Origins

On the Dance Floor

In 2016, I had a mystical experience that changed my life.

It was my first warehouse rave. 22 years old, it was my fifth and final year as an undergrad at the University of California, Santa Cruz. I had a job as a resident assistant, or RA, in a sleepy part of campus called The Village where studious upperclassmen like me were sent to pasture. After four rousing years as a Banana Slug and two prior stints as an RA, The Village felt like a retirement home, a place to reflect on the good times and bask in the lingering glow of the university I called home.

That particular night I had no plans. Being the RA ‘on-duty,’ my task was simple: stay home and answer calls on the duty phone. A good night for homework. Being on-call in this small community was a quiet affair; the residents were the flavor of older students who partied and lost keys infrequently. I’d been there half the school year already and had received hardly any RA duty calls.

Well, a phone call came in that night alright. It was Audrey Ford, who had been my romantic partner for three years before our friendly separation that past Fall. It was February now, and she was living evermore fully into her newfound lesbian self. She was in the early throes of a massive crush on Selma, her brother's childhood friend who she would go on to date for the next three years. We didn’t know that yet of course, so that night Audrey was highly motivated to attend the rave in San Francisco that Selma had invited her to. But she wouldn’t go, she told me, unless I came too.

I had been feeling distraught. My way of life, the entire world of meaning I'd oriented myself around those college years, would soon be ripped away after a ritual called ‘graduation.’ I could feel it coming, and there was nothing I could do but live it. The bittersweet poignancy was enveloping and constant as I lived through moments I knew I’d be nostalgic for. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow failed: failed to live the dream of UC Santa Cruz, and worse, failed to become someone who gives himself utterly to the healing of the world.

I said yes to Audrey's invitation. After much hemming and hawing, of course – “Unthinkable! I’d be shirking my duty as an RA, and risking my job” – but I said yes. I realized that I’d probably get away with it, and this, coupled with my yet-unquenched thirst for adventure (and perhaps a dash of longing, still, for Audrey) got me to the Yes, through the drive with Audrey up the Peninsula, and into an apartment on the industrial outskirts of San Francisco where we found Selma, her ex-partner Mike, and a bottle of whiskey. Cheers-ing to the night, we took orange gel LSD tabs, several shots of whiskey, and a cab to the venue. Oh, my friends, what a night.

It is a truism that things must be experienced to really be understood, but it is especially true of a warehouse rave. Entering from the back, we were faced with a kaleidoscope of bodies, feather boas, and leather, writhing, pulsing, packed together like so many sardines. The sweaty mob was pushed up against the stage yet nonetheless filled the entire cavernous room. Intimidated at first, we soon carved out our own space amid the revelry.

This kind of music overwhelms you, drawing you into its wildness. Soaring melodic grandeur, daring pop flips, breakbeat badassery, squirrelly acid lines¹ – and the thundering bass that keeps you on your toes, heart in mouth. Overheating, I shed my hoodie and tied it around my waist, fanny pack style. You lose your sense of time in a place like this. At one point a collective eros emerged as the four of us coalesced into a quivering cluster of sensuality, one body indistinguishable from another, grinding and kissing and somehow still dancing.

Less happily, one of us was later cornered and groped in the bathroom. You hear about these things happening but it really hits home when it's your friend who finally makes it back after a worrying amount of time away and they are crying, scared, violated. To have the joy of the night ruptured like this was gut-wrenching, for my friend most of all. Our little group coalesced again, this time in tenderness, to hold and support our friend as she began reclaiming the safety and sovereignty she’d had taken from her. Slowly, gently, the wound released its grip enough for a tentative smile to flicker on her face, a little groove back in her step.

Hours passed; the rave went on. But the real magic came, for me, when the rave was done. We'd already taken stock of the night, its agonies and ecstasies, gushing and chattering on the curb outside the warehouse, in the cab ride back, and outside the apartment, smoking. We were well into the comedown now, the integration of the experience into the fabric of our lives. Already the seamless presence I felt on the dancefloor was slipping away, reverting inevitably to the drab routines of ‘real life.’ Yet for the moment, we were still in it, preparing to watch Y tu mamá también, snuggled together as the sun rose over the city.

