Nirvana in a Dank, Dark Tank

Seeking tranquillity? Slip into a watery coffin

To calm the spirit, Byron suggested, apply "rum and true religion." Alas for Georgian simplicities. The rum has turned to water, the religion to immersion. Relentlessly, Americans have sought spiritual calm in steam baths, saunas, Jacuzzi whirlpools and hot tubs. Now, in the quest for tranquillity, some of them are dunking themselves, in total darkness and aloneness, for an hour or more at a time in small tanks filled with 250 gal. of 93.5DEG salt water. Why? To achieve, through "sensory deprivation," surcease from tension, reconciliation with the id, relief from jet lag, hangover, back pain or nicotine withdrawal, for rediscovery of the womb, a flow of delta brain waves--or just a snooze. The experience might be called the caviar of self-indulgence. Float tanks, as they are called, originated on the West Coast. The idea behind them was developed in the 1950s by Neurophysiologist John C. Lilly, who is most widely known as the chap who communicates with dolphins. The original Isolation Tank Method, as he baptized it, was an experiment in self-exploration conducted for the National Institute of Mental Health. With, he says, an occasional assist from LSD, Dr. Lilly found that through solitary immersion in skin-temperature salt water--containing MgSO4 7H2O, a.k.a. Epsom salts--he could become "a

bright, luminous point of consciousness, radiating light, warmth and knowledge." "Wow!" as a young New York woman wrote in the logbook after a $15, one-hour soak at Manhattan's Tranquility Tanks. "Orgasmic!" said another.

Amazingly, despite Lilly's copious writings on the subject (notably The Deep Self), it took California's meditation industry almost two decades to latch onto his discovery. The pioneers of Pop immersion were Glenn and Lee Perry, a Los Angeles couple who started mass-producing tanks for home dunking five years ago and have sold tanks at prices ranging from $1,200 to $2,500. Last June they opened the Samadhi (Sanskrit for state of deep contemplation) Tank Center in Beverly Hills, where they have attracted 3,500 customers. Meanwhile, two-year-old Denver-based Float To Relax Inc., which also manufactures and distributes isolation tanks, has supplied ten tankatoriums in six states--Colorado, Ohio, New Mexico, New York, Minnesota and Texas--and plans to open nine other centers by July. The company has sold 112 tanks for home use (price: $1,995) in two years. Both outfits, naturally, see their brand of self-discovery as the wave of the future.

The seeker of nirvana and psychophysical energy does not plunge into the tank as if it were a Y.M.C.A. pool. When making a reservation he is advised not to ingest alcohol, coffee, drugs or a heavy meal; on arrival he must sign a form attesting that he does not have a cold, a skin irritation or a history of seizures or blackouts. Only then is he led to a private cubicle to begin the treatment. At Manhattan's Tranquility Tanks, this involves an eight-point countdown that includes a shower (herbal soap and shampoo), entering the tank ("Have a wonderful float") and a cryptic sendoff: "Stay with your experience, come out easy and let the water drain off the back of your head."

Going in--naked--is the hardest part.

Reporters who have tested the tanks note an initial feeling of claustrophobia when the door closes behind them and they are isolated in an 8-ft.-long, 4-ft.-high space and 10 in. of water. "It smells," says one, "like day-old bath water." The 28% saline solution makes skin nicks and scratches smart and can sting the eyes. But, like most addicted tankheads, floaters experience a form of euphoria, though not necessarily as intense as the state reported by a 76-year-old salt in Minneapolis: "Now I can see the inside me/ While I float the outside out."

Medical verdicts on tank therapy range from harmless to beneficial. Some physicians say that a long, hot soak in an old-fashioned tub at home can be as salutary--and solitary. But who needs hot water for meditation? Said Henry David Thoreau, the master solitudinist: "A man thinking or working is always alone, le him be where he will."

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