The Seer by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 9

Gordon left the woman's house perceiving the world very differently. Colors stood out, and people had taken on an unreal quality. He found himself relaxed, both mentally and physically. Driving his car back home, he experienced the flow of movement around him had changed, slowing to the point that every detail vividly stood out. It wasn't enlightenment, but it was the illuminating experience of his life. He found it amazing this could be accomplished without the use of drugs, and before arriving home, Gordon was already planning to make another appointment. He felt that regular visits to the tank would greatly diminish his stress, and strengthen his ability to concentrate.

Sleep came easily to him that night. His dreams were pleasant, and in the morning, wakefulness was quickly achieved. As his day progressed, Gordon also found his thinking to be more organized, and was able to solve problems with great clarity. He had a full schedule that day, and by the end of the afternoon, Gordon discovered he was far less drained than during the previous week. But before leaving his office, he called the woman who owned the floatation tank. Making an appointment for the following week, the woman asked if he wanted to spend more time in the tank. For some reason, he was under the impression that only an hour was allowed. She suggested that, given this would be his second time, he could move up to an hour and a half, but two hours was the limit, purely for the sake of scheduling. But, for fifty dollars an hour, Gordon thought that an hour and a half was enough.

As the week progressed, Gordon had become concerned that he had not received any updates regarding the state's investigation. He was tempted to call the board of licensing, however, he decided it might give the wrong impression. He wasn't good at waiting, but he had no choice. Gordon needed to be patient. By the end of the week, he was, again, a ball of exposed of nerves, and was looking forward to his Saturday appointment in the tank. As like the last time, he drove to the house, rang the doorbell, and was met by the same woman. He memorized the process of preparing for the tank. Once the lid was closed, Gordon settled in, and closing his eyes, felt himself drift off to where the word 'nothing' had no meaning.

Based on his last experience, Gordon felt confident that he knew what to expect, but as he sank deeper into timelessness, he began to feel that something was different. His consciousness emerged slightly as he tried to manipulate the experience. But, some things lay far beyond our control, and unable to steer himself back to a more familiar place, Gordon, instead, found himself sitting on a bench in Deering Park, close to downtown Portland. He stood and examined his surroundings. Living and practicing on the outskirts of Portland, Gordon rarely had the opportunity to venture into the city, so the park was not familiar territory. Walking to the pond, Gordon felt the grass beneath his feet, and looking down, realized he was missing both his shoes and socks. He sat on the ground at the edge of the pond, his senses peaked as a breeze drifted by, brushing against his face. Everything seemed a bit more than real, but he had become so enveloped in this reality that he never stopped to realize he was still in the tank.

He tipped his face to the sky, soaking up the warm sunlight, and as Gordon closed his eyes, he was startled by a familiar voice.

“Doctor Richards, how are ya'?”

Gordon turned to find Patrick sitting next to him. He wasn't simply startled, but terrified, knowing the dead don't usually visit the living, except in dreams and the disconnected visions of the psychotic mind. Gordon jumped to his feet and quickly backed away.

“Holy fuck!” he exclaimed. “You're supposed to be dead!”

Patrick, smiling warmly, spoke in a reassuring tone.

“Well, I am,” he began. “Kind of.” Gordon took another step back, an expression of shock still frozen on his face.

“I know,” Patrick continued. “It's kind of a shock, isn't it? But, it's okay. I mean, we all have to go sometime, right?”

Mentally, Gordon was trying, with great difficulty, to convince himself that he'd fallen asleep, and his experience was nothing more than an especially vivid dream.

“You're confused, aren't you?” Patrick added. “I get it. You're a very logical person. To you, dead is dead, but sometimes, you just have to trust what you see.” There was a short pause as he waited for Gordon's response.

“Doc, c'mon, I can't do all the talking.” Gordon managed to clear his head enough to participate in an otherwise one-sided conversation.

“So,” he began. “What is this place?” Patrick stepped up to him, and putting a hand on his shoulder, led him through the park.

“That's a tough question,” Patrick replied. “It's a bit different for everyone.”

Feeling the warmth of Patrick's hand, Gordon began to wonder if he was really dreaming. Perhaps, he was hallucinating as a result of the meditative state brought on by the environment within the tank. The only other alternative was insanity and with his faculties still intact, he preferred the safe assumption that he was still in the tank.

Gathering his thoughts, Gordon struggled for words, and was finally able to ask what would be an obvious question.

“They said you shot yourself?”

Patrick remembered the event of his demise as if watching it from a short distance.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I wasn't really myself that day. Tell them I'm sorry about the mess, okay?” Gordon stopped as they faced each other.

“So, Patrick,” Gordon began. “What happened?”

“Ya' mean, why did I do it?” Patrick answered. “Well, sometimes things happen that we're not ready for. Some people can handle it, some people can't. I guess I wasn't ready.”

A moment passed as Patrick was struck by a strong impression.

“Oh, I'm afraid our time is up,” he said. Gordon spoke in a hurried voice, still asking questions.

“Wait, what do you mean? Patrick, what happened?”

Gordon opened his eyes to a consuming blackness, and hearing the sound of knocking, brought his hand out of the water. Feeling through the darkness, he found the stainless steel bar mounted on the door's underside. Pushing it up let in a subdued light, as a large towel was held up in front of him. The woman who owned the tank was, again, gracious enough to help Gordon out of the tank. But, as he put his wet feet on the carpet, the woman noticed a troubled look on his face.

“How was your experience Mr. Richards? Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah,” he replied. Everything's fine.” The woman left the room with a concerned expression, allowing Gordon to step behind the privacy screen, where he changed back into his clothes, and paying her the required fee, thanked her and quickly left.

As he returned to his car, the woman peered out through a window and watched as he drove away. Given the experiences of others, she was unable to even guess at a possibility for Gordon's reaction. It seemed unlike that of almost anyone else who had used the tank, and different from his first experience. Ordinarily, she considered people’s experiences in the tank to be highly personal, and did not inquire about them. But, given Gordon's discomfort upon leaving, she thought it might have been appropriate to ask. However, even if she had, Gordon left in too much of a hurry to talk, and as with Patrick, she was left with the impression that he would likely not return.