One doesn’t have to look far to see that the human mind is capable of some amazing feats. Daniel Tammet, a sufferer of Autism and Asperger syndrome, has the extraordinary talent to quickly and accurately do hugely complicated sums in his head and also holds the Guinness World Record for memorising Pi accurately to 22,500 places; something which takes him just over five hours to recite in it’s entirety, without a single mistake.
Kim Peek, another Autism sufferer, was the inspiration for Dustin Hoffmans’character in the film Rain Man, and can read an entire book in minutes, reading two pages at a time, one eye on each and has 98% recall of everything he has ever read.
While these two examples are special cases, it does prove to me that the human mind is capable of some extreme feats outside of what we would usually define as normal. The question of the limits of our minds is one I find intensely fascinating – just what are we really capable of?
I’ve always had a natural curiosity about the way things work, a trait I most likely inherited from my father. I find profound satisfaction in finding out how and why things work, and duly, I love to experiment and try new things and ideas on my own terms. I think Buddha summed up my thoughts nicely in the following quote:
“Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, even if I have said it myself, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.”
While this innate sense of inquiry about the world enriches my life with a wealth of interest and intrigue, it unfortunately also has the negative side-effect of letting me often get too caught up in my own thoughts as they circle and chatter endlessly in my mind.
On some level I knew that living with this constant mental noise was not the optimal way to exist; I could feel the storm of thought pulling my feelings and shifting my moods, often toward the negative. It became apparent to me that I needed to find a way of gaining control over my errant mind; and thus, my journey inward began.
I poured through books on meditation and spirituality, enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling one gets when they feel they are more evolved and advanced than the ignorant fools around them. In reality, my arrogance was completely unfounded. Sure, I was reading the books, but that was all I was doing. I wasn’t meditating; I hadn’t succeed at all in calming my mind. If anything, I had merely succeeded in pushing Borders stock price up a few points on the NASDAQ.
In 2006, largely thanks to a combination of laziness and frustration on my part, I still hadn’t got far on my inner journey; so I decided to throw myself in at the deep-end. I found myself a few weeks later on a dark and bleak British night, rattling my way across the English countryside on a damp public bus toward Dhamma Dipa, a Vipassana meditation retreat, where I would spend the next ten days in absolute silence; meditating from four o’clock in the morning to nine o’clock in the evening.
It was horrible. At least at first. I would sit and try so hard to concentrate. “Just breathe, Mark” I’d tell myself, “In, out, in, out” then I’d catch myself ten minutes later ruminating over which was the best kind of pizza or where I should take my next holiday. The untrained mind is like a slippery fish, just when you think you’ve got it firmly in your grip, it will wriggle its way through your fingers and swim off, back in to the deep.
I’ve since learned this is a common affliction for those learning the inner arts; the more attached you are to a result, the harder you try and focus, the less likely it is you will get there. The paradox is that once you stop aiming for a specific outcome and just relax and let it happen, seemingly the sooner you are able to reach it.
Scientists studied the electrical patterns of the brains of a group of Tibetan monks and showed that while meditating their brain activity dropped from alpha and beta waves associated with waking life and down in to the deeper delta and theta activity associated with dreaming, creativity, and out-of-body experiences. It is in these deep states when your usual perception of the world ceases; time stands still and deep inner peace is all pervading. Thoughts slow, then stop, leaving you suspended in a pleasurable, quiet oasis of the mind. When one returns to waking reality after spending time in these realms the whole world seems altered; it has noticeably different feel. You are calm on a truly deep level, everything is within your control. Peace is absolute.
Around my fifth day of the Vipassana retreat, I started having brief stretches of serenity. A few minutes here, a few moments there, but enough to assure me of my progress. In the years since I’ve maintained the practice, although not the two hours a day recommend by the centre, but once or twice a week at least. I’m pleased to report I find meditation a much more relaxing and enjoyable affair now than I did during those early days at the centre.
While surfing the internet one day, I stumbled across the idea of sensory deprivation on the website of comedian and Fear Factor host Joe Rogan; he is a strong advocate for the tank which is based on the work of psychoanalyst and counter-culture pioneer John C. Lilly during the consciousness revolution of the 1960′s.
