I’ve been hearing about gong baths for nearly a year now, and I finally got to go to one this past weekend.

I wasn’t sure what they were really about, other than that there was no soap and water involved.

After the retreat, we were given a list of resources to help with “re-entry.” One of the suggestions was to try to find ways to come back into the space we’d accessed through psychedelics in different ways – through mindfulness, meditation, dance, and other practices. One of the “other practices” listed was gong baths.

I knew there was one happening near me and so I signed myself and the Chaplain up.

Because of the time it started, we would have to leave immediately after the Chaplain got home from work. Parking in that area is always tough, and even if we left as soon as he got home, we might not get there on time.

I considered talking to the Chaplain about driving separately.

But I didn’t.

I had a little anxiety attack not long before we were supposed to leave, but before the Chaplain got home.  I looked up gong baths. I read about it being a meditative experience and something about ego dissolution, giving myself fantastically high expectations. At the very least, I’d get a full hour of meditation in one shot. Then, in a final spasm of panic, I resisted calling the studio to ask what to wear and what we should bring.

I settled on comfortable clothes and a water bottle, stuffing my eye mask and a hankie into my pocket. (Because meditation and ego dissolution? There could be crying.) When the Chaplain got home, I encouraged him to change out of his work clothes before we left.

Things have been a little tense lately, but we both wanted to try the experience. We didn’t talk about anything meaningful in the car on the way there.  I let my annoyance about our lateness grow. We couldn’t find parking on the cramped and narrow streets near the yoga studio where the gong bath was being held. One of our favorite concert venues is nearby and it was clear they were having an event as well.

We got to the studio at a brisk walk a few minutes after the gong bath was scheduled to start. My hair was almost standing on end with anxiety and frustration. The lights had already been dimmed in the room where the gong bath was taking place. We checked in and were led to an open section of wall between some of the other participants. We were given yoga mats, pillows, and blankets.

I pulled my eye mask on and tried to settle in.

I kept trying for the rest of the hour.

I’ve listened to resonant/chime/gong tracks for my meditation practice, but I wasn’t sure how live gongs would be in comparison. Would I feel the vibrations in my whole body? Would the sound be continuous? Would it be overstimulating?

I only felt the vibrations in my head and my feet (which were facing the gongs). It wasn’t continuous, but nearly so. And I did find it overstimulating at times. I wonder if I tried it again with earplugs if the vibrations would still work their magic, whatever that is.

One particular tone felt like it was scraping the inside of my head clean with a sharp, curved tool.

At the end, there was a reading to send us back off into the world, then we all slowly came out of our – stupor? trance? tussle with meditation? – and glanced around, exchanging cautious but friendly smiles with the other participants. We cleaned up our blankets, pillows, and blankets, then quietly headed back to our car.

We had an uncomfortable ride home, finally talking about the cause of our tension. I was feeling disappointed and miserable. I didn’t know exactly what the gong bath was supposed to do, but whatever it was, it felt like it hadn’t “worked.” And I felt upset that I’d expected it to do anything.

In the past, I’ve often fought with those feelings of anger, sadness and misery. But this time, I just sat in it. I cried a little.

I don’t know if it’s possible to have a delayed reaction from a gong bath. Maybe I was already going to hit my lowest point that night and feel fresh again in the morning. But whatever the case, the next day, I felt clear. My meditations were wonderful. The tension wasn’t totally gone, but it didn’t “have” me anymore.

I’m still curious about the gong bath.

I’d like to try it again. I’d like to get to one early. This time I laid down for it – maybe next time sit cross-legged? And perhaps not bring so much baggage along. I’ll be giving it another go next weekend. I’ll let you know how it is.

Have you been to a gong bath? Heard of them? Does the idea interest you? Have y0u ever tried a practice that seemed a little woo-woo but then found that it worked for you?

Pictured above is a thumb piano I got at a local fair trade shop for the kids for Christmas. It was what I call a “for you, for me, Dawg” gift. And it’s sort of like a gong on a very small scale. The space where the gong bath took place was too dark for photos, and frankly, I wasn’t in the mood.

Perhaps you also noted that I had a bit of an anxiety crush before the gong bath. It has crept back slowly since the retreat.  But I feel much better equipped to deal with it. Maybe because of that, it doesn’t last as long when it comes. It no longer feels characterized by the crawling sensation that my skin is on too tight. So I wouldn’t say I’m cool with it, but I kind of am.