Late-night floats on the nights that matter, if you're the kind of person who keeps track of which nights matter.
Yes, that's me floating. Yes, I edited it with AI. I really wanted a moon in there, and unlike Gru I could not lasso it and take it with me.
Some of you already know what the moon is doing tonight without looking it up. You know when the veil thins, when Mercury goes backward, when it's time to set an intention and when it's time to let one go. This is for you.
A float tank at eleven at night, on a full moon, is a different thing than a float tank at two on a Tuesday. Not because the water changes. The water is the same water. Because you arrive different. The day is finished. The street outside is quiet. Nobody is waiting on you, and you've already decided this night means something.
A private room, a tank of skin-temperature water with about a thousand pounds of Epsom salt dissolved in it. You float without trying. Lid down, light off, and within a few minutes there's no up or down, no edge to your body, no sound except your own pulse. An hour in there is the closest most people get to sensory silence.
People who meditate describe it as skipping the first forty minutes of sitting. People who do ritual work describe it as the one room where there is nothing to clear first. I'm not going to promise you a vision. I'll tell you that the tank has a way of putting you in front of whatever you brought in with you, and that late at night, on a night you chose on purpose, what you bring in tends to be the real thing.
The unhour is the one that isn't on the clock. Between the day that ended and the day that hasn't started. That's when we open.
I'm not going to argue with anyone about whether the moon pulls on a float tank. What I know is that people have gathered on these nights for a very long time, and that choosing a night ahead of time changes how you show up to it. A full moon float is a release. A new moon float is a beginning. A solstice float is the longest dark of the year spent in the dark, which is its own kind of joke and its own kind of prayer.
And this fall is unusually crowded. Venus goes retrograde on October 3, Mercury joins it on the 24th, and both turn direct on the same day: Friday, November 13. If you follow this stuff, you already felt me say that.
Filled dot: full moon and other nights. Open dot: new moon.
Not every date on this list will run as an event. It's the map. The nights we open late will be posted and emailed ahead of time, and the ones I'm committing to first are the Harvest Moon, Samhain, 11/11, and the solstice.
When: Doors at 10:30pm You'll be in the water shortly after, and out around ninety minutes later.
How many: 3 people per night. Every tank is private. You won't see the other floaters unless you want to in the lounge after.
Cost: [[PRICE]] per float. Members, use your float.
Bring: Nothing you need. Bring whatever you'd bring to a ritual, if that's you. A card to pull, a thing to write, an intention. Leave crystals out of the tank, please. The salt is enough.
You come in and the building is dim. No music in the lobby. We'll show you to your room, you'll shower, and then it's just you and an hour of nothing. Afterward there's tea in the lounge and no expectation that you talk. Some people do. Some people sit with a journal for twenty minutes and leave without a word, which is a perfectly good way to leave.
Then you drive home through a quiet city with a full moon over it, and you sleep like you haven't in a while.
Spots are limited on purpose. Book the one that means something to you. Fill out the form below and we’ll get back to you on a first come, first serve basis. If a particular night has high requests, we will open the spot after it.
Fill out our formFloating is a relaxation practice, not a medical treatment, and I'm not claiming the moon does anything to the water. Whatever you bring to the night is what the night is about. Questions: mark@floatboston.com
Floats or contrast therapy sessions. Ends 9.7 – click link to see all terms and conditions.