These are our draft accounts. Comments and additions from others' experience welcome, particularly spiritual experiences at rave-type events.
The venue was a fair-sized gothic-style church, an active Christian church,
and the service was described in the church programme as "Trance Dancing
- an ancient practice which invites the spirit to embody us and to heal
us through external spiritual ecstasy... The spirit knows the moves and
once awakened, the spirit takes over... Trance dancing has nothing to do
with the expectations of others and all to do with revealing our timeless
existence."
We arrived at 11pm, entering through a side door. The church was complete
with all the usual Christian ornament, but the cross was without the body
of Jesus. At first glance all looked normal, but the front few rows of pews
had been removed to allow room to dance, some cushions and blankets were
placed on the floor of a carpeted side chapel as a chill out area. At the
back there was a water dispenser besides urns for tea and coffee. A sound
system and mixing desk was set up at one side of the front of the nave,
and the pulpit was used to house projectors aimed at the back wall... all
rather low key including the volume of sound. A nice touch was that the
DJs names were displayed on the board designed for listing the hymns to
be sung.
About 60 people turned up, mostly in their forties although there were some
in their twenties, and the majority were men. As the clock struck midnight,
we congregated in front of the altar for the opening meditation. They had
decided not to have a leader or 'priest', so this was followed by people
taking turns to suggest little rituals like holding each other's hands in
silence and 'toning'. I actually felt a bit awkward and my 'trying' to join
in seemed to accentuate my self-consciousness, and the fact that the toning
failed to build up made me feel that I was not alone in this. I also felt
aware of the stiffness in my back which had got a lot worse recently.
Then the music took over; people started dancing and I discreetly dropped
an E. I saw noone else take anything but the atmosphere implied to me that
I was not alone in using entheogens: certainly no-one drank alcohol as that
was specifically forbidden in the rules of admittance. Once dancing, I immediately
felt more at home in spite of my stiffness, but after a while I found that
even my back became fluid and it was a real pleasure to bend it. My arms
are normally kept safely below shoulder level, but they rose higher and
higher until they stretched up to the roof following by my gaze as I celebrated
the glory of being in such a magnificent place - and my loose neck. The
grandeur of the building seemed to bring out my most sweeping, uplifted
movements and I felt great respect for the church itself.
Afterwards I asked myself whether I this had been a truly "spiritual"
experience as I had been anticipating and hoping for. Possibly, but no more
than events I have attended in disused warehouses and under railway arches!
Yet it had another, unexpected effect on me: it had disolved my predjudice
against Christian churches. All my life I had regarded them as sterile monuments
that made me feel uncomfortable, but that night I had felt very much at
home. A week later I walked into one and put it to the test: yes, I felt
much less defensive.
Others were dancing too, but there was plenty of room. Once or twice I allowed
myself to 'tone' with the music, just to show myself how resonant and free
my voice had become (and this remained for the next few days). Anja was
doing some delicate dance movements and was much admired. A man was performing
his own strange ritual right up at the altar, stretching up towards the
cross and then kneeling down. But most people were laying about on the carpets
or walking about at the back talking: the volume of sound was that low.
Conversations were quiet and appeared to be tempered by the awe of the setting
and the atmosphere created by the opening ritual.
People felt very free to come up and communicate, either with words or by
dancing together. At one point a man came up to us and asked for help. We
sat together on the altar steps while he told us of his grief: his girlfriend
had gone off with his best friend, so he had lost both at once besides her
child to whom he had been a father figure. He'd not only lost them but they
had both decieved him for some time before, so he felt doubly hurt. I found
it easy to cuddle him in a firm warm way, and also to tell him firmly that
he had to accept his grief and move on in life. At the end he still looked
needy but thanked us and said he felt he was on the way to accepting his
loss.
We were still dancing when seven o'clock came. Lights went on and the reinstatement
of the church was efficiently organised, with the pews being moved back
into place and screwed down again. Fresh coffee was provided and some people
had brought breakfast which was shared. Hugs were given and people dispersed.
That kind of event does not happen easily. The organisers carefully appraoched
the church council and outlined what they wanted to do. "Will there
be drugs?" "We certainly won't dispense or encourage them though
we know of no way to know what people may have taken before they come in.
In any event, there will be no alcohol." The local authority was consulted
about a dancing license, but it turned out that churches are exempt; police
were told about the event and asked to relay any complaints to the organisers'
mobile.
All the careful preparation paid off. The church committee agreed without
being told any lies and one or two came including a retired bishop. They
saw it as a way of attracting new people into their church, and in fact
one or two have since returned to attend Sunday services.
We arrived expectantly. A very warm welcome at the hospitality desk,
the church is dark, a few coloured swirling lights, the music is playing,
not many people have arrived yet. It feels a little cold - what's it gonna
be?...
Half a minute before midnight, the clock strikes. We move to the centre,
where the candles are lit and sit in circles. A word of welcome, silent
meditation, some people feel moved to speak: a reminder of the ones that
went before us, those we send special love, a word of gratitude, a choir
man singing a hymn beautifully.
Then we start toning. First in the big group, then in small circles, arms
around each others back and shoulders. We have the desire to unite our vibrations,
but somehow our shy, self-conscious characters prevent the sound to really
take off. Still inhibited we split up, wander , have a drink, listen to
the music, watch the slides. It seems as though some people have taken a
sacrament. The atmosphere is still of a tentative party.
Slowly people begin to dance a bit, walk and talk with each other. Even
if not completely at ease I and others are prepared to hang in there. The
atmosphere warms up. The cool darkness, slowly transforms into a warmer
dark glow. My body begins to feel freer as I move it. The music gets more
absorbing. More people are making eye contact. I need to work less hard
at thinking up something to say. I'm also feeling OK about not socialising
and just be part of the space. I see Nicholas beginning to open up his body-
it's great to see. Others are into their journey alone and together. A feeling
of acceptance grows. I sit down and feel a beautiful alignment with the
ground and my higher energies. I feel accepting of whatever is. Even the
concept of a child I accept. I focus on it and become aware of an energy
called Saya. Nicholas is coming over and dances beautiful waving movements
before me. We sit together.
Another man joins us after a while. He needs to talk and is brave enough
to ask for attention. We listen and share his pain. It feels totally appropriate
to do so. We cannot give him solutions, but we can share with him and that
is just fine. When we get back to the dancing the whole space seems to have
filled with warm, loving presence. People are talking, dreaming, smiling.
Someone offers me a sweety, later someone else to smudge me, People watch
me dancing in the most affirming way. I am given a biscuit, meetings short
and truthful happen as I get my drinks. The slides are inspiring, connecting
me to the rest of the world outside. The music carries me, it's great just
to move and be. Sometimes I feel Tai-chi like, sometimes fast and jumpy
or flowing and undulating. I admire the beautiful space and stretch out
to the high wooden roof. Occasionally I stay still and tune into the finest
vibrations in and around me.
Seven o'clock comes before I know it. I never thought I'd be able to stay
awake all night! People carefully clean the space and bring it back in order
for church service. Goodbye hugs with all people known and 'unknown' - a
family feel.
This was a real gathering of souls. People mixing gently, valuing each other.
The atmosphere and sacraments allowing us to let go of our inhibitions and
make the space for love and gentle communion, with each other and with spirit.
I would not mind a weekly church service like this.
©Nicholas Saunders and Anja Dashwood 1996
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