Video: Joe Rogan Talks About His Isolation Tank
Unlike earlier versions of the sensory deprivation tank, which required cumbersome head gear and breathing apparatus, modern ‘floatation’ tanks are horizontal and filled shin-high with water at the temperature of the surface of your skin. In this water is dissolved a few hundred pounds of Epsom salts which significantly increases your buoyancy.
I arrived at the floatation centre a little unsure about what to expect. I was invited to remove my shoes and don some sandals for the duration of my visit, then after being told to keep my voice low, I was led upstairs to one of the flotation rooms. Inside the dimly lid room was what can only be described as a giant blue pod.
The woman pressed a button and the lid of pod opened, a huge tear-drop shaped piece of plastic, revealing the shallow water inside. “Take off all your clothes and jewellery and then have a shower. Once you’ve done that, put in the ear plugs and climb inside” she instructed me with a smile. She gestured to two buttons inside the tank, “These buttons control the lid and the light. Close the lid once you are inside, and turn off the light when you feel comfortable. Music will play at the beginning and the end; to calm you at first, then later, to tell you your session is over.” She asked if I had any questions. I didn’t. So she left, I washed, and jumped in.
The soothing sounds of the ocean played inside the tank. I closed the lid, cocooning myself inside the giant blue pod. “Here we go…” I murmured to nobody, and stabbed the light switch with my finger. Darkness filled the tank. Complete darkness. I lay there, bobbing up and down very gently. The water is heated to the precise temperature of your skin, so after a short while you stop being able to feel where the water stops and the air starts, giving you a kind of hovering feeling. Completely naked and stripped of input from your senses you cease to be physical entity. The mind is all there is left.
I found the first minutes to be similar to that of regular meditation. I became acutely aware of the incessant, compulsive chatter of my mind. The woman had advised me just to relax in the tank and be aware of what I was experiencing. I decided at this point to employ a technique from my Vipassana training called Anapana, which is simply just placing your awareness on the sensation of breath in and out of your nostrils. While this process usually takes anywhere up to quarter of an hour to calm my mind, within minutes I seemed to be in the zone.
As I lay in the tank I started to feel a disconnection from my body, it seemed almost as though it had been removed; so much so, that I’d occasionally have to wiggle my fingers or toes just to reassure myself that my flesh and bones were still there in the tank with me. My mind drifted pleasurably between moments of intense thought-clarity and moments of dream-like hallucinations, interspersed with stretches of blissful meditative stillness. I thought about my recent life; I dreamed of past memories; I contemplated the future.
Suddenly I heard music, my hour must be over. Really? It didn’t feel like I’d been in the tank very long at all. I climbed out and checked my watch; an hour had indeed passed. I showered again and meandered back downstairs. The reception asked me about my session and I recalled it for her vividly. I asked if my experience was typical, “Not for everyone, but for some.” She told me, “Especially for those with a spiritual bent. For many it is just a relaxation tool; only when they are truly isolated from the world and know they aren’t going to be interrupted by their mobile, or their kids, or whatever, do they truly feel free to let go and relax. Not everyone has the experience you described; for many it’s akin to a nice warm bath.”
After leaving the centre, and indeed again after my subsequent sessions, I felt as though I was floating in a bubble. The world seemed to be moving slower; my walking pace slowed to a mere amble; and I couldn’t help but smile at strangers as I make my way home.
The floatation tank, for me, acts like a meditation catalyst; I have a much deeper, more interesting and more intense experience than I ordinarily do through just meditation alone. I still find it remarkable that we can alter our consciousness so drastically and so rapidly without the use of chemicals or drugs. Regretfully, I do have to report I am still unable to memorise Pi to twenty-two-thousand places, but the calmness of mind I feel after definitely enriches my perception of reality after, and has a strong positive effect on my mood and outlook on life.
And so, my journey through the workings of my inner mind still continues; but my affair with the floatation tank was a fantastic and fascinating encounter. I believe floatation serves as a valuable tool for anyone interested in enhancing their meditation, or indeed, simply looking to for some time in isolation to relax and be alone with their thoughts.
I’ve been floating at:
Float (London)
2A Bridstow Place
Westbourne Grove
London W2 5AE
Ph: 020 7727 7133
Fascinating…I knew you were more than a “computer geek”. This is really cool; still sounds claustrophobia inducing to me, but intriguing. I’d be interested to know what you hallucinated about though. Something you’d been thinking about before or something completely unrelated and why.