Liz gave me a gift certificate for a sensory deprivation/floatation session for Christmas and I figured this would be as good a time as any to use it. If it worked, I’ll be starting the new year refreshed, my mind clear, and my internal mystic things perfectly balanced. If it didn’t work, I can start the year off with a good story.
The place itself was in a basement in a residential neighborhood. It was dark, there was no one around, and I almost turned back just looking at the entryway. It felt like a trap.
The person who greeted me did not seem to appreciate that I was forty minutes early for my appointment and, look, I get it - but also, it gave me a little anxiety before locking myself alone with my thoughts. I waited in their lounge for a bit and flipped through a book called Floatosophy. It had some great pointers on what to expect for my first float. It calmed me a bit. It also had a lot of new-age stuff which I read for fun. According to this book, floating cures everything including depression and suicidal thoughts. As someone who’s dealt with BOTH of those, I felt like it was a pretty tall order.
Then I saw that their section on famous floaters had one entry that seemed quite contradictory and I’m just saying…maybe it’s time for a revised edition of this book?
My time in the lounge chilled me out but then I was escorted to my room and all of that chill BOATED. Here is the pod, in case you’ve never seen one:
In describing how to operate the device the woman let me know:
It was the oldest pod they have,
Sometimes the light doesn’t come on but it should come on if I want it to, and
SOMETIMES THE HATCH GETS STUCK
I reminded her that this was my first time floating because maybe she’ll realize I’ll need one that opens with working lights but I don’t think she caught on - she instead apologized for how humid it was in the room and left me to it.
At this point, I figured I was going to die.
I went to the bathroom (you have to, you do not want to pee in that pod), got naked, took a shower, put in my earplugs, slipped into the pod, and closed the hatch. I took a minute to orient myself with the inside light on. I’ve floated in oceans and pools before but this was an entirely different sensation. It was closer to a hammock except the water was warm and felt like nothing, if that makes any sense. The pod had mock starlight so I put that on and turned off the main light for a few minutes. It felt artificial, however, so I decided to take the full plunge into darkness.
It was a little nerve-wracking, at first. It is truly dark - there is no difference between closing your eyes and opening them. It wasn’t as silent as I expected - there was a faint engine sound of some sort coming from somewhere else that I could hear. My neck started hurting quickly - thankfully the Floatology book prepped me for this and I tried to use the flotation pillow they gave me. It didn’t help so I put my hands behind my head. That helped and was quite comfortable.
I started with simple breathing exercises. I’m a semi-regular meditator so I did some breath work, focusing on various body parts and trying to work my way into a slow-and-steady breathing pattern. Once I felt chill I decided to just start talking. I talked out loud, to myself, about family and friends, and pets. I started recounting my recent trip to Quebec City, remembering the walks Liz and I took and the food we ate, and the wine we drank. I went day by day, activity by activity until I got to Christmas Eve when Liz and I went to mass at the Notre Dame de Québec. This was my first time in a church in five years, and Liz and I went for nostalgic purposes, but the mass was entirely in French and we spent most of the time trying to figure out what part of the mass they were in.
During the float, when I got to this part, I started talking to God. Just out loud, like I used to do as a kid. I never was much for praying, despite the fact that I was an altar boy. I figured God would get so many people who were doing the formal, boring thing - they’d probably appreciate someone just saying, “Hey.” I used to lie in bed and talk to God about my day, my feelings, my friends and family, who needs what, ask about loved ones who died, and always end with a goodnight. It was closer to therapy than praying. It was a habit I kept until high school and would sometimes revisit in college and my twenties, but not something I’d done in a long time.
When I was floating and talking to God, I felt warm. Just a tingle up my right side, mostly, like a firm hand on my hip on a cold day. I’m not claiming it was anything other than a good feeling, but I felt cared for.
Afterward, I continued recounting the Quebec trip and as soon as I was finished the lights came on. The hatch opened when I pressed the button despite earlier warnings, I showered and got dressed and went right to the front desk, and booked my next session.
I don’t know if I loved the experience, but I certainly felt enough of something to want to try it again.
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Two quick morning-after updates:
1) As with Avatar, my Oura ring logged me as taking a nap. Absolutely no movement, and light sleep for most of the time in the pod.
2) I had the nicest and weirdest dream last night. I have a recurring dream where I’m going back to college. The main themes of the dream are that everyone around me is younger and that I’m always missing my classes. In fact, the dream is almost always centered around a test or a report that I was supposed to do but I never went to class. It’s not a fun dream.
Last night I had the same dream but this time I was confident. I made a bunch of friends and I was getting good grades - I was having fun. I must have had the recurring dream a hundred times, this was the first time it wasn’t a nightmare. I don’t know if it was directly tied to my time in the pod, but it’s some pretty fascinating anecdotal evidence.