(Image Source: Dierdre Schoo for the New York Times)

Bare feet traverse a smooth wooden floor as rhythmic beats pulse through the Church of the Sparkling Unicorn in Columbus, Ohio. Here, movement becomes prayer, a sacred act of presence and intention. Dancers flow with respect for the shared space and each other, transforming freeform motion into a meditation on connection and community. This is Ecstatic Dance—a modern ritual where self-expression intertwines with collective discovery.

Contemporary Ecstatic Dance, a global twenty-first-century phenomenon, constitutes the most widespread iteration of the conscious dance movement. Conscious dance denotes dance practices that prioritize mindfulness, self-expression, and holistic healing over technical mastery, commercialization, and aesthetic allure. In Ecstatic Dance, participants engage in self-improvised movement over a two-hour period, guided by the music of a live DJ who curates a dynamic mix of electronic and world music. Thriving on six continents and in most major cities, there are over 700 registered Ecstatic Dance communities worldwide (in addition to several non-registered outlets).

While this dance form is non-prescriptive—theologically and choreographically—many dancers find the practice deeply spiritual. In this way, contemporary Ecstatic Dance may generate experiential ecstasy (from the Greek term ἔκστασις/ex-stasis, literally standing outside oneself) or heightened states of awareness, mirroring the religious experiences of ancient maenads, Sufis, Hasidic Jews, Lakota sun dancers, and others.

Many participants initially come to Ecstatic Dance simply for the music, weekend recreation, or to meet people. In other words, they do not attend the dance sessions for overtly spiritual reasons. Nevertheless, as many testify, what transpires on the dance floor enables practitioners to cultivate a personal experience of sacredness within a creative, embodied, and communal setting—independent of traditional religious structures. Through dancing, people report feeling touched by the divine.

Roots of Ecstatic Dance

In 2001, Max Fathom, a dancer and poet from Austin, Texas, started the contemporary Ecstatic Dance movement. After relocating to Hawaii to work at the nonprofit Kalani-Honua Retreat Center, he soon began a community dance group. Fathom implemented community guidelines, including no drugs or alcohol, designed to ensure participants’ safety and foster authentic experiences. Unlike conventional private dance studios, Kalani did not charge tuition. Instead, people offered voluntary “love donations.” Soon, Ecstatic Dance came to attract over 200 attendees per session.

Fathom’s inclination toward improvised dancing recalls his time in Texas, when he practiced Body Choir, another conscious dance movement inspired by Gabrielle Roth (1941–2012). As a former professional dancer, legendary fixture at the Esalen Institute (Big Sur, California), and self-proclaimed “urban shaman” who devised the 5Rhythms® freeform technique, Roth may be considered the proto-founder of contemporary Ecstatic Dance.

Like Roth and other conscious dance luminaries, Fathom gravitates toward bodily spontaneity: “[Freeform] dance helps you be in the present moment. . . The ego is always on your heels, but there are moments where you can transcend it through spontaneity.” This freeform dynamism exemplifies religion scholar Robert Grimes’ concept of “improvising ritual,” where religious rites can go “off script” in ways that intensify their sacred potency.

Differing from his predecessors, Fathom simulated a sacred aura in explicit ways. For instance, he created an altar, typically made of fruit, shells, and other offerings. Before each session, he or another participant delivered spiritual invocations in the form of spoken prayers or poetry.

Another signature element of Ecstatic Dance is the music. Inspired by the annual Burning Man festival, Fathom incorporated electronic music into his sessions. (By contrast, 5Rhythms® typically used live music and drumming). For Fathom, the repetitive quality of electronic music “mirrors tribal music,” thus facilitating a ritual framework. But far from remaining fixed and predictable, this music, like the dance that accompanies it, experiments with improvised elements.

Although Fathom never trademarked his practice, it became ubiquitous. “The church no longer meets the needs of people,” he says, reflecting on the movement’s popularity and demand. “That is why Ecstatic Dance is so wildly popular. There is a need for fellowship, safety, and a sacred environment . . . and Ecstatic Dance does this so well.”

Ecstatic Dance as a Sacred Practice

In an increasingly secular era, Ecstatic Dance stands as a new temple, offering a space for participants to transcend mundane existence. Evidently, most Ecstatic Dance practitioners do not embrace or endorse organized religious traditions. Instead, many identify as “spiritual but not religious” (SBNR), which comprises between 22% of Americans (according to the Pew Research Center) to approximately 33% of Americans (according to a 2023 Gallup poll).

While Fathom does not have a problem with the term “religion,” he suspects many people like the practice because of its absence of dogma—a signature element of Ecstatic Dance:

“The fellowship of Ecstatic Dance has a lot of value and meaning to people. And you can do this without saying you believe in a certain way, like a religion or dogma,” Fathom says. “But you can have a religious experience with Ecstatic Dance. . . And this can be expressed through an actual gesture or through dancing.”

