Not so deprived after all

Well, I had my 90 minutes in a float tank yesterday.

I didn’t find God (disappointing but no surprise). I didn’t morph into something pre- or post-human (I really must watch Altered States so I can be in on the joke with the rest of the Commentariat). Didn’t have a single respectable hallucination. And I could not say it was a transformative experience, except in the sense that it transformed me from somebody who’d never been in the tank to somebody who now has.

That said, it was still a fascinating and worthwhile thing to do.

I’ll probably write up a more detailed version and post to the Cabal in the next few days. But the highlights are:

I’m no longer calling it a sensory-deprivation tank because, other than sight, which disappeared as if I’d never owned eyeballs, my senses were alive, alert, and more stimulated than I would ever have imagined.

In no way was it claustrophobic. It was, at times, disorienting, discombobulating, and momentarily panicky. But claustrophobic? Not a bit. It’s been compared to floating in outer space, and while I don’t think that’s quite it either, it had more in common with infinity than enclosure.

Physically, it was extremely relaxing (and oddly empowering) to my entire body except my neck. The owner of the center told me as she introduced me to the tank that it was common for people to “clench” at first, trying to keep their head elevated. Very true. Even after I relaxed enough to let my head drop back, I was nervously aware of the intensely salty water less than an inch from my eyes. So while I came out of the tank feeling strong, tall, relaxed, and confident, I also came out a little sore in the shoulders. I should have accepted the inflated neck pillow that was available for the float.

When I moved while floating (and I moved a lot more than I anticipated), I was aware of the surface of the water. But otherwise the division between water and air was enchantingly imperceptible. Both were warm and so near body temperature that water, air, and I were as one.

The water — laden with 800 pounds of epsom salt — was thick. Also silky. Or slimy depending on your point of view. But definitely thick. No way anybody could sink.

Although I’ve wanted to try this since I first read of John Lilly’s experiments, this little adventure was actually kicked off by an article I linked to last weekend. In that article, a first-time floater mentions being able to hear the sound of his eyeballs moving. At first I was disappointed; I didn’t hear mine. What I did hear was my breath. In the silence of the tank it roared like a gale sweeping across a lonely plain. I had no idea normal breathing could be so loud. Eventually, though, about halfway through the session, my senses did indeed sharpen to the point where, yes, I could hear my eyelids and my eyeballs and the muscles around them.

Commentariat members S and Dana — both tanking veterans — warned against accepting piped-in music, saying it would defeat the purpose. Music wasn’t offered, but the owner of the center did show me how some floaters kept the door open a crack with a folded hand towel. I tried that for a few minutes, but both the light and the cool air wafting in from the room were wrong, so I pushed the towel out of the door and surrendered to complete darkness.

As long as I lay still in the middle of the tank, the absolute blackness was … odd, but not upsetting. Often awesome and meditative. But the tank is big, nearly 4 x 8, and it was kind of fun to drift back and forth in it, bouncing off one end with my toes, bouncing off the head end with my fingers. Or swishing back and forth at the waist. My biggest takeaway from tanking was: I felt like a mermaid, as though this watery environment were natural to me. And I’ve never been a water person.

However, moving around, or rather going still again after moving, was also the one thing that consistently left me discombobulated and slightly freaked out. Stop and there’s no up, no down, no weight. Where am I? Lost in space.

Was it a good physical experience? Absolutely. I can truly see how tanking could be used for pain management. Or for easing the stresses of pregnancy or injury.

Mentally? Although I’ve heard some people say that their first moment in the tank changed their life, I spent the 90 minutes simply getting used to new sensations. I gather from the owner of the place that that’s the norm. It takes multiple sessions or very long sessions to “go deep.”

I left feeling that not much had changed. Yet even today I noticed my body feels light and strong and my senses slightly enhanced. I’d do this again in a heartbeat.

So there’s the short version. Any questions? Just ask.