The Edge of Surrender

Four days of fasting, prayer, and paradox—where struggle meets surrender, and strength is found in both effort and rest

The Sundance lasts four days, but the real dance—the dance of life—unfolds all year long. The way we move through challenges, the way we hold ourselves in hardship—that’s where the real ceremony happens. In that sense, the Sundance isn’t just an event; it’s a microcosm, a metaphor for how we navigate the rest of the year.

Each year, I return to the circle with new intentions and renewed resolve. But more than that, I return to step into a deeper awareness of what I’m carrying and what I need to release. The Sundance is a reset button, a way to realign with the path ahead and clarify my commitments, both to myself and to the world around me.

Dancing for the World

Unlike many spiritual practices that focus on personal enlightenment, the Sundance is outward-facing. The prayers aren’t for ourselves. We dance for our loved ones, for our communities, for the world itself. Every step, every offering, every moment of sacrifice is an act of devotion to something greater than our own individual journey.

Sunrise over the lagoon in Bacalar, Quintana Roo, a quiet moment of stillness before the dance continues

This year, our ceremony held an intentional alignment of the four elements:

• Air—12,000 collective prayer ties swayed in the sacred tree’s branches, carrying our prayers into the wind. The tree at the center of the ceremony is a bridge between the seen and the unseen, the earthly and the divine. It’s our brother supporting us through the year.

• Water—The tipi stood as a vessel, representing the life-giving force of water.

• Fire—Our campfire burned continuously, a steady presence through the nights.

• Earth—The inipi (sweatlodge) held us in its womb, pressing us into humility, purification, and gratitude.

Beyond the elements, this year also brought the presence of a heyoka, a trickster whose role is to reveal truth through paradox. He reminded us to find the flip side of things—the lightness within the serious, the humor within the hardship. His presence challenged us to shift our perspectives, and in doing so, I began to see a greater pattern within the work. Effort and ease, discipline and laughter, struggle and joy—they are all woven together, part of the same whole.

The Mind’s Resolve

Sundance is demanding. Four days without food and water push you past your limits—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Each day strips away something unnecessary, revealing what’s underneath.

By the final day, even the third day, the body protests. The mind wavers. But in those moments of exhaustion, something deeper emerges—intention, commitment, courage. I felt it most strongly during the offerings ceremony, where a profound focus and flow state overtook me. It wasn’t about endurance anymore; it was about surrendering to something greater than myself.

And I wasn’t alone in this. One of the most powerful aspects of Sundance is the collective brotherhood—a deep, unspoken bond of respect and support. We showed up for each other in ways both big and small, proof that strength isn’t found in isolation but in community.

Watching the Watcher

Throughout, I witnessed the observer experiencing this four-day window of consciousness unfold: the rhythm of the drums, the patterns of our dance, the forms in the sweat lodge, the brotherhood, the songs, the heat of the sun, the cycles of exhaustion and renewal. I watched the forest respond—eagles overhead, a scorpion in our inipi, and a respectable-sized spider scampering in my tent, as wary of me as I of it—powerful spirit animals, each carrying their own message.

Everything felt interconnected, each form appearing in its place, mirroring something within me.

Three Years of Growth

Looking back, I see how much has changed. My first Sundance left me drained, my blood pressure dropping on the third day. My second year brought muscle fatigue and deep discomfort. But this year, I moved with ease. No pain, no exhaustion, no struggle.

Strength has come with time—not just physical strength, but a quiet inner knowing that I can endure. That I can move through difficulty without resistance, without fear.

Releasing What No Longer Serves Me

This year, I felt a deep call to let go. Not just physically, but on every level. I laid down the burdens I no longer need to carry:

• Relationships that have run their course

• Recriminations that have lingered too long

• Shame that never belonged to me

• The weight of disillusionment

• The illusion of grasping

• Even excess weight—both metaphorical and physical

Each layer shed made room for something new. A lighter way of being. A clearer way of moving through the world. A recognition of deeper intuitions. And perhaps the greater lesson of this particular dance—not just endurance, not just intention, but the ability to hold it all lightly, and to let go. To step forward with strength, with ease, and even with some grace.

Stepping Forward

Three Sundances down, one to go. But in truth, the dance never ends. Every step on out from here carries the lessons of these past years—the sacrifices, the strength, the intentions. It all moves with me.

As I walk away from the circle this time, I know the real ceremony is just beginning as I learn to dance through it—with strength, with purpose, and with a touch of lightness and laughter.