A friend of Fathom who dances in the San Francisco Bay Area asserts that Ecstatic Dance functions like a church:

“Ecstatic Dance fulfills the [community-building] role that church used to fill. . . There is still a human need to gather. And there are not many places that feature intergenerational gatherings. I think that is why Ecstatic Dance succeeds. . . I am having a co-creation experience with other people, and I think this is what is unique about dance. And this can be a spiritual experience.”

Although this dancer does not have a traditional religious background, she desires something beyond mundane existence. Sharing intimate and creative encounters with fellow dancers creates a sense of belonging and transcendence, regardless of whether or not dancers deliberately had religious reasons for joining an Ecstatic Dance community. In this way, Ecstatic Dance embodies the original meaning of the Latin term sacer (sacred)—that which is set apart from the rest.

(Image Source: Ecstatic Dance LA)

For some Ecstatic Dancers, what transpires on the dance floor prompts them to meditate upon the mysteries of the universe. “I have gratitude and awe, and an awareness of the miracle of existence. When I am dancing, I think about existence and how did this get started? This brings me toward the awe one would have in a religious experience,” says Santa Cruz-based dancer Mark Schneider.

The sacralizing effects of Ecstatic Dance often mimic ritual and shamanic healing. For Turtle (né Steven White), a facilitator of Ecstatic Dance at Inner Rhythm (Cambria, California), “[Ecstatic] Dance is my salvation.” Turtle continues: “I would say what we do is a physical purification . . . They [i.e., the dancers] emerge feeling better with so much clarity. We have a glimpse of what it means to be strong and healed in the medicinal power [of dance].”

Certain Ecstatic Dance venues amplify these sacralizing and healing effects. While some spaces are more neutral or secular (including warehouses, community centers, and dance studios), others have a religious past. Historically sacred spaces such as churches, chapels, or temples imbue contemporary Ecstatic Dance with a rich sense of resonance.

Moreover, the architecture itself may play an integral role in this movement ritual. Religion scholar Sarah Pike argues that repurposed historic or hallowed structures at once retain echoes of the past and invite new ways of symbolizing the sacred. Kinesthetically navigating these spaces, dancers’ imprint new sacred narratives, merging the ancestral aura of the venue with the novelty of the contemporary moment. Transforming ordinary spaces into living sanctuaries, Ecstatic Dancers reimagine and reshape urban environments, creating rituals that honor history and acknowledge immediate spiritual needs.

The Role of the Dance Facilitator

At the heart of Ecstatic Dance is the facilitator, a quiet architect of the sacred space who ensures it remains intentional and purpose-driven. Contrast this with a typical nightclub: high heels and designer sneakers step on sticky floors as drinks are passed from bar to hand, and the steady thump of repetitive beats underscores shouted conversations. The focus often drifts toward appearances, socializing, and flirtation.

In Ecstatic Dance, the atmosphere is entirely different. Shoes are left at the door, and the floor becomes a shared space. Bare feet ground participants in an inward journey with music that invites different kinds of movement. Instead of alcohol, the scent of incense may linger in the air, and participants dress for comfort rather than to impress. The facilitator ensures this intentional environment through sensory details—lighting, symbolic decor, and the absence of mirrors—all designed to foster presence and self-expression.

CiCi Singleton, founder of Alchemy of Dance (Houston, Texas) and an experienced Ecstatic Dance DJ and facilitator, explains: “The role of the facilitator is to set an energetic intention and maintain it. It’s about creating a container where people feel seen and their experiences are respected. Without that, the space risks becoming just a party rather than a place for authentic connection.” Singleton’s perspective reveals the facilitator’s role in cultivating a space where movement transcends performance, becoming a meaningful practice of connection and self-awareness.

The guidelines of Ecstatic Dance—dancing barefoot, abstaining from substances, refraining from talking during the dance, and embracing a comfort-focused dress code—are widely embraced to foster mindfulness and mutual respect. Unlike the predictable rhythms of a nightclub, the music of Ecstatic Dance changes rhythm, tempo, and typically utilizes diverse musical genres, thereby inviting play, introspection, joy, and a communal journey.

Rabbi Shefa Gold, co-director of the Center for Devotional Energy and Ecstatic Practice  describes facilitators as architects who infuse the environment with transformative purpose and devotion. By guiding the energy of the space, facilitators take dancers on a journey toward personal growth and communal interaction, weaving individual expressions into a shared, embodied practice. Samuel Tettner, a Venezuelan anthropologist who received facilitator training in Barcelona, emphasizes the DJ’s role in aura-tizing the immediate environment: “The DJ can create a series of atmospheric ‘suggestions of movement’ that compose the perceived ‘flow’ of the dance, felt by the collective ‘felt-body’ of the dance floor.”

