Leaving the ladder, one may float upward

Sensory deprivation tanks and a journey towards the self.

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My first exposure to the idea of a sensory deprivation tank (“float tank,” for us regular users) was in Ken Russell’s Altered States (1980). The film’s protagonist, researcher Edward Jessup (William Hurt), takes a consciousness- and body-warping trip through genetic memory to the point that he undergoes an evolutionary regression—all thanks to a few dips in a sensory deprivation tank, and arguably reckless doses of hallucinogens. Needless to say, I was intrigued but didn’t think much beyond the psychedelic-mushroom aspect of the film, and its scenes of a stunningly terrifying proto-hominid causing chaos through the streets of Boston.

So when a friend told me they had tried out the Ocean Room at downtown’s Float Madison, it rekindled my inklings of curiosity. The Ocean Room is larger than a traditional float tank. Its tub is about four feet wide and seven feet long, but the real difference is that you can completely stand inside the room/tub/tank you actually float in, closing a door behind you. There are pinpoint lights simulating pinpricks of starlight and matching blue underlighting, both of which can be toggled on and off, as well as ambient music, for those unnerved by complete sensory deprivation. 

So, I thought I would try out three floats and see what happened to me. Unaided by magic mushrooms, I would see if I could at the very least connect with my own inner self, if not my own genetic ancestors (anything claiming to do that should be looked at sideways). My inner, optimistic child had only one wishful thought when I went into my first float: meaningless wonder, let’s find some meaningless wonder. 

And boy howdy did I find some wonders about myself that I’ll share with you here, but they were anything but meaningless. Well OK, maybe they’re meaningless to others, but they meant a lot to me, and isn’t that kind of the whole point?

I went for my first float, met the instructive and kind proprietor, Greg Griffin, and found myself floating in what I have privately and affectionately come to call The Blue Room (Ocean Room #2 if you’re booking). I call it that because of the blue lights shining down but more so for the melancholic feelings I found arising from my subconscious once the lights and music were off. 

Not only was the float tank a place to disrobe physically, but I found myself taking off the personal masks I project out to others and to myself. In the secure, warm, wet darkness, I had only myself as guide and follower, or rather, audience and performer. So often do we wear faces for others to make it through our days, and then reckon with ourselves at close of day, wondering who we are and what we are doing here. Or is that just me? I didn’t really think so.

While floating in the dark with these thoughts tumbling, a maxim comes to mind: “Leaving the ladder, one may fall upward.” That’s from Frank Herbert’s Children Of Dune (1976), for those paying attention. Mind chatter and random word-phrases are common in the float tank experience, and you’re encouraged to let them roll on by, but sometimes one hits you like a slap in the face. I’m still unraveling the meaning of that phrase as it pertains to me in the tank, but a rough meaning might be: sometimes you have to do something outwardly mundane and even odd (floating in a saltwater bath) to achieve something internally profound and meaningful (a drastic shift in my sense of self).

Like most people, I carry around a lot of preconceptions about myself, some that other people have imposed upon me, and others I’ve imposed on myself. The float tank was a novel way of becoming mindful of who and what I am in this world, and more importantly, who and what I want to be. Sure, floating is an unorthodox way to let go of my pre-existing frames of self (the ladder in this extended metaphor), but I’ve been able to reframe so many different integral aspects of myself and get reacquainted with myself by letting go of every mask I built up in a grounding and balanced way. Quite literally, floating in water forces you to relax and rebalance the internal monologues we entertain. 

That’s exactly why I keep going back to the tanks. Floating reminds me that all these concepts I use to define myself are indeed me, and there’s still so much more of myself to discover. Reframing has been a tool I’ve been using over this past year to reckon with my own depressive thoughts and confront my own belief structures. 

The float tank serves as a useful tool in that personal arsenal. As much as you’re alone with your own thoughts, which can feel overwhelming, it also gives you insight and time to sit with those thoughts. The tank forces you to consider whether the framing of those thoughts is even really serving you anymore. Sometimes what you’re doing and projecting is great, and sometimes it’s time to take that belief off the shelf and make room for something else. I firmly believe that we should take our ideas down off their pedestals and reexamine how they fit in the ever-shifting now.

Every month I book my hour of self guided meditation in the float tank. Afterwards, I know I’ll emerge, if not reborn, then replenished in some way, by myself and for myself. That is no small feat in a world that seems to pose endless existential questions and crises for all of us to contemplate. I know where I’ll be unraveling those mysteries while simultaneously finding new ones to mull over. 

I’ll leave you now to your own contemplations, but I do recommend trying out float tanks (without the nightmarish mutations). Who knows, you might just find that you enjoy relaxing in a salt bath for an hour with your consciousness as your only company. I know I do, so go try to find your own peace of mind and meaningless wonder.