Once upon a time there was this little yurt.
His family tree reached way back to outer Mongolia where the big yurts live.
But he was a little yurt, alone, needing someone to need him.
Someone grabbed him and stuck him in the back of a U-Haul van and took off.
He wasn’t thinking clearly because he was all deconstructed.
He couldn’t see where he was being taken because there were no windows in the van.
But it was getting hotter and hotter and dustier and dustier, till at last they stopped.
It was a while before he could get out of the hot van into the hot desert, and longer before he was fully set up, but then …
OMG there were yurts everywhere and they were just like him!
And they listened when he talked and wanted to know where he came from and who had lived in him and how he got here.
And they gave hugs, long heart to heart yurt hugs (you’ll just have to imagine).
And they shared everything. Music, stories, loves, everything.
When he told them of the big yurts that lived in Mongolia, they felt proud.
“But we are Hexayurts”, invented for use by refugees in Africa and the Middle East who have been driven from their homes.
They shared their stories to: where they ere from, who they were sheltering and what their dreams were.
He felt he had arrived.
He felt he found yurt live.
He felt he was whole.
He didn’t feel better than the tents around nor the big RV’s.
He felt like a yurt that was of value.
His life had meaning and purpose.
“What is this place?”, He asked his new friends in the yurt language.
“Why it’s Burning Man 2015!”, they all said in unison and then they did a happy dance in the wind.