Altered states revisited

There are obvious virtues to sensory deprivation in a city that kills you one unwanted input at a time, while bombarding your eyes, ears and nose in every direction at once.

Once mainstream enough to spawn a major Hollywood film, and life-changing enough to turn a Village Voice reporter into a guru dedicated to "Exploring the Private Sea" of the mind, sensory deprivation tanks-aka floatation tanks, aka isolation chambers-are very nearly extinct in New York City.

Sam Zeiger's Blue Light Floatation Co., established in 1985, has ridden the whole waxing-and-then-waning wave, and today remains the last dedicated outlet in a formerly crowded local market. Chelsea's Blue Light offers New Yorkers a chance to exchange their beeping, blaring, scowling everyday lives for an hour of utter oblivion. All is zilch, while bobbing weightlessly in a sea of therapeutic nothingness.

Called "floating," the one-hour experience is accomplished in a fiberglass pool behind light and soundproof walls, into which 1,000 pounds of Epsom salt have been dissolved. The room's complete lack of light and sound, and the body's own buoyancy ushers floaters into a trance-like state more rejuvenating than a million catnaps.

Inside Zeiger's 8-by-4-foot chamber, I could hear my blood rushing, eyes blinking, bones settling. The water warmed to my body and the touch melted away. I began to dream. I had the sensation of levitating towards the 6-foot ceiling. I reemerged alert, like a moviegoer who entered a theater in the morning rain and is shocked by the afternoon sun. Post-float, Zeiger and I sat for an interview in his spacious African-themed living room, which doubles as Blue Light's waiting room. Philip K. Dick and William Gibson books, including the all-too appropriate Neuromancer, about a data cowboy on the information superhighway, line the shelf. The float tank itself hummed softly one room over.

"Floatation is for anybody of any age who wants to release themselves from mental and physical stress caused by excess environmental stimuli," says Zeiger, 54. He quotes the late Dr. John Lilly that 90 percent of the brain's workload is generated by routine sensory information. Lilly first devised floating in the 1950s with a team of government researchers hoping to determine whether the brain, like a cheap sound-activated doll, would shut down in the absence of stimulation. When it instead afforded mind-explorers a porthole to higher consciousness, floating became part of the '60s.

Contemporary promoters say regular sessions reduce stress, bolster creativity, heighten concentration, speed learning, release tension, fortify one's immune system and allow for a generally happier, fatigue-free existence. "I am all for them," says Tommy Sheehan, Director of Strength and Conditioning for Columbia University Athletic programs.

A 2005 Ball State University study found that consuming media is the defining act in American life, absorbing more time than eating, sleeping or anything else. Reuters reported that one-third of job managers suffer from ill health as a direct consequence of stress from just such sensory overload. In spite of this, the local sensory deprivation business is on the skids. London has over 30 floatation centers; New York City has only Zeiger and the full-service health spa, La Casa Day. Sports Club LA, the much-decorated Oasis Day Spa, and the spa at the Four Seasons New York all stopped offering floatation services in the last five years on account of space issues and a general lack of popularity.

In contrast, when Zeiger bought his first floating chamber in 1985, he estimates that eight to 12 centers were available around the city, some with multiple tanks to accommodate flourishing demand. Much of it was attributable to the movie Altered States and the cult popularity of the acid-dropping neuroscientist Dr. Lilly, on whose life the film was loosely based. In a testament to local exuberance, former Village Voice reporter Michael Hutchison left journalism that year to promote his first book, The Book of Floating: Exploring the Private Sea, now considered a "consciousness classic" by self-help wonks, and a gateway to Hutchison's subsequent quackery on how to "Transform Your Mind with Brain Machines."

Paranoia about how AIDS was spread hurt business. Today, Zeiger still manages to attract upwards of 30 clients a week at $60 a session.

"Noisy broken heaters, light peaking through, dirty water: any of these things can ruin a floatation experience and unfortunately, a significant amount of people entered the business to make money-never understanding how much maintenance was involved," says Zeiger.

For now, he's not predicting the future of isolation tanks: "I don't care to call the market."

Call (212) 989-6061 or visit www.BlueLightFloatation.com.