Sense Perception by Don Taco

 Sense Perception

by Don Taco ©2025

  You've chosen to go into a sensory deprivation tank for a session. Your friends who have done it, your more adventurous friends, say it's a fabulous experience. Mary says, "You'll learn so much about yourself that you can't experience any other way. Not even on drugs. Not even the best drugs." Baxter says you'll see God, but then Baxter sees God when he drinks, so you take that with a grain of salt. Everyone you speak to says it's totally worth the money. It never occurs to you to ask if any of them have tried it more than once.

  The lobby is understated and modern. The staff is polite and friendly. There is no pressure to sell you a package or a tour, just an invitation to the experience, should you choose to try it. Soft jazz that you can barely hear plays from hidden speakers. All your questions are answered clearly and immediately. Later, of course, you think of a dozen others you should have asked.

  You dress down in the clean well-appointed locker room into a drafty white apron that passes for a robe. You're led by another polite white-clad attendant to the chamber, and helped into your pod. All is as was promised. You lie back into a warm bath the temperature of your own body, which you remember them checking before showing you to the locker room. The water is so salty that you essentially float above the bottom surface of the pod, brushing it here and there as you relax and settle into place. The attendand mildly gives some further instructions, shows you what you need to know, asks you one last time if you're ready, and ever so gently and slowly closes the lid. You realize that the lights in the room had been gently fading out, so there is no sudden shock of darkness when the pod is fully shut.

  The first thing you notice is some strange tricks of vision, memories of light and flashes that you are quite sure aren't really there, as your eyes and brain try to adjust to the non-existent light level. As instructed, you take a long deep breath and try to relax. As your pupils reach their extended state and your brain assures itself that there really is nothing to see, your hearing takes over.

  The next thing that strikes you is the absolute quiet. We spend our lives in a world where such a thing does not  exist. That doesn't last long, however, because you begin to hear your heartbeat. It's the only sound in the room. It drowns out the soft sussuration of your breathing. It's pounding in your ears. Is it beating faster and faster? Is that why it seems so much louder? You experience a brief moment of panic because the sensation is so unfamiliar. You try to count heartbeats. You try to remember what a normal heart rate is. After quickly losing count several times, you realize that you have no sense of time to judge the rate against. It seems fast. It seems loud. You remember to try another deep breath. It's as loud as a locomotive. Your eyes are still straining aginst the unfamiliar dark. Your brain doesn't seem to want to believe in it. Your skin has adjusted to the temperature of the salt bath, and you lose the sensation of knowing where the edges of your own body are. Time slows to a crawl. Your thoughts race along at a feverish pitch.

  The 'complete isolation' from your normal sensations, and all your regular frames of reference, contribute to your sense of panic. Your heart rate and breathing seem to be completely out of control. You start to become dizzy and disoriented, and your primitive hindbrain, still feeling responsible for your survival, demands action. You decide enough is enough and slap at the big red button you were shown, finding it on the third swipe. A subtle chiming begins, and the tiniest glimmer of light shines from a single tiny LED.

  The lid to the pod begins to open. The room is quite dark, allowing you time to adjust. The soft hidden jazz is almost there. The smiling attendant welcomes you back.

"How was it?"

"I think I almost panicked. Is it always like that?"

"It's typical. Especially on a first visit."

"How long was I in?"

"Twelve seconds."