Beside myself in Puno

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 leaders were leaders who have worked with don Miguel for many years.  The tour “guide” was a gentleman from the Lake Titicaca area who was a very spiritual man, 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 old shaman squatted on the floor in the lobby of the hotel keeping a watchful eye on our group. He wore the tradition 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 breath; 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. 

Toward the end of the trip we headed for Lake Titicaca. On the flight to Peru I met a nice lady who grew up in Peru (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. 

We flew into the Puno airport, which is located somewhere on the northwest side of the lake.  Since I didn’t have any maps, or see any maps, I really had no clear idea about where we were.  We took a bus from the airport to our hotel (in some town which I never did locate or find the name of).  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 casting 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).  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, with round Peruvian ladies in many petticoated 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, until we were just 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 then within myself.  There was a distinct separation in space between my body that feels and touches things to 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 – but with almost no thoughts to interrupt the feeling, or desire to change it.  It was as if I was suspended in the quiet of space, but 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 become anxious or bored - I was just in peace.

Of course, 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, to talking to 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.