I’ve had the opportunity to give a bit more thought to my experience at Starwood. I’ve been trying to summarize things, and I can’t do better than I already have. “Awe. Dread. Sorrow.” That was my primary experience of Starwood. But there is much more I can say about that Awe, Dread, and Sorrow.

Lesson the first: Hedonism is the only sin I’ve ever been able to categorize. This is difficult for me to say for two reasons. One, I don’t really believe in sin, and two, I consider myself rather hedonistic at times. I was wrong. I saw real hedonism at Starwood.

Hedonism, to paraphrase Wikipedia, is the philosophy that pleasure is the ultimate good. In essence, everything is done, or should be done, in the pursuit of pleasure. I can’t express strongly enough how wrong this philosophy is. Pleasure is indeed a good thing, but the blind pursuit of pleasure is as wrong and dangerous as the blind pursuit of anything else. Our existence is predicated on a spectrum of experience and relationships. When our pursuit of pleasure is more important than those relationships it becomes self-destructive.

Hedonism, at it’s worst, seems to me an addiction. It drives a person ever towards their next fix. It teaches us to avoid any discomfort or pain and to seek out pleasure wherever it may be found. When our ethics are determined by our addiction we are completely unable to live or operate in a sustainable relationship with the world around us. We see this demonstrated by drug addiction on a regular basis in our society. I am beginning to believe that our cultural predisposition towards the misuse of drugs and alchohol is actually a symptom of the hedonistic philosophy underlying our consumer economy.

The Starwood bonfire, which took all week to build, was a prime instance of hedonistic excess. The entire community was focused on this act, on this revelry, but the event was devoid of any meaning or purpose beyond induldgence. There were no words spoken, no forces evoked, no reason given. The bonfire was reason enough. The sheer pleasure of the act was purpose enough.

I have a great deal to say about my time at Starwood. I promise, but I’m still processing much of that. And since it has been some time since I’ve posted anything, and since I have words today, here is what I have.

I feel small. Terribly terribly small. Like I’ve taken on burdens far beyond what I can reasonably sustain. I feel as though the city is crushing me. Like I haven’t had time for myself, for my own healing, my owh thoughts, my own processes. I feel little and crowded. The introvert in me is positively screaming and begging to escape.
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