float tank

The salt water made me very buoyant; I couldn’t sink if I wanted to. I stretched out and tried to relax. My neck wasn’t having it at first. The attendant had said a tense neck was the most frequent complaint folks reported about their experience. A bit of stretching settled it down. My ears finally went underwater (they offered earplugs to keep water out, but I didn’t take them), and I worked on accepting it rather than panicking.

 

By David Jones

I retired in October 2023. As a present my wife bought a spa package for us, and she picked one specifically because I’d mentioned wanting to try a float tank.

Now the idea of floating freely in water scares me. I don’t know how to swim, although I can tread water a bit for a minute or two. If I go overboard into the ocean I’m toast—very soggy toast. When I was young, my dad took me out to Table Rock Lake. At some point, it was decided that it was time I learned to swim. I was tossed over the side, and I started floating like a mob informant—straight to the bottom. So, I have some trouble relaxing in water.

But I was captivated by the idea of floating in a water tank without any light or sound. I’ve read how varied the experience could be. Some folks had spiritual or out-of-body experiences, some experienced hallucinations, some reported amazing relaxation, some had tectonic-level panic attacks, and at least one person said they were terminally bored.

My wife and I were in separate tanks, so I didn’t know that she only stayed in for a few minutes and had to get out, spending the rest of the hour chilling in the lounge reading. It’s clearly not for everybody.

But what was my tank experience? It was amazing!

First, we were briefed on what to expect. After the attendant explained the process I had questions: basically, what do I do if I freak out in there? She smiled in sympathy—her first experience wasn’t smooth—and said I was free to get up and open the door and step out. She said I could even leave the door open a crack while I was in there. It’s not like I was locked in or anything.

Alone in the room outside the tank, I took off my robe (the experience was entirely nude) and stepped into the pleasantly warm water. It was mixed with Epsom Salt and I thought I could sort of smell it. Since I was worried about floating, I stuck a halo-shaped floaty behind my head and lay down in the water. It was only about ten inches deep and there were handles near the door for stability if I needed them.

The salt water made me very buoyant; I couldn’t sink if I wanted to. I stretched out and tried to relax. My neck wasn’t having it at first. The attendant had said a tense neck was the most frequent complaint folks reported about their experience. A bit of stretching settled it down. My ears finally went underwater (they offered earplugs to keep water out, but I didn’t take them), and I worked on accepting it rather than panicking.

Soon I was floating easily, body and mind.

Spa music and birdsong was playing in the tank, and a tranquil pale blue light bathed the tank in a placid glow. Then the sounds stopped and the light turned off. It was time for my senses to go on break.

The tanks, also called sensory deprivation tanks, eliminate sight and sound as much as possible. Now when I say the tank was dark, it was cave dark. There was zero light. I’m not afraid of the dark, but I do have a diagnosed anxiety disorder. None of that was an issue here though. Soon I was only aware of the water surrounding my body, then that too melted away. I just closed my eyes and drifted.

The air in the tank is mighty humid, so it could cause some discomfort for some (it was hard for my wife to breathe in there, which is why she got out). But somehow I could breathe much deeper there than in drier air.

One hour in utter darkness—my breathing and heartbeat were the only sounds.

This is something to keep in mind: your mind has nothing to occupy or distract itself in there, so if that’s a problem you might think twice. Any mental or emotional conditions that might make this a bad idea must be considered (in fact, it was on a questionnaire we filled out and signed before we went in, to make sure it crossed our minds; I just didn’t mention having an anxiety problem).

As the hour slid by, I floated in meditation, then in prayer, then in meditation again.

I don’t need a particular position or anything to meditate or pray; you can do both anywhere and anytime. Feeling peace without sensory distractions allowed me to be far more present than sitting in my office or bedroom. My thoughts became as light as my body, both floating along. I had an itch on my face and it took me a bit to even find my face to scratch it. I’d lost any sense of location and scale.

After an hour of absolute contentment the soft music resumed and the blue light snapped back on. I got up, stepped out, and immediately felt a sense of loss. I didn’t want it to end, but of course it had to. Just another thing to accept.

I’m determined to go back one day. It’s expensive, but totally worth it.

I recommend it to anyone who could use a sensory reset, or would like to experience sensory deprivation as an environment for meditation, prayer, or relaxation. Just remember your physical, mental, and emotional limits in deciding whether or not to try it.

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Photo: Pixabay

 

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