I float for a variety of reasons, but I am not always ready for it, which I usually only realise once I am already floating. Floating offers me something more, something more of that which I do not know yet have long been sensing. Over 40 years I have studied and tested my body well, but I increasingly grasp that what drives it is something different, something more personal and incomparable with established findings.
The whole thing begins with a shower, which prepares my body to enter the pool. Once I have set out a face towel and fresh water for rinsing my face, I step into the pool and sit down. I lie back as if onto a water bed and marvel at the buoyancy, for my body floats like a bobber on the surface of the water. The lights go out, and complete darkness and silence set in. The first sensation rolls in, one I would describe as emptiness, since there is no light, no sound, nor any pier to lean on to confirm my existence. I close my eyes and leaf through the thoughts that begin to dart through my head. One thought after another keeps me occupied for a while, though for how long I do not know, since I cannot judge how long I have been floating or how much time is left until the end. The thoughts grow tiring, so I become aware of the situation again, of the silence, the weightlessness, and the darkness. That is when the “miracle” happens: I no longer sense my body, which, with the temperature of the skin, the brine, and the air all equalised, is a physiological phenomenon. I carry on floating and know that I am ready for the depth, ready to crawl into myself, or rather into a boundless space; it feels good. The sensations are interesting: maybe I would fall asleep, maybe I would think, maybe I would wake up, but most of all I would travel through space and observe my surroundings, which are different from one moment to the next. Yes, I need some time to gather enough concentration and find my way onto the grey road that leads me to the blissful feeling of being carefree. No, it is not that simple; something pushes me off the grey road and I already find myself in the ditch, so I pick myself up and try again to get onto the grey road, which runs so smoothly and straight in the direction of my goal. I strain all the forces of the left and right hemispheres of my brain and, with difficulty, drag myself back onto the grey road. That is when I am happy; I do not know what it is, I would call it a blissful feeling. But sadly the “floater” is not a sauna, and I cannot insert another 20 euros to prolong the feeling; everything depends on me, on my concentration and my desire. The floater is a tool, like a drill that you have to know how to operate and for which you have to choose the right bit.
I become aware again: “Ok, how much longer until the end?” I have no idea, but it will be hard to get back, back into the state of bliss, since two or three attempts at returning to the grey road have “devoured” all the energy my body has, this being a special kind of energy that I cannot name. I try again, but I am growing more and more tired and drowsy, so all my attempts to return to the grey road look more like deep sleep with snoring, which I never hear but which they do hear at the reception.
Something wakes me; even my legs become somewhat restless, though not necessarily, and I wonder when it will end, and always then, truly always then, when I wish for the end, a little light comes on and a bell rings out, waking me. After the bell, I am first glad that I managed to last through the whole therapy, but the next moment I am sorry that it is already over. After a few moments I sit up and come to myself, and once I have gathered all my sensations I realise I cannot hear my heart, since it has calmed completely; I feel reborn.
The feeling lingers for a long time after the therapy, but the loveliest part is when, right after floating, I get into bed and continue my story in my dreams.