Audrey and Selma were clearly falling in love. You could see it in their mutual attunement, their unwavering and enthusiastic attentiveness. Mike had long since gone to bed and I was painfully aware of myself on the sidelines, third-wheeling but for the fact that I was simply irrelevant. I viewed the scene as through a window pane. I couldn’t speak except clumsily, couldn’t find smooth ways to include myself in the flow of the moment. Instead I was lost in thought, most of it bleak and self-loathing: “This is why I lost Audrey,” was the tempting narrative. “I’m relentlessly internal, self-centered, failing at a basic level to pay attention to others.” I desperately wanted to be different, to be smooth and sexy the way only people who are present can – but it felt about as voluntary as a cramping muscle.

Then it hit me, with an epiphany's visionary force. These thoughts were true – my mind is turned inward – and not just in the abstract but also literally, in the energetic dynamics of my being. I could see it, could feel it: a vortex in the center of my chest, ethereal light-blue, pulling my consciousness back inside, inward, back around in. Anything I might try to put out – words I want to say, attention I want to give, actions I want to take – first had to get past this gravitational field, this constipated block, this fear of what lies beyond the bounds of my comfort and control.

Audrey and Selma’s energy was flowing the other way: outward, freely radiating toward each other. They were real, they were present, they were in sync with their bodies and the rest of the flowing material world. And I, with my endlessly chattering mind, was not. No, I was constantly fixated on myself, me, me, me: “How do I look? How could I be better? Why didn't I say something? Why can’t I get out of this loop of thoughts about me thinking thoughts about myself?” I had long suspected myself of narcissism and now I could see it, could plainly see the dynamics of self-involvement. I was disconnected from my body, from other people, and from the world around me, instead imprisoned in my mind and in touch only with thoughts.

It all comes back to this. My life has been profoundly shaped by this dynamic, this gap between my mind and body. The epiphany was that this disconnect is not just the source of my suffering; it’s also the way out. Perhaps, like a muscle that grows with training, I could shift my mind's energy flow outward, through my body into the physical world beyond. After all, isn't this the spiritual game distilled to its essence? From selfishness to service. From dissociation to presence. From mind to body. On the drive home later that morning, Audrey coined the mantra:

“Energy Outward.”

It seemed to encapsulate a whole way of life, one I’d been growing into as long as I could remember. And now here it was: the ground, the fundamental shift I'd been searching for. Energy Outward. I would repeat the phrase to myself, reaching for its guidance as one does a compass, grateful for its stability like solid ground after years at sea. Get out of the ocean of your mind, I would tell myself. Shift your energy flow, inhabit your body. Be present! Energy Outward. I felt new.

I’ve spent the years since that night marinating in it, letting its many lessons seep into my bones. The essays in this series are the culmination of those years. At last! I’m excited and relieved to share this with you, to take this step in living the vision I had on that night in 2016 and putting my energy out there.

Questions So Huge They Blot Out the Sun

“We have not yet developed anything close to a religion of meaning around climate change that might comfort us, or give us purpose, in the face of possible annihilation.”
– David Wallace-Wells²

Whatever your feelings on climate change, the sands of history are undeniably shifting, and the sense in many quarters is that a dark era is upon us, a time of oppression and destruction so great we may not survive it.

And yet now, in our hour of greatest need, we find ourselves deflated, disempowered, detached, awash in modernity’s distinctive malaise. We may desperately want a more beautiful world, but what can we do? I mean, really. Who among us is aware of – let alone participating in – a paradigm-shifting social movement that has the heart of the people? Our movements feel listless, as though something is missing: an energy, a vitality, an animating spiritual force.

At the time of the 2016 rave, my mind was aswirl with questions so huge they blotted out the sun. What can we do about the apocalyptic dystopia we seem to be descending into? Why don’t more people talk about it, never mind rebel against it? Why are we in this situation, anyway? Why don’t we learn our lessons, kick our addictions, change our toxic ways, and dedicate our lives to building a more beautiful world? How could we possibly muster the grassroots power needed for that transformation? And what about me, what’s my part in all this? How can I spend my life in the most impactful, helpful way possible? How can I get over my laziness so I can be of service and live up to my potential? The eternal question of adolescence, fit for our adolescent species: How might I live?

These are tough questions, and they are made tougher by the conviction that we already have the answers. So rarely are we ready to listen, to seriously consider that our way isn't the best way. We do not lack for grand theories of what has gone wrong with our world. Popular framings of this human moment blame the troubles on

• the compounding consequences of our actions, known in Buddhism and Hinduism as karma;
• a species-wide fall from the grace of God/Allah, caused by the temptations of Satan/al-Shayṭān;
• the separation of Self from reality, and the ever-escalating attempts at control that result;³
• 500 years of settler colonialism;
• 5,000 years of dominator culture;⁴
• capitalism;
• the government;
• irrationality caused by our cognitive biases; or
• human nature.

