Following our first roundup of transcendent moments in the club, we once again asked you, our readers, the question: have you ever had an experience at a rave that's moved you to the point of epiphany? RA contributor Taylor Bratches collected some more answers. Whether it's for music, community, celebration, emotional and spiritual connection, healing, or self-exploration, we've gathered a selection of personal stories recounting profound dance floor moments.

My DEMF Weekend Initiation

It was DEMF weekend in 2002. At Hart Plaza late in the day, sometime between Chaos playing the underground stage and Parliament Funkadelic assembling elsewhere, my friend nudged me and said, "It's time." We needed to head to "the Richie Party" if we had any shot at entering. By 2002, Richie Hawtin's notoriety had surged. Plastikman tattoos were beginning to fade and it was the shaved head, Decks Efx, minimalistic Richie that was coming into vogue. We headed to the party, Control II at City Club. After waiting in line for three hours, we got in.

The night before this, I saw Juan, Derrick and Kevin play and yet, at the time, I could not tell you even five techno tracks by name. All of it was new. Richie had assembled a quadraphonic soundsystem that had supposedly belonged to Pink Floyd. I took the beating from the pumping bassbin in shifts, often replacing the toilet paper in my ears. Whenever I get close to speakers it still takes me back to that first true rave experience. The sound waves never left.

It would take some years to appreciate the impact of that night, primarily because I felt like I would never fit in there. Slowly but surely, I would be able to put on Decks, Efx & 909 and remember the dark void, the bright flashes, and the pummelling issued by a tower of speakers. Even now, with maybe 20 live Richie sets under my belt, there was nothing like that first one. Adam, Detroit / Washington D.C.

A Portal Into The Self

Daria, Mazzy and I are on stage dancing as the portal opens. An unknown track pulses through the room. Around us, a mesh of queer and trans bodies move in the fog. It's late May; outside, the Kansas City air still smells like spring, like renewal. But night two of Transfiguration, UN/TUCK’s two-day festival, is drawing to its end along with a year of hard work, planning and communal growth.

What started as an idea in the mind of UN/TUCK's founders became one of the biggest DIY events the city had ever seen. Some 500 people attended—most of them queer and trans. Built around the vision of collectively opening a portal to our truest selves, we scheduled Transfiguration on Pride Weekend. Our intention was to create a haven from the corporatized madness of the city's festivities; a place to celebrate ourselves, our communities, our past and our future. We were blessed to fly in two artists and friends as headliners, أدب‎ (adab) and Bored Lord. Their sets delivered the fundamental message of the evening: let go, trust your body and open the portal with us.

A year later, I am still dumbfounded by it all. I yearn for the freedom those nights gave us. I yearn for that feeling of deep creative fulfilment and the camaraderie of working together to build portals. Of connections formed and communities strengthened. Most of all, I miss the dance floor. But I know, if Transfiguration promised anything, we'll find each other again soon. Zoey, Kansas City

Our Rhythm Can Never Be Colonised

On Sundays once a month at a warehouse called Colorbox Studios in Cape Town, people come together from all walks of life to release through dance and experience the euphoria of house music. It was 2015—the early days of the now staple party, We House Sundays—when Leighton Moody, one of Cape Town's most loved DJs, was playing. I became mesmerised by a group of friends dancing and feeding off one another's energy when I realised the power of melanin on the dance floor. When we are dancing, our melanin boldly takes up space without any shame. The dance floor becomes a safe space to break free from what goes on in our everyday life. We are surrounded by love from fellow dancers. A wordless understanding of "I see you and you matter" is shared by all who come to this space.

I began to understand and realise, if the intention of the promoters is aligned with what the dancers and DJs seek, a truly freeing experience of dance can be created. For people of colour living in a city that still does not value them due to the residual effects of colonialism and apartheid, the dance floor becomes a space where we feel seen. It gives us the necessary courage to carry that power into our everyday lives. The music and energy on the dance floor allows us to feel our worth and confidently acknowledge that our rhythm can never be colonised. That, right there, is our weapon in the face of adversity and continuous struggle. Mandy, Cape Town

Rejoicing Together At Queen!

Being a professional dancer groomed by and residing in Chicago, the house music community and club scene has been quintessential in allowing me to find freedom and joy in movement's truest essence. I'm only 30, but the past 12 years in the scene have transformed my mindset, direction and appreciation for my dance career. It's connected me with individuals, DJs and house heads dear to my growth. Older venues that are no longer with us (Green Dolphin, Grand Bar, Dark Room) to the staple and safe haven that is Smartbar (QUEEN! SUNDAYS FOR THE WIN) are spaces that send the message YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A TRAINED DANCER TO HAVE FUN. It's all about the groove.

There was a moment during Queen! when Derrick Carter guided our 3 AM breakthrough. I was in a cypher with others, and each step on the floor breathed feeling into our bodies, moving us into a place of transcendence. I felt the waves and the phrase THIS IS CHURCH resonate through me. The dance floor became a place where people with similar mindsets, different hardships and a shared love of music could come together safely and rejoice. Where spirituality in the music intersected with the groove that came from movement.

Chicago, the club scene and the dance floor will always be a place where I can let go, call home, and find the connection between my body, its movement, and the greatness behind the decks that creates a journey for all of us. Brand1, Chicago

A Lesson In Deep Compassion

I'm a medical student from Bogotá, Colombia, and in February I attended Bulto's first anniversary with CEM and MCMLXXXV. The morning before the rave began I had a Saturday morning shift at the hospital. I had a sweet, 27-year-old female patient who was suffering from a very complicated, severe disease. After my morning shift concluded, I started getting ready for the long-awaited anniversary party, which I had been anticipating for almost a month.

That night, after partying for a while with some LSD inside my brain, everything was perfect: CEM's set, the lights, the people dancing around me, the feeling of freedom and sincere joy inside my heart. I couldn't have been happier. Suddenly, I remembered the patient I saw in the morning. A picture of her came into my mind, unable to walk, with tubes coming out of her body, and her eyes transmitting worry and sadness. I moved from being in real ecstasy to feeling a knot form in my throat. I felt guilty for having such an incredible time when she was at her very worst. Tears came to my eyes. At this moment, I realized the reason I'm a medical student is to help people like this woman, so that they may again have an opportunity to feel the way I felt that amazing night. This rave provided a huge lesson for my life. Now, not only do I love my profession, but I understand the reason why I love it so much. Carandipe, Bogotá

Dancing In-Between

Breaking open the night's spectrum of emotions, Rush Plus's closing set at their 2019 Metro Xpression party in DC energized me in a way few sets have. That night I arrived early, first, to hear Ron Jackson's beautifully mysterious conjuring, then continued dancing through Arthur Kimiski's apocalyptic set. I didn't stop when LPZ offered up light-hearted fun, and was still on the floor when Rush Plus began. In the midst of my exhaustion, Rush Plus's brutalism invited me to step from my earlier feelings of terror and pleasure into a powerful, even angry, exchange.

My experience that night gave me space to express the emotional ranges of the grief I was carrying. I found the rave scene a few months after finishing an initial bout of treatment for stage IV cancer. Instead of finding a space to live it up in while waiting for more tumors to appear, raving uncovered feelings I didn't know I had and transmuted them.

In the wake of the dissociative experiences of surgeries and chemotherapy, dancing has rooted me in a body, the present moment, and the earth. Some people call this healing. I am more comfortable imagining that I am living in-between, maintaining my ongoing presence in the physical world in the midst of my decay. The mystery, terror, joy and rage of that moment became the water that rolled, steamed and eventually poured off my body. Meredith, Washington D.C.