13. Sensory Deprivation Tank
My senses are on backward.
Being completely disembodied and mentally suspended above your known reality sounds interesting unless you have experienced a really bad acid trip, which I have. I’m also pretty claustrophobic and thought a sensory deprivation tank would be dissociating in a coffin full of water, so I’ve avoided it. But there are other options. A friend recommended Vessel Floats in Greenpoint, a name which admittedly does make one think of being ensconced in an enclosed something. It’s not like that on the inside at all, but I’ll get to that.
First, let me describe the lobby. Vessel is set up in what would be a retail storefront in another era of the economy. One wall is windows looking out onto the street. It was a chill windy day, and there was a single tree outside I kept staring at as I waited. It contained so many Fall colors, I couldn’t look away. I was matching the beige, red, burgundy, brown, golden, taupe flecks to the building behind it, my brain trying to match them together into a meaning that wouldn’t click. This might be the lingering effects of that bad acid trip, years later. I shifted around in a soft chair that managed to be uncomfortable. Across the room was a long yellow banquet where a woman with soaking wet hair sat looking stunned.
Eventually, I was joined by Mark, my host on this venture. Mark was clearly hired for his energy. There are people who manage to manufacture an immediate sense of warmth and connection and interest and they’re really good at customer service jobs. It’s not phony, but it’s also not real. He kept responding to everything I said with the word “amazing” and I believed him until I heard him respond to another guest with the same expression. His wet brown eyes focused on me far too intently as he went over the “menu” of adaptogens, tonics, and elixirs that were a part of the journey, taken before and after. None of them had anything more powerful than CBD in them, but the serious reverence with which Mark discussed the options made me anxious that a repeat trip was about to happen. He eventually brought over a cup of something electric blue that I slurped down.
Mark walked me to my room, which was painted all black to hide what must be some disgusting stuff. I think they do clean there a whole lot, but if you’ve ever worked in a restaurant or any kind of place where physical human needs are constantly being catered to, you know there’s no way in hell that it wouldn’t be horrifying to run a blacklight over the walls. Inside was a bench to the right with towels and products including lotion, q-tips, and ear plugs. Straight ahead was a shower stall, where Mark told me I’d get to enjoy a wash before getting into the tank itself. This was to my left, behind a round-edged door, a room within a room. I wondered how many people skipped the shower, but once he left me alone I obediently stripped down and scrubbed all my cracks. The soap had a strong, rich-person in a hotel scent.
The tank itself is just a tub in a small room, about the size of an ordinary NYC bathroom. When the door is closed, it’s dark as dark can get. There is an option to turn on sparkling LED lights above that twinkle like heartless stars and you can also select nature sounds, music, or a guided meditation if the quiet is too oppressive for your brain. Mark seemed disappointed in me when I chose a meditation. He had recommended complete silence for the full effect. He was right, because the guided mediation was basically incomprehensible under the water. The tub was equipped with a head shaped noodle to help you keep your face afloat and the lift was very nice at first. But as I drifted around I noticed that the speakers were at the very top, meaning I had to keep shooting myself up towards it to hear anything distinctly.
The other issue is that I was much too big for this tub. It was long enough, but if I left my arms out to the side they bumped and squished against the sides, which was a very noticeable sensation. I tried folding my hands down towards my waist like a broken marionette, but that only made me think about my arms more. Arms, arms, arm, I have arms. I kicked myself up towards the speakers, catching a phrase here and there.
“…You’re in the sky looking down…blerghhhIIIIIIRgghhhhh all one part of the universeIIIIIIIIcccghshgk.”
It was stuffy and hot, so I opened the door a crack and the light from the shower flooded in. The tops of my tits got very cold as one of the few things sticking out of the water, which is supposed to be set at the perfect temperature to make the borders of your body disintegrate. At this point, I was wildly over-stimulated. I shut the door again and turned off the LEDs, closing my eyes against the darkness. Throwing my arms over my head I pushed off the top of the tub gently, cascading down to the bottom, touching my toes to the lip there and soaring up. Back and forth, back and forth. In the moments between contact, there was a suspension, a few seconds where the edges might never be reached again. The rocking motion calmed me, the seconds lengthened and removed themselves from a linear concept of space and time. The meditation was still going, and became more significant as it faded in and out.
“…When our hearts are open….the light shooting from the top of your head…a light in all living beings…”
I started to push too hard, wanting to get closer to something, maybe to really soar up and up and up away into space so I could look down and see all the light in the living beings below. The extra force made the water swirl and grip at my sides, sloshing the edges, pulling me in wrong directions and I snapped out of the brief peace. I was feeling sick, but stubbornly stayed in the tub until the 45 minutes were up and the lights automatically rose up in a pink wash. Once I got out, feeling unbelievably heavy after the salty buoyancy, the water started rushing and bubbling like a flushed toilet without draining anywhere. This is allegedly part of the ‘cleaning’ process.
Taking a second shower and washing my hair was exhausting. I dragged on my clothes in the humid room and then opened the door to find a member of the janitorial staff waiting just outside to switch the towels. There was a small vanity room outside with a hair dryer and some products where I stole a comb.
Mark was in the lobby. He asked me, “How was it?” in a sincere and excited tone.
“I think I’m still processing it,” I said, then sat on the yellow banquet. I was owed a second drink. This one was warm and orange with turmeric. It smelled like mulling spices. The top was covered in flower petals. It was good.
Having spent some time processing it now, I think that while I enjoyed the ceremonial aspect of the tank, there might not be a way to escape being in your body that doesn’t involve heavy drug use and acid is probably much less expensive. It’s also not really a thing I necessarily feel I need to do. Separating from my body will come soon enough, no matter what, but the tank does make you consider that and hope it’s way more interesting when it happens. One does dream that it is not just silence and darkness and disembodiment. One does dream that it involves some glimpse of the light below.
Genuinely hoped it would be like this and make me feel more compassion towards my parents:
Joe Rogan owns his own tank. Just showing where the Spotify dollars are going.
While reading about the history of these tanks, most places credited them to a research team in 1954 headed by American neurophysiologist Professor Dr. John C. Lilly. Apparently, in the first tank Lilly came up with “the floater was suspended upright, entirely underwater, head completely covered by an underwater breathing apparatus and mask.”
Would you go for full suspension with breathing apparatus and mask?
Has anything made you feel suspended in life in a positive way and can I buy it?