Let your troubles float away

If all your high-tech relaxation gadgets -- humming massagers, ambient-sound neutralizing headphones, battery-powered pressure-point "energizers" -- are just letting you down, maybe it's time you gave just plain old salt water a chance.

Tim Alsberg, a regular visitor to the flotation tanks, says, "Initially, it was about exploring the mind, but I think it's now more about exploring the spirit."
Paul Joseph Brown/P-I

We're talking lots of plain old salt water. Two hundred gallons of water and 1,000 pounds of medical grade Epsom salts, to be exact. Oh, and a large tank.

Don't have all that stuff? Not to worry. You can always just pay $50 for an hour in a flotation tank (a k a, a sensory-deprivation tank), like the two owned by Doron Weisbarth, 37, owner of Floatzone.Calm, the only flotation center in Seattle.

If you have space issues (like you might freak out spending an hour or so in a 9-foot by 5.75-foot by 4-foot egg-shaped dome) then Weisbarth says that you're the captain of your ship -- or, in this case, your tank.

"The thing about claustrophobic people is their lack of control. But with floating, people have the control. They can float with the door open, with the door closed, for as long as they want. I'm not sitting on the roof to make sure they stay in," he says, chuckling.

The flotation tanks look like windowless, fiberglass-shelled spaceships -- one white, one candy-apple red -- with swimming-pool blue interiors. But the only laps you'll be doing here will be in your mind.

As far as relaxation techniques go, no one will tell you to breathe deeply, imagine rainbows or to locate your third eye -- there's nothing New-Agey about this.

Alsberg enters the tank.
Paul Joseph Brown/P-I

In fact, this kind of floating was developed in a lab, not a spiritual spa, by Dr. John Cunningham Lilly at the National institute of Mental Health in Bethesda, Md., in 1954. Lilly was interested in studying the effects of solitude on the mind as well as the effects of floating on rheumatoid arthritis, hypertension and something called "brain hemispheric lateralization" (left brain/right brain relationship). But never mind that stuff for now. Just step into the tank.

Here, you're on your own. And chances are, you haven't been on your own like this before. The highly salinated water makes you feel weightless. You're in the dark, and unless you ask for music, the only sounds you'll hear are the movement of the water and your own breathing. There's something amazing about that, says floating enthusiast Tim Alsberg.

"You're the only thing in there...you and only you. There's something about experiencing you and only you," he says.

He says he was intrigued by the concept ever since he saw Ken Russell's scary 1980 movie, "Altered States," about a psychophysiologist (played by William Hurt) who uses himself as the subject of an experiment on human consciousness.

Alsberg didn't want a frightening experience. Rather, he says he was just curious.

"There's something just fascinating about exploring the mind. ... Initially, it was about exploring the mind, but I think it's now more about exploring the spirit," says Alsberg, 32.

Weisbarth insists that you shower before entering the tank (yes, even if you "just showered") and after you get out. The extra-salty water leaves a viscous layer on your skin, which, if left unrinsed, would dry into a gritty, salty layer. If you have any cuts, Weisbarth provides some petroleum jelly to help lower the (possible) ouch factor.

The salt in the water prevents the prune effects of soaking in a regular tub. It also keeps the tank a bacteria-free zone, which, by the way, is certified by the Washington State Department of Health.

Also, Weisbarth circulates the water through an automatic bromine feeder (a less smelly alternative to chlorine), ultraviolet rays (commonly used to kill bacteria and viruses in clean water systems) and extra strength hydrogen peroxide.

Weisbarth says his clientele is evenly divided, gender-wise, which is a bit odd, given that the first tank he bought was from a place that had a primarily female clientele. Of course, that business had the word "spa" in its name.

"Apparently, if you don't call it a 'spa' men are more likely to show up," says Weisbarth. A good chunk of his clients are dot-com techies, but not the ones looking for a cure or some sort of New-Agetherapy.

"This is about health, not healing -- I know, semantics -- but you know, I'm not trying to cure anyone here," he openly admits.

This doesn't make Weisbarth a man without a mission. Indeed, he has a very focused goal: To bring meditation to the masses.

He was turned on to meditation about 10 years ago and found it so helpful in his own life that he wanted everyone to experience it. And that's when he kissed his education as an electrical engineer and physical oceanographer goodbye and got into the flotation business.

"I think that some people could benefit from meditation. Our world is going so fast in every direction that people don't pay attention to who they are and where they're going," he says, adding that after they float, people generally come out looking either calm or happy.

But taking meditation to the masses seems like a tall order for one dude with two tanks.

"Well, I am looking into expanding," he says, dropping some hints about locations and looking for investors.

Although he doesn't seem daunted by the potential headaches the world of commerce can bring him, you have to wonder if Weisbarth misses being an engineer, a profession he says he was "quite good" at.

"Not a bit!" he says, clearly at ease with leaving wires and gadgets for the world of salty soaks.