Out of body experiences are a popular subject these days.  Normally they seem to occur following near-death traumas, but can happen at other times. I have read that it might be common during hypoxia.  Given the high altitude of Lake Titicaca, mild hypoxia seems like a possible explanation for the following experience. I wasn’taware of the other symptoms of hypoxia while this experience of being beside myself was occurring, but it seems possible.  Knowing that there might be a medical “cause” for this does nothing to lessen the feelings involved.  I think the medical community would very much like to find rational explanations for these types of “spiritual” events that happen from time-to-time.  They are clearly not happy with the idea that there might be more to life, and death, than they can account for.  In any case, the experience happened and it was oddly comforting – even if it was caused, or allowed to happen, because of the high elevation.

I was on an adventure/spiritual trip with some Toltec friends to the high mountains of Peru.  We were visiting the regions around Cusco, Machu Picchu, and Lake Titicaca. The Toltec tour leaders had worked with don Miguel Ruiz for many years.  The tour “guide” was a gentleman from the Lake Titicaca area who was a very spiritual man (shaman), author, and hotel owner.  His personal teacher is a very old “shaman” from the area.  We stayed at his hotels in Cusco and Lake Titicaca.  On most days, the very old shaman squatted on the floor in the lobby of the hotel keeping a watchful eye on our group. He wore a traditional brightly colored shawl, hat and other clothing of the Incas.

The high elevation seemed to be having an effect upon me, especially once we got much above about 12,000 feet.  It obviously impacted my stamina and ability to breathe; just a small exertion and I would be huffing and puffing, forcing me to stop often to catch my breath.  Luckily, I didn’t get altitude sickness or anything like that; I just found that I was out of breath much of the time. 

On the flight to Peru I met a nice lady who grew up in Lima.  She had a lot of advice for me concerning what to do, where to go, and what to eat.  Her last, and most adamant, advice was to avoid Lake Titicaca.  She said it was far too high; almost everyone gets sick from the altitude.  She said that the weather was awful, it was too hard to get around, and there was nothing to see or do.  Her aunt had made the trip and warned her not to go.  This prepared my mind for a difficult and unpleasant adventure.  Of course, toward the end of our trip to Peru we went to experience Lake Titicaca.

We flew into the Puno airport located on the northwest side of the lake.  Since I didn’t have any maps, or see any maps, I really had no clear idea of where we were.  From the airport to the town where our hotel was located was a fairly long bus trip across a beautiful high plateau. The plateau was almost flat; ringed by high snow-covered mountains.  There were a few trees scattered about here and there, but mostly it was just gently rolling grassland set under a light blue sky.  Puffy clouds cast dark shadows as they drifted across the landscape.

We traveled across this plateau as evening approached.  The sun was low in the sky and there were many beautiful clouds overhead.  I thought we were headed south (which means we were probably going north since we were on the “other” side of the equator).  The light was totally transfixing to me.  There was something new about the color and feel of the light.  The difference was nothing that I can describe in simple terms such as “bluer” or “redder” than usual.  Rather, it was more of a “feel” of clarity or purity.  It felt like the air and the sky were not as “dense” as I am used to (which in fact was the case since we were above 13,000 feet elevation).  We traveled past scattered homes and saw round Peruvian ladies in many petticoatted skirts and Bowler hats along with their children tending their fields with their oxen. 

I was sitting next to the window by myself, just enjoying the scenery as it passed by the window.  The others on the bus were excited and chatting away.  I was in a quiet mood, happy to just sit and take in the view and feel of the place. 

After a half hour or so of traveling we were past the city and then the little villages.  Finally we were crossing open country.  It was at about this time that I first noticed that something had happened to me.  I realized that I felt strangely “empty” – it felt like it was just me, without my body.  I felt somehow clearer and fresher – a little like the countryside that we were traveling through.  Then I realized with surprise that I was not only clearer and fresher, but the “center” of “me” was no longer aligned with the center of my body.  It felt like I was sitting next to myself, rather than within myself.  There was a distinct separation in space between my body that feels and touches things and the center of my consciousness that thinks and feels emotions.  At first this was a bit disconcerting.  I wondered if I was having some weird reaction to the altitude, or that I might actually be ill.  I gently tried to realign myself with my body, but to no avail.  I guessed that if I were to do something dramatic, such as standing up, the two would have coalesced immediately.  However, since the feeling was so pleasant I really didn’t want to do that.  I was quite comfortable just drifting next to myself, enjoying the trip and the beauty of the place.  This feeling of calm separateness went on for many miles.  I just sat there next to myself, enjoying the feeling, with no desire to interrupt the feeling, or change it.  It was as if I was suspended in the quiet of space, immersed in a sea of sound and motion and sights.  I was there, but not really there.  It is difficult to describe the state of totally quiet observance, not even interrupted by being within my body.  It felt like I could drift like that forever without becoming anxious or bored – I was just in peace.

All good things come to an end.  We finally got across the plateau and started down a bluff to the shore just as dark came upon us.  By the time that we got to the next bit of civilization it was so dark that all that I could see were the lights of houses, outlining a dark void which I assumed was a bay on the lake.  My attention was then drawn more forcefully to the surroundings, the talking of others about our destination – I was back in my body and lost the feeling of floating in peace.  My feeling was one of thanks to this beautiful place for being so open and gentle to me.  I felt as if I had been welcomed to the place and was at home with the mountains, clouds and lake.