Samar Soriano's body glows under the spotlights as she dances through the air. People in the crowd cross their tattooed arms, tilt back their mohawks, and flip their dreadlocks out of their faces so they can ooh and ahh at the aerial artist at work. A drop of blood trickles down her back and splashes on the stage below. They take a closer look and notice Soriano is not suspended by harnesses but by meat hooks pierced into her back.

Suspension is the art of hanging from hooks pierced through flesh. It is a long process and a delicate physics equation that American Indians figured out long before the body modification crew. It is a chance for participants to stare fear in the eye. It looks terrifyingly risky and there are a few medical complications involved. But most of all - it is a rush.

Nizhoni Ellenwood is interested in suspension because of her American Indian heritage. "My dad used to do suspensions on the reservation," she says. Her father is a part of the Apache and Nez Perce tribes and once performed sacred suspension rituals as a right of passage on South Dakota reservations.

The piercer marks dots on Ellenwood's shoulders. They count to three. "One, two, three..." pierce. Her fists clench and her eyes wince shut as the blue gloves shove and wiggle a deep-sea fishing hook through her skin.

The hooks pierce through all three of layers of skin, according to Scott De Boer, a registered nurse who specializes in body modification research. He lectures nationally on topics from babies to body mods, including a lecture titled "Tattoos, Tongues, and Trauma: Emergency Implication of Body Modification."

Hundreds of years before the tattoo subculture caught onto suspension, American Indians pierced eagle claws and wooden pegs into the flesh of their chests (O-Kee-Pa) and backs (Ka-Kee-Pa) and hung from tree branches. In some rituals they also dangled buffalo skulls from hooks pierced into their skin.

In the late 1800s, pioneers discovered American Indians hanging from hooks in trees. They were frightened and outlawed suspension rituals, says Steve Joyner, the founder of Constructs of Ritual Evolution (CoRE), a suspension group with a mission to blend the ancient spiritual suspension ritual with modern performance art.

Joyner, a direct descendant of the Potawotomi Mississippi Choctaw Cherokee tribes, began suspension as a child when he watched rituals on the reservation near his childhood home in Oklahoma. He now lives in the Bay Area and works to entertain and educate through suspension. Some states are still trying to outlaw suspension and Joyner stands up for suspension's rights.

"Unfortunately people think suspension is all about shock and awe," says Joyner. "It's easy to shock someone. It's hard to shock and make something beautiful and educational."

Backstage, Soriano applies gold eyeshadow as hooks protrude from her shoulders and stomach. "I do it to conquer fear and prove to myself mind over matter. There are people who say it doesn't hurt but it definitely hurts."

Most suspension artists say the lift off is the most painful part. "Some people tend to go into shock when they first go up. The initial endorphin rush as you start the pull and come off the ground is usually when people tend to go into shock," says De Boer.

A shock victim has clammy, cold, sweaty skin and can have a panic attack or lose consciousness. Shock is the most common medical concern in suspension, says De Boer. Severe shock patients may vomit or have seizures. But, he says, that is very rare. They usually bring the suspendee down, and he or she will drink a glass of orange juice, and continue with the suspension if they decide to. And they usually do, he says.

There are several positions. "Suicide" is one of the most common positions. The artist hangs vertically from the hooks in the back with ropes reaching the ceiling. It allows for freedom of movement in aerial performances. "Superman" is face down horizontal suspension from hooks in the back. "Coma" is face up horizontal suspension from hooks in the chest. And "Inverted Knee" is upside down suspension from the knees.

Adrenaline and endorphins pulse through the suspension artist's body as they float above the crowd. It is a biochemical response to pain mixed with a euphoric sensation of getting close to shock and feeling almost weightless, according to Allen Faulkner, one of the "fathers of the modern suspension movement" and the driving force behind the suspension group Traumatic Stress Discipline (TSD.) For him, the rush is a dreamlike floating high.

Suspension is not always a pleasant experience. Faulkner says that his first suspension seventeen years ago was a painful nightmare. Joyner had a friend whose rig failed, dropping him thirty feet. He shattered his leg and was left with a bruise from his shoulder to his knee. "Death is easier than living through that," says Joyner.

There are no deaths on record according to De Boer, but there is the chance of ripping. Ripping is when the hook slices through the flesh. It usually occurs due to poor placement of the hooks or not using enough hooks to support the size of the person. More hooks means less weight per hook. It is a delicate balancing act.

Despite the risks, suspension is seeing a recent growth in popularity. Flip on the television and people dangle from human mobiles on "Ripley's Believe it or Not." In Vegas, suspension artists dance above the crowds gambling at OShea's Casino five nights a week in the show "Freaks." Some even perform sacred private suspension rituals without a crowd.

Suspension is the ultimate piercing. For those who have tried every other piercing and tattoo, everything else was simply a gateway drug to the ultimate, explains De Boer.

The recovery period is usually a couple of days. The suspendees will be sore and may bruise, but that usually does not stop them from coming back for more. [X]