While in Ubud, I’ve been trying to open myself to everything this place offers. There’s a current of possibility here, pulsing quietly beneath the surface. After experiencing the depths of sound healing—something I’ve done before and always found moving—I felt curious to take it one step further.
What if I combined sound and movement and stepped out of my own way? What would happen if I said yes to the wild, the spontaneous, the free?
So, I found myself at an ecstatic dance event one evening—something I’d never tried before. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t realize it was a sober space. But it turns out, the only high here is freedom. And it’s powerful. It’s the freedom to move as you need, without commentary or critique. The freedom to be in your body, not in your head. And honestly? That felt more intoxicating than any drink ever did.
After being accidentally sober for years, I sometimes forget how much I’ve missed this—just dancing like a maniac without needing a reason or a rhythm. I’d assumed those spaces didn’t exist unless they were laced with alcohol or under cover of night. I was wrong. Here in Bali, they’re tucked beside yoga studios—or inside them. Sacred spaces become dance floors. Meditation cushions turn into soft boundaries for wild expression.
Imagine the yoga shala you’ve been quietly practicing in all week transforming into a circular DJ sanctuary. The lights dim, the speakers hum, and the floor is suddenly alive with anticipation.
I stood off to the side at first. Even though I came to let go, I wasn’t ready to be front and center. The night began with grounding breathwork and optional cacao. I chose to skip the cacao but set my sankalpa—an intention I’ve been holding for the past year: to trust. To trust myself, my choices, and to let go of the second-guessing I’d become so used to in my pre-travel life.
We were guided into gentle somatic movements, easing the body into openness. My favourite was a hip-shaking motion that, quite honestly, felt like drying your bum with a towel. Not exactly poetic, but deeply effective. Sometimes the most ridiculous movements are the ones that free you the most.
And then the music began.
Track by track, I was led deeper into the experience. Eyes mostly closed—not to avoid the gaze of others, but to soften my own inner critic. There’s something sacred about being in a room full of strangers who are all choosing to be with themselves, in themselves, and moving from that space. The energy was warm, electric, alive. It was messy and sweaty and perfect.
At one point, I noticed a couple standing at the edge, swaying, hesitant. I didn’t judge them. I saw my former self in them. The one who would’ve stood there five years ago, unsure, wanting but afraid. And in that moment, I felt such tenderness—for them, for myself, for all the versions of us that are still learning how to let go.
The music was unpredictable—at times jarring, difficult to follow. In the past, I would’ve shrunk into myself at the thought of not “getting it right.” But not this time. I understood that dissonance was part of the process. It’s not supposed to be seamless. We are not seamless. The chaos is where the magic lives.
The facilitator, a Brit, made me feel at ease immediately—something about hearing a familiar accent. I didn’t know who he was beforehand, though his background is impressive. But in the moment, credentials didn’t matter. What mattered was: Did I feel safe? Yes. Did I feel seen, without being watched? Yes. That’s the alchemy of a good space-holder.
Would I recommend ecstatic dance?
Absolutely.
If you’re searching for the part of yourself that used to dance in front of the mirror without shame or structure, this is for you.
If you want to move without being moved by others’ expectations, this is for you.
If you’re craving a date night that reconnects you to your own rhythm, yes.
If you want to experience shared consciousness in motion, among people who are curious and kind, this is for you.
And if you want a dance floor where no one hits on you and where silence between strangers is sacred rather than awkward, then yes, especially this.
A few practical notes:
What to wear: I wore activewear, which worked—but I sweat out half my body weight. Light, breathable clothing that you can comfortably lie on the floor in is ideal.
What if your partner isn’t into it?
Let them have their own experience. That’s the beauty of this space—everyone moves through it differently. I had a moment where I wanted to grab a couple on the sidelines and pull them in. I didn’t. Boundaries matter. Honoring each person’s pace is part of the dance, too.
The best part of Ecstatic Dance?
I had to surrender. I couldn’t anticipate. I couldn’t control. I had to move, and then keep moving.
My mind fell silent.
My body remembered itself.
And that—for me—was everything.
