In an unusually large Southeast Portland backyard, a small group of people gathered for a life-changing event, one that is said to alter a person’s perspective on reality and their connection to it. It wasn’t magic mushrooms, LSD or even DMT, that these out-of-body travelers were after—it was suspension, an activity that is said to use pain, fear and bravery to separate a person from both the ground and themselves.
I was there, with my whole family to support my wife in her first full-body suspension experience. One of the first memories we have together is her flying off to Houston, in 2012, for an event aptly named Super Pull, where she got suspension hooks put in her for the first time and performed what is called a "pull." In a pull, you don’t suspend from the hooks off the ground—you simply pull against them, while tethered to other people (or an object). I picked her up from the airport when she came home from that trip and we’ve been together ever since. Flash forward to 2019 and here we were, all of us, walking into this strange backyard on a beautiful Portland spring day. She was finally going to get hooks again, but this time, she was going to fly from them.
As we entered the space, the first thing I saw was a giant metal frame holding up all the rigging required to perform a suspension. It was at least 15 feet tall and quite impressive looking, even for an outsider of this culture. All of the people there were amazingly nice and welcoming, even though the only person my wife knew there was the man performing the suspensions that day—who, incidentally, did not own the house...I’m still not sure who actually owned the house.
There were at least half a dozen people there to suspend—some had done it before, and others were there to experience it for the first time. The man performing the suspensions, Steeve Easley, was exactly who you would expect him to be: an experienced and capable craftsman and artist, with many years under his belt. He was a good leader, able to give directions with authority, remaining calm and full of empathy and compassion.
While we waited for everything to be ready, we met a lovely woman who would also be doing her first suspension, and we chatted while we petted the adorable dogs that were also provided by the anonymous homeowners. Vegan snacks were available and everyone was milling about, either anxiously waiting or supporting someone who was. I smelled a joint being burned, while I lamented at my lack of forethought to bring one. But, there were soft, lovable dogs to pet and quite a bit of preparation activities to observe.
Imagine what goes through the mind of a person that is about to have what amounts to giant meat hooks implanted in them, before hanging their whole body from them. Fear, anxiety, anticipation...all of the emotions a person can feel I’d imagine all of the people suspending were feeling. Steeve eventually brought all of the people together and did a quick-but-thorough rundown about who would perform what support roles and the all-important safety concerns. My wife volunteered to be first, because of course she did—she has always been that way, when it comes to the things she wants. She wants them and she has no doubt that she does. In that way, she’s always been a hero to me (happy Mother’s Day, Moo, I love you). Within a few minutes, I was holding a camera, while she got the hooks pierced into her back. She didn’t hesitate or flinch, while enormous pieces of surgical steel were skillfully inserted.
Moments later, after she was told she could take her time getting up (she did not take her time), she was walking over to the giant monolithic structure to have the rigging attached to her hooks. I looked at my wife and I searched for fear or apprehension, but I didn’t see those things in her. I saw a woman without fear and without regrets. I saw a woman who was ready to fly or burn, but she was ready, nonetheless.
Steeve was clear that she was in control, she could go up when she was ready and she could stay up until she was done—that once she was hooked up, it was her time and her time alone. This was exactly how she would go up: alone. I watched her expression change, as tension was pulled on her hooks. I watched her face go from determination to cathartic release, as the weight she carried her whole life slowly lifted by the steel wings she now wore. The moment her feet left the ground, she sobbed. But, not tears of pain or fear—I know those tears, I’ve watched her cry them for a long time—these tears were of relief, freedom, accomplishment and happiness. I have never been more proud of her, than I was at that moment. In my mind, years of struggle and hardship played out. I watched a film of everything she has been through to come to this moment and I cried with her. That afternoon, in that Southeast Portland backyard, my wife flew on the wings of steel—both the steel in her back and the steel in her heart. She flew above herself, her life, her journey, above all of us on earth. In those moments, only a few feet off the ground, she left this place. And, no one has ever deserved to be free more than her.
If you would like to experience suspension for yourself, I highly recommend getting in contact with Steeve Easley. He did an amazing job and I was happy to trust my wife’s dream with him for the afternoon. He can be reached on Instagram via @Suspending.With.Steeve
— Brad Cox