The impact of this intentional space is evident in the experiences of its participants. Laura Bishop, Executive Director of The 418 Project (a community center in Santa Cruz, California), reflects, “I feel accepted in an Ecstatic Dance container… I feel seen here.”

Merging the personal and communal elevates Ecstatic Dance to a transformative practice. Moses Yao, a Hawaii-based dancer, psychologist, and theologian, describes the experience of unity within the dance: “It is cosmic. We are entities moving together.” DJ Daniel Mollner, who leads the Skyview dance community in the Santa Cruz Mountains, takes this concept further: “When I dance, I open up my prayer state… I am being danced.” Through shared motion, the dance serves as a medium for spiritual connection, blurring the lines between self and other.

Challenges of Consent

The vulnerability that animates Ecstatic Dance heightens its experiential richness but requires a delicate balance between freedom and responsibility. While these exchanges foster self-discovery, they may risk compromising trust and threatening personal boundaries. These challenges mirror broader issues of power dynamics in spaces that are meant to be safe, where institutions, secular or sacred, have sometimes failed to protect the vulnerable.

This delicate interplay between vulnerability and responsibility highlights the crucial role of consent within Ecstatic Dance. Consent may be especially compromised in contact improvisation, an optional subset of the Ecstatic Dance movement in which dancers come into physical contact with each other. Originating in the 1970s with choreographer Steve Paxton (1939–2024) and other luminaries of the Judson Dance Theater and Grand Union postmodern dance collectives, contact improvisation is rooted in the principles of egalitarianism and mutual respect. Dance studies scholars Cynthia Novack and Ann Cooper Albright have written how the form’s emphasis on physical touch and shared weight fosters a sense of interdependence, challenging conventional gender relations, aesthetics, and individualism. When enacted ethically within Ecstatic Dance, contact improvisation may foster unity, belonging, and community. However, violations of consent undermine this practice, thereby corrupting connectivity and unleashing harm.

To address such challenges, Ecstatic Dance communities have developed innovative approaches that reflect their commitment to collective care. The decentralized, community-driven nature of the practice fosters self-regulation and accountability, with facilitators serving as guardians of the space rather than figures of authority. In cases where boundaries have been crossed, communities often turn to constructive tools stemming from restorative justice, including talking circles and non-violent communication.

During a dance in a Texas-based community, a participant voiced concern about another dancer repeatedly seeking their attention despite being turned away and moved from several spots on the dance floor. Without interrupting the flow of the music, the facilitator approached the individual and gently invited them to step outside the space to discuss the matter in the foyer. There, the facilitator created a neutral and compassionate environment to hear their side, explaining that while the dance is nonverbal, clear signals—such as turning away or moving away—communicate whether an interaction is welcomed. The facilitator reminded the dancer that the space is shared and consensual, emphasizing that moments of rejection can be an opportunity to “dance with rejection,” using movement to process emotions and continue the journey respectfully.

Crucially, this intervention had lasting effects. In subsequent gatherings, the facilitator observed that the individual’s behavior had shifted significantly. They no longer sought repeated interactions when signals of disinterest were given, aligning their movements with the community’s principles of mindfulness and consent. This change exemplifies how restorative dialogue can inspire genuine growth and ensure the dance floor remains a sanctuary for all participants.

Such moments illustrate how the restorative ethos of Ecstatic Dance transforms potential conflict into growth. Rather than relying on punitive measures, facilitators encourage reflection and dialogue, embodying principles similar to those outlined in activist Adrienne Maree Brown’s book, We Will Not Cancel Us. By prioritizing connection and accountability, these communities strengthen the sacred space, ensuring that safety, expression, and healing remain central to the practice.

Within these spaces, trust is not assumed—it is built moment by moment through dance, dialogue, and communal acts of care.

A Model for Spirituality Today

With the first step—bare feet meeting the floor, the rhythmic pulse of the music reverberating through the space—participants find themselves in a new realm that is distinct from their other professional and personal lives.

Ecstatic Dance at once offers an opportunity for crafting individual expression and reimagining the sacred, unbound by traditional structures. Through the beat, breath, sweat, and stillness, “moving alone together” becomes a living prayer and a dynamic act of collective worship. For practitioners, this emerging religiosity—like the dance itself—is fluid, adaptable, and rooted in the intentionality of the present moment.

Kathryn Dickason is a Public Relations Specialist at Simmons University (Boston) and an NYU alumna. She has published widely on religion, dance, and medieval studies, including a book entitled Ringleaders of Redemption: How Medieval Dance Became Sacred (Oxford University Press, 2021).

Rashida Alisha Hagakore is an Ecstatic Dance facilitator and DJ who has curated transformative dance experiences in Texas, Ohio, California, and Damanhur (Northern Italy). With a background in business administration, she bridges her passion for breath, body, and movement with a commitment to cultivating intentional spaces for connection and transformation.