Sensory Deprivation Float
As a travel writer, I am regularly invited and hosted by destinations to experience what their towns or regions have to offer. Just like anything or anywhere, some places, establishments, or experiences are better than others. So when I write freelance stories for travel outlets, if I’m naming names, it’s a personal recommendation. And if something wasn’t up to snuff or didn't meet expectations for whatever reason, I leave it out. If I were writing reviews as opposed to travel stories, my approach would be different.
All that to say that if you are interested in a sensory deprivation float, and you happen to find yourself in the outdoor Mecca with a Cascade Range backdrop that is Bend, Oregon, the folks at ChillWell were incredibly warm, informative, and professional. And provided me with the following experience.
June 2025
A few days ago, I had the opportunity to try a sensory deprivation float for the first time. If you’re unfamiliar, this sort of therapy involves floating in a specialized tank filled with a highly concentrated, body-temperature solution of Epsom salts. The room is completely devoid of light, and no sound is present, thanks in part to the tranquil environs, but mostly to a set of high-quality, very effective earplugs. Essentially, you will be weightless in a lightless, soundless environment with no other external stimuli.
There are a number of physical and emotional benefits attributed to sensory deprivation floats. And I had been intrigued by the prospects of such an experience for a few years. So when the opportunity arose, I gleefully accepted the offer. There are other methods and receptacle options out there, but my particular float took place in what is known as a Dream Pod. A state-of-the-art tank that instantly reminded me of Mork’s transport vessel from Ork.
Each session is an hour long, and I was told that peaceful music would be introduced into the pod after 60 minutes to let me know the float is over. I was also informed that I could cut it short at any time, and I would in no way be confined within the pod, which provided some relief. Once in my private room, I showered, carefully settled into the pod, closed the hatch, and pressed the “lights off” button.
I relaxed and settled into a mostly comfortable float. Initially, I was having difficulty getting the muscles in my neck to trust the buoyancy of my head, but they eventually eased up, too. Then the water became still, and my breathing regulated. I opened my eyes and detected no difference from when they were shut. And after a minute or two, I was no longer aware of which state they were in.
Shortly thereafter, and for the first time in my life, I lost the sense of my physical form. The borders of my body blurred, and there was no distinction between where I ended and the nebulous support of the womb-like water began. And once I was able to get my body to surrender fully, it didn’t take long for my mind to follow.
In much the same way that the barriers between my mortal coil and the physical world beyond it were seemingly erased, there were spells when the impediments between my mind and the greater energy had vanished as well. In these moments, there was consciousness, but no conscious thoughts. I felt simultaneously to be nothing and everything. Pulses of qi waxed and waned, visited and fled.
When my thinking mind returned, I would move my body subtly, touch my own skin softly, and remind myself of my physicality. After two such cycles, I wondered how long I had been in my pod and estimated the oddly specific number of 12 minutes. Then I heard music.