This week, I did a small survey on talking to my subconscious. I thought the assignment was a perfect excuse to try a sensory deprivation tank—at least, the Brooklyn version of one:
Unfortunately, the session for me was merely an hour’s worth of boredom and discomfort; not at all the spiritual experience one guest described, in which “God spoke to [her] in [her] own voice.”
The assignment was also a good excuse to break out my entrainment studies from last semester, and I created a viz of my chrome history (a good metric of mind-wandering for me) one hour before and after “entrainment”.
Lastly, I made an appointment with Dr. Donatone over at the Health and Wellness Center across the street. After a short interview, she decided I required hypnosis for my hypodermic needle phobia. The hypnosis lasted about ten minutes, and was simply a form of meditation in which, after a short body scan, I was forced to imagine cartoon drawings of needles and tourniquets and report aloud how my body responded to them (spoiler: my response was absolute fear and loathing across the board, even when she asked me to image a syringe made out of balloons).