Sensory Deprivation (5 of 40)

Last week was grief-heavy for me. When it comes to the aftermath of great loss, I'm learning some weeks are just like that, even years later. Sometimes I can pinpoint the exact cause that has re-pierced the emotional abscess inside me, while other it's just the weighty this-is-NOT-what-I-planned-ness of it all that drags me down. When it comes to outlook, let's just say no one has ever accused me of being an optimist. I've definitely been guilty of my fair share of wallowing in the proverbial darkness. True to my glass-half-empty form, I figured if there is a certain level of satisfaction in proverbial darkness, maybe I should also try wallowing in the actual darkness. Nothing says 'life-giving' like a pitch black, sound resistant water tank, amIright?

Enter Float Lab. They offer two-hour sensory deprivation experiences, and I'm not sure what else to say about it except just that: it is an experience. The brochure boasts all sorts of potential benefits...increased clarity, reduced stress, better sleep, meditation, increased endorphins and decreased cortisol to name a few. When I arrived, I thought I'd be the only one trying this weird, new age-y thing. Instead, I was surprised when the elevator door opened to a waiting room filled with four other people preparing for their own dark encounter. 

The receptionist showed me to a private room with a shower. Against the back wall was a hatch-like door, beyond which the tank lies. After washing off, I put the earplugs in and opened the hatch. Blackness stared back at me. I stepped inside and felt the tepid water pool around my calves. The water temperature mimics body temp so the only sensation from it was the gentle movement as it settled around my body. I pulled the door closed, laid back into the shallow salt water and found myself, in essence, blinded. 

The first thing I noticed was that the sensation of floating without anything to orient myself with gave the feeling that I was perpetually turning. It passed after several moments but it was interesting to see what the body does to establish equilibrium in the absence of external stimuli. I began to focus on my breath; inhaling six seconds, pausing, exhaling six seconds. Ironically, when I stopped focusing on this, I found that I had to remind myself to breathe at all. It was as if suddenly breathing wasn't an automatic process anymore. 

Eventually I drifted off into a lucid dream state, and even briefly fell asleep. Because of the salt content of the water, the risk of drowning is practically non-existent, but when I did become more conscious, I was suddenly concerned with the risk of being forgotten inside the tank. Had I fallen asleep for only a few moments? Or had it been two hours and I had somehow missed the tap on the tank that would signify my time was up?! Though I was tempted to desperately paw for the escape route, I decided to stick it out and hope it would all work out. (Spoiler alert, it did.)

The practical, physical experience of being inside the tank is much easier to quantify than the psycho-spiritual-mental part of it. Quieting all the external brought a greater focus into the deeper recesses of my mind and I found myself connecting with more primal emotions. I won't try to explain that here, in part because I lack the proper language, but also because that is the part that was just for me. You'll just have to try it yourself if you want to know. 

Though I'm not in any rush to retreat back into the darkness and silence anytime soon, I definitely feel like there was value to the experience. I'd be open to going again if and when I feel so inclined. In any event, I'm glad that it was on the list!