Edited by @elizatrnx___

In the last part of this series, we defined flow, examined its neurological underpinnings, and explored what is going on metaphysically during flow states. (Read part 1 before continuing on, if you haven’t already!)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. There’s a reason why Dickens’ opening to The Tale of Two Cities is so oft-used: we make art about experiences laden with contradiction, those that fuse darkness with light, terror with awe, sadness with joy. On day 3 of Electric Forest 2024, the venue shut down due to severe weather, forcing thousands of ravers to shelter in place in their cars and campsites. Then, around midnight, the venue reopened.

Perhaps a thousand songs will be sung about such a night. This is mine.

Festival shutdowns and subsequent reopenings set attendees up for a comeback story: they suffered at their campsite for hours, bracing against rain and disappointment and uncertainty, and then they experienced the elation of learning that the rain would cease, the venue would reopen, and the festival would continue.

I went into the evening with the intuitive knowledge that the venue would reopen. After all, Subtronics, John Summit, and LSZEE were headlining, and surely the universe wouldn’t deprive us (me?) of that experience. Though I had initially planned to skip Summit’s set and catch him b2b with Subtronics at the afters一giving me time to get lost in the peace and love of LSZEE’s wubz—I changed my plans when the afters were cancelled, and let the universe reroute me directly to John Summit after Subtronics wrapped.

As my group traversed the path between Ranch Arena and Tripolee, electrified from Subtronics’ explosive bass, I began to hear the thumps of Summit’s set in the distance, and noticed I was inadvertently walking in time with the beat. “That’s funny,” I thought to myself, and sped up. But as I did so, so did the beat. I slowed down, and it matched me there too. I began to play with the sensation, dance-walking to a rhythm that felt like my own creation. I heard someone call my name and looked back: I had been so caught up in the experience that I had wandered 20 feet away from my friends. I begrudgingly returned, matching the slow trod of the mass of people moving toward the exit. I thought to myself, cheekily, “Those poor people at Summit’s set! They’ll have to dance to the sound of us plodding along until we arrive!”

As we approached the edge of the crowd at Tripolee, I felt the pent up energy of the crowd, begging for release after a long build, and thought that it was time to have a little fun with the curious sensation I had felt on the walk over. If my movements were truly influencing the music, I should be able to free us from the beat’s hold on our energy. So I spun around, announcing my arrival, and struck a pose like a competitive dancer ready to wow the judges. As I did so, the beat dropped and the crowd’s energy erupted. I had never felt so powerful in my entire life. I wiggled and jived, my body asking the music for a little of ✨this✨, and then a little of 💥that💥. The music obliged, a surreal reversal of our typical relationship, where it leads and I follow.

A thought entered my mind: “You were looking for a sign to start writing? Here it is. There are many things you think are impossible that are possible and happening right now.” In that moment, I felt strong, powerful, and unstoppable.

But then the doubts crept in: what the heck was going on? My sense of reality was shattered, and my ego roared back into my body using the language it knows best: fear.

Where my mind and body went next is not worth repeating. As I said earlier, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I was simultaneously afraid and awestruck, unsure of whether I was experiencing psychosis or a mystical encounter with the divine. I had glimpsed the beauty of the mystery of consciousness, but I had also exposed myself to its terror. I’d received the sign I was seeking, but with it came a warning: there are truths I am not yet ready for, dimensions of reality that are hidden to me for my own protection.

I revisited this night recently after an intuitive nudge that flow states may help “explain” this extraordinary experience. So I followed the breadcrumbs, and I’m excited to share with you what I found.

Flow states allow us to merge being and doing. They offer a reprieve from self-consciousness while we’re fully immersed in an activity. Because an individual in a flow state feels at one with their activity, flow is considered a self-transcendent experience (STE).

A group of psychologists—including pop psychologist Jonathan Haidt—defined an STE as an experience where “the subjective sense of one’s self as an isolated entity can temporarily fade into an experience of unity with other people or one’s surroundings, involving the dissolution of boundaries between the sense of self and ‘other.’” STEs are thus characterized by both reduced importance of the self and by connection to others and to the environment as a whole.

Other examples of STEs include mindfulness, awe, and mystical experiences. Though these experiences are all different, they seem to have a few neurological similarities:

🕴 Decreased activity in the parietal lobe, which may reduce the brain’s ability to represent the body’s boundaries

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 Oxytocin release stimulates the vagus nerve, which is associated with positive emotions like awe, compassion, gratitude, and love

Though flow is considered an STE, very little research has been done on the impact of flow states in a social context.1 You may have experienced collective flow while in a particularly engaging meeting at work or while playing a team sport. And, of course, you may have experienced it on the dance floor.