Nor do we lack for maps of where best to go from here. Perhaps the direction we want to be moving is

• giving more power to social institutions that are run collectively;
• giving more power to individuals and private institutions;
• reversing our separation from nature and reintegrating with the biosphere;⁵
• increasing our separation from the biosphere and our integration with machines;
• out of the Business as Usual Story, through the Great Unraveling story, into the story of the Great Turning;⁶ or
• into a hut in the woods to ride out the final days of humanity.

How can we build a more beautiful world if we can’t even agree where we are and where we're going? Older folks still alive can remember a mythical time when society didn't feel so fractured, a time said to have enjoyed broad agreement and the warm relief of moral cohesion.

Now, on top of everything else, our species is undergoing what has been called the “meaning crisis.” The old stories are collapsing. The institutions they supported – patriotism, consumerism, masculinity, whiteness, most religions, etc. – are losing adherents. Who we are, how we should act, why we’re here: all this and more is up for grabs. Some of us, in our better moments, have turned to the task of experimenting with new worldviews, or rewilding old ones.⁷ But many of us haven’t been up to it, and have instead wallowed in the void created by the old stories’ absence.

This void has been in the modern consciousness since at least the 1950s, when Existentialism broke big on the American cultural scene. Nowadays, as anxiety, depression, and suicide push to ever-higher levels,⁸ meaninglessness has become a defining feature of our time. Even those of us without overt mental health disorders can feel the disoriented flailing, the grasping about in the darkness for something – a purpose, an identity, a drug – anything that will stop the spinning so we can find steady ground.

As we’ll see in the essays to come, a mythic Divide between the Mind and Body is a major and under-acknowledged root of so much of our world's anguish. The disconnect goes by many names, many versions of the same story, a pattern running through reality, a motif played in different keys. The disconnect causes immense suffering – and also is a portal into the world's healing.

On the night of the rave, my mind’s energy expanded outward and merged with my body, soothing this archetypal tension. I felt something structural in my relationship with reality shift, tapped in with the world in a way that reminded me of childhood. This experience crystallized for me into the ‘Energy Outward’ mantra, and over time became a new story of meaning for my life.

Most of us spend our time adrift between a fragmented mélange of old stories and cynicism about ever finding a story to believe in again. In this situation, Energy Outward – the story of the Mind-Body Connection – offers unique gifts. It points to an overlooked path through the Big, Thorny Questions of our Age – a path we just might all walk together.

We all have a body; let's start there. Many of us who do resonate with a particular story – being a Christian, say, or an anarchist, or a lover of science – may feel that our worldview is important and struggle to harmonize with people who don't share it. In the body, we find a universal common ground, an arena of experience shared by all (albeit with significant variations). Not all bodies are the same – not by a long shot – but they do all work as a starting point. Inclusive of diversity in a fractured age, the Mind-Body Connection is a story that can welcome others into the fold.

Those of us who have stepped outside the old stories may feel too cool to ever really take on a new one. Being uncommitted leaves our options open, and we are loathe to trade this freedom for the limitations of something specific, something authentic. Even stories we may be deeply sympathetic to – for me, Eastern religions and indigenous cosmologies – don't feel like ‘ours’ to step into, like wearing another culture's traditional dress. The connection between body and mind carries no such baggage, requires no orthodox belief. Devotion to the body is a way of life that we secular moderns, with our aversion to faith and sincerity, can give ourselves to whole-heartedly.

For those of us who are simply confused, the body offers steady ground. The modern world is overwhelming, and its speed makes us forgetful. Daily we are inundated with conversations, situations, visions, catastrophes, insights, entertainments – what, amid the deluge, can we grab onto? We may come across teachings that glow with the promise of a better way. But we struggle to hold them and soon they whirl away in the dance of the everyday, forgotten and replaced by life's immediate demands. The body is a teaching you won't forgot in life’s flow of distractions. Emphatically not abstract, the body emerges most vividly when all thought has dropped away. Your body is right there with you, even when you’re not paying attention, a constant companion, at all times nearby and available with its refuge, its wisdom, its participation.

