My favourite find this week from a consumer’s point of view is also an excellent Quebec small business success story. Meet the world’s only sound-and-massage therapy bed, invented right here in our province!

I recently had the pleasure of trying what has got to be Quebec’s hardest working bed! It’s an oddly shaped device that combines carefully programmed sounds, vibrations and music to create deep relaxation. It’s the brainchild of Quebec-based G-Lab, and I believe that at this time the only working prototype resides at Spa Ovarium.

Skeptical? Yeah. Me too. I also wondered if this was a little too new agey for me.

But after trying Spa Ovarium’s epsom salt floatation baths and loving them (a truly out of body experience), I figured I’d give the bed a shot. Full disclosure: Ovarium is one of my clients and I was invited to a neuromassage bed session gratis. But since my integrity is pretty much my brand, rest assured that this fact won’t affect my honesty within this post.

The bed itself is built so that you lie on your back with your knees bent and feet raised. For someone with chronic lower back issues, this is by far the most comfortable position to lie in. An Ovarium staffer explained that I merely had to remove my shoes and make myself comfortable on the bed, making sure to scoot as low as possible so my back and butt made full contact with the mattress. She explained that I would hear a mix of music, ocean waves and deep sounds that were almost vibrations. The bed itself would also vibrate and at times the vibrations might be quite intense. Her advice was to do my best to relax into the experience and go with the flow. If, however, it got to be too much, I was shown a small button that would reduce the intensity of the “massage”.

Then she helped me onto the bed, covered me with a blanket, dimmed the lights and left the room.

At this point, I had very controlled expectations. I figured at best, it would be like one of those massage chairs you see at airports or at Place Montreal Trust (outside Lenscrafters). They’re pleasant, but nothing special. At worst, I figured, the new age music would be annoying and the vibrations would piss me off. Not a terrible outcome for trying something outside my usual field of experience.

And so the treatment began.

There was music (it was new-agey, but not particularly bothersome), the sounds of waves crashing on a beach (one of my favourite noises. When I was little, I would often turn the TV on to channel with electronic “snow” and then manipulate the volume controls to mimic the sounds of waves washing the shore!). The bed also began to vibrate. At first it was subtle, but the vibrations quickly built in intensity to a rather pleasant full-body buzzing.

Despite my reservations (and the fact that I was tightly wound from the guilt of my long overdue, still-to-be-filed GST return), I found my mind slowly slipping its leash.

And then something strange happened.

The space between my eyebrows began to tingle. The tingling slowly blossomed to a feeling as if someone was dabbing at my “third eye” with a soft-bristled paint brush. It was so vivid that I actually put my hand up to my face to feel if there was something there.

There wasn’t.

The feeling continued.

“Weird,” I thought. I’ve never felt anything like this except that one time I tried transcendental meditation. And even then, the feeling had been fleeting. Certainly not as insistent as this one.

The treatment continued and the soundscape deepened in pitch to something almost sinister. The kind of sound that would give me goosebumps in an early Night Shyamalan film, for example. I wasn’t creeped out, but it did prevent me from slipping all the way off and falling asleep. The lady who’d given me the orientation had mentioned this; the soundscapes and vibrations are arranged to create a sense of deep relaxation without allowing the subject to fall asleep. This was supposed to heighten the experience.

I guess I agree. I wouldn’t want to spend $29 to fall asleep in a vibrating chair. I did feel like the hypnotic  swirl of my thoughts was a far more rewarding experience. As a feeling, it reminded me of a prolonged version of those last few minutes right before you fall asleep. As a writer, that time is often my most creative and inspired. I often jot feverish notes on a bedside notebook before I surrender to sleep. I’ve had some of my best ideas at moments like that.

Did I see God or have some sort of epiphany in the neuromassage bed? Sadly, no.

But sitting up after the half hour session, I felt sure I would try it again.

That night, I finally filed my GST/PST return and slept a deep, dreamless sleep. As with any therapeutic treatment, I have no idea how much of it is attributable to the bed itself. And as with any therapeutic treatment that I’ve enjoyed, I don’t so much care. It felt good. I’m going to do it again.

And yes, next time I’ll pay the full price of $39 (first-timers pay $29). In fact, I’ve booked my next session for before one of those wicked sports massages I’ve mentioned on Facebook. The combination of physical and mental bliss is something I’m really looking forward to.

Would you try this unusual treatment or is it just too weird for you? Have you ever had a similar experience with that “third-eye” thing? I really want to know what it means!