beautiful way to let go of the old and discover something new.

At a Burn, you don’t watch. You contribute.
As a ranger, a DJ, a helping hand, a cleaner, a workshop facilitator.
Everyone brings something—a drink, a dance, or a moment of genuine connection.

When a Camp Comes to Life

Our camp was called Whispers of the Flesh.
A name that fit perfectly—because it wasn’t about volume, but about depth.
Not about entertainment, but experience.

We had a physical body: tents, a shade-giving tree, a heat-resistant shelter, and our own kitchen.
And we had a soul: people who stayed. Who listened. Who leaned in.
There was rope. There was laughter. Silence. Questions.
And right in the middle: me. 

Not as an entertainer.
But as a space holder.
With rope. With intention. With open hands.

By my side: Kara

A precious companion.
The visible soul of our work.
With patience, courage, and an open heart.

Workshops Beyond Technique

I offered daily workshops.
Tantric Shibari.
Classic rope techniques—for singles and for couples.
Live performances with Q&A.

What stayed was never the technique—it was the feeling.
The silence after a knot.
The gaze when something shifts inside.
The energy when strangers meet in the ropes.

Some came with question marks.
Others with clear expectations.
And many left with something they couldn’t quite name—but would carry with them.

I Didn’t See Everything – But I Gave Everything

There was so much to explore: performances, light art, music, countless other workshops.
And yet—I mostly stayed in our camp.
Not because I had to. But because that’s where I was needed.

I wasn’t a spectator. I was part of it.
A host, a player, a steady presence in constant change.

And at some point, I realized:
My contribution wasn’t to experience as much as possible.
It was to hold space—so others could experience.