To people already immersed in things like embodiment, exercise, and trauma healing, this emphasis on the mind-body connection may seem like nothing new. Links between mind-body dualism and our world’s problems have long been apparent – at least in some circles. But for most people, the profound meaning of the body isn’t at all obvious, and can be experienced as a revelation. Many of humanity’s most important and liberating teachings haven't sunk in; the masses remain ignorant, and those in the know remain hypocritical. I am no exception: this writing began largely as a way to challenge my complacency, to compile and deepen my life’s lessons, to remember and apply the principles I say I want to live by. Mind-body connection, like much that seems well-worn and cliché, comes alive with unexplored richness when we engage with it.

Finally, some of us don’t really go for this woo-woo stuff and just want practical tools to transform the world. Frustrated with endless theorizing, we may regard spiritual or political teachings as heady abstractions, visions of far-off utopias with little to say about how to get there. No matter how insightful, theories just aren’t relevant in regular folks’ daily lives, and don't concretely help us move forward. We would do better to drop this talk of ‘stories’ and ‘energy’ and focus instead on the nitty-gritty of building power and disrupting the bad guys.

Here, the Mind-Body Connection shines especially bright. How are we to engage the body politic? When it comes down to it, what will be required from each of us, spiritually, concretely, if we are to be moved, and moved well? In this work, a familiarity with the ways that the visions of mind can transmute into the actuality of body – and the ways such action gets blocked – is essential. If practicality is what we're after, releasing the grip of the mental unlocks access to a wide set of unique tools that can tangibly help us grapple (maybe even dance) with our world. Indeed, this release could be the difference between some wildly divergent paths into our collective future.

Singularity or nightfall? Which path shall we choose? Our world today is shot through with such dualities. We are torn – my career or my dreams? the individual or the collective? a life of fun or a life of responsibility? – between poles, between stories, between options that seem mutually exclusive and yet are both compelling. Much of our work in this time comes down to navigating these binary tensions in a wise and skillful way. Each of us hosts, in our own bodymind, a real-time manifestation of the Divide that is poisoning our planet. When you heal your relationship with your body, you heal the world.

If we want a new “religion of meaning” for this moment in history – a true religion, something alive and empowering, somewhere stable from which to make our stand – I submit that we have no candidate more promising than the Body, and the Mind’s Connection to it. No metaphor is so rich, no other story so well-suited to the challenges of this era. Here we can find the capacity to meet our dreams – or rather, to co-create a reality more beautiful than our ideas of it ever could be.

This essay series is the story of my relationship with my body, and how I began transitioning from numb detachment toward balanced engagement. It is also a parallel story about the human species on planet Earth, proposing the mind-body connection as the (de)central myth and praxis of our time. Themes touched on will include overthinky dissociation, addiction, othering, yoga, environmental destruction, corruption, mystical experiences, skepticism, communal sensemaking, collapsing dichotomies into spectra, and what it will really take to shift into a world of greater peace, justice, and beauty. (Moods touched on will include dewey-eyed utopianism, overwhelming despair, curious delight, patient communion, wild abandon, and comfortable down-hominess.)

Practicing connecting my mind and body, I have been enlivened with pleasure and confidence. My integrity and finesse have expanded, my political engagement has deepened – and I'm having way more fun and started actually working out. If I could ask of you one thing it would be this: Put your energy outward, past your mind, past its stories, into your body, into community, into the great Uncertainty of The Other, the wonderful Mystery of the Beyond.

Now let me tell you what the hell I mean.

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Notes

1. “There’s something about acid. It builds ya up and it breaks ya down, all at the same time.” Eris Drew, BBC Radio 1’s Residency, June 15, 2020
2. The Uninhabitable Earth, David Wallace-Wells, p. 175
3. See The Ascent of Humanity by Charles Eisenstein for more on this.
4. "Partnership Before Sexism and War," by Tao Lin
5. One example of this can be found on p. 314 of Nature, Culture, Consciousness by David Gilligan.
6. Active Hope, Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone, pp. 4-5
7. For just one (good) example of the latter, see the Mythic Masculine Podcast, in particular Sophie Strand's episode on mycelial masculinity.
8. "By the numbers: An alarming rise in suicide," Lea Winerman, Monitor on Psychology, January 2019, Vol. 50, No. 1, American Psychological Association;
"Trends in anxiety among adults in the United States, 2008–2018: Rapid increases among young adults,” Renee D. Goodwin et al, Journal of Psychiatric Research, 130: 441-446, November 2020