We’ve previously discussed Émile Durkheim’s “collective effervescence,” that magical feeling when boundaries between individuals fade away. And we’ve taken this a step further with the concept of “collective embodiment,” hypothesizing that when we truly embody the idea of oneness with others, it fosters empathy that can be integrated more permanently into our personalities.

Flow states seem to facilitate the creation of collective effervescence and collective embodiment. People describe feeling one with the music, free of self-conscious thoughts as they move effortlessly with others. And when multiple people are in this state, with egos quieted and hearts opened by the music, that’s when the magic happens. That’s when we move as one body, remembering and reconnecting with the conscious web that binds us一who we truly are.

Music engenders collective flow states by both providing an opportunity for solitary flow and a shared framework for synchronizing flow across individuals.

🐉 Solitary flow: Solitary flow is a common sight at festivals. Flow artists practice with their dragon staffs, flow stars, and poi at home, learning the tricks of the trade so that the motor parts of their brain can take over when needed, allowing them to flow effortlessly at festivals. Dancing itself can generate flow states as well, as long as you challenge yourself with your movements and let go of self-judgment. DJ sets provide an environment conducive to flow, combining the challenge of unexpected VIPs with the constant stimulus from an unbroken stream of music.

👯‍♀️ Synchronization: When we hear a beat, we feel the urge to tap our fingers or toes to it. Our hearts may start to pulse in time with the beat, and even our breathing patterns may shift to align with it. This phenomenon is called “entrainment,” when multiple bodily processes synchronize to the same beat. Entrainment allows us to dance to music and, by extension, with each other. Entrainment also occurs at the neurological level, as our brain waves synchronize to a beat. Neural entrainment while listening to music can lead to a feeling of unity—even for listeners who are completely still.

The magic behind collective effervescence seems to be the product of flow states and entrainment to music. Flow helps us to get out of our heads and into our bodies, and entrainment helps us to synchronize with others and our environment. As music fills our experience and our egos take a chill pill, whatever remains takes over, and it feels wondrously amazing.

Additionally, collective embodiment—and its corresponding empathy—can arise from flow and entrainment. Neuroscience research suggests that when individuals synchronize their movements through dance, they experience “self-other merging,” and that this feeling, combined with the endorphins released from listening and dancing to music, might have laid the groundwork for early human societies.

But flow and entrainment aren’t just found on the dance floor: they’re also present onstage. Jam bands, for example, have taken the once-private jam session and turned it into an improvisational performance. Phil Lesh, Grateful Dead bassist, noted that the band’s goal was:

[T]o learn, above all, how to play together, to entrain, to become, as we described it then, ‘fingers on a hand.’ [In the process,] each of us consciously personalized his playing: to fit with what others were playing and to fit with who each man was as an individual, allowing us to mold our consciousness together in the unity of a group mind.

Group improvisation provides the necessary challenge for flow, requiring intense focus. Each member of the band must become one with the music, incorporating feedback from others and anticipating the next move. As such, collective flow is not just about reaction: it’s also about prediction, about “knowing” what someone will do before they’ve done it.

This brings us back to the magical, terrifying night that I DJ’d with my hips. DJs, just like dancers, enter flow states while they work with the music, reading the energy of the crowd and making adjustments as needed. John Summit relies on improvisation during his sets, a skill that he’s honed through frequent marathon sets. Even though Electric Forest is a major festival that requires visual coordination, Summit’s set was extended 30 minutes after the rain delay, suggesting that he must have improvised at least a little bit that night.

Flow states occur when we let our being do the doing. But perhaps this being is not contained to our bodies, but extends through all the energy in the universe. This is the being that we feel part of on the dance floor when we move with others. Perhaps this was the being that moved my hips as I danced in a field of grass, and this was the being that turned knobs and pushed sliders on stage. Perhaps we were not responding to each other as individuals, but moving as part of the same entity, both surfing some great wave.

What is this wave, exactly? In part three, we’ll explore what can be known about this mysterious oneness一this web of consciousness that ties us all together 🕸️

Take me to part 3!

Mia Arends loves writing and dancing—and thinks both are cosmically important. Follow her on Instagram, Threads, or Reddit.

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