Belief is in the Eye of the Believer
Big O Tires, a ‘67 Impala and an out-of-body experience.
Matthew Galgani
I was a newly licensed driver, 16 years old and working at Big O Tires. My boss told me to go pick up a couple of tires from a nearby store, and gave me the keys to a 1967 Chevy Impala. It was a boat of a car that he planned to give to his daughter when she turned 16.
Happy to not be painting retreads — a process that involved wearing what looked like a blacksmith’s leather apron while holding a sponge soaked in black paint and pressing it against used tires as I spun them around — I gladly got in the car and headed out.
After picking up the tires and starting to head back to the store, I still remember what was on the radio: Brown Sugar by the Rolling Stones.
As I cruised along, reveling in the new-found independence of being a licensed driver, I noticed a cardboard box in the middle of the road. Instinctively, I swerved to miss it.
I found out later that the sudden motion actually snapped the steering column, meaning I no longer had control of the car. What happened next was a blur. But here’s what I "remember" happening.
The Impala swerved right, then left, then right again. Luckily, it was a two-lane road with a suicide lane and no cars were nearby. At least, if there were, I didn’t hit any of them.
My next “memory” was of a wooden telephone pole rapidly coming right at me at. At least that’s how it played out in my head.
Out-Of-Body Experience, Not Out Of Mind
I knew I was done for. But just as I waited for impact, I felt a sense of detached peace. I was going to die, but at that moment, I understood it wouldn’t hurt. I instantly detached from by body, and was watching the action from above but somehow still inside the car. It was a true out-of-body experience. My soul or spirit or something knew with calm certainty that my body was toast, but some "essence" of me would survive in peace.
I have no recollection of returning to my body, but I obviously did. When I came back to reality, I was surprised to be uninjured other than a bruise on my shin.
When I got out of the car, I remember a woman who had witnessed the accident telling the onlookers that I must have been driving “like a bat out of hell.” I don’t remember speeding, but when I surveyed the damage, I couldn’t blame her for assuming that.
A large streetlight was smashed and tumbled over on its side in the middle of the road, and I had wiped out what looked like 20 feet of wooden fence. Miraculously, I had only hit the strip of "forgiving" fence and somehow missed the large cement pillar right next to it. The front grill of the Impala had a deep, conclave dent that perfectly matched the shape of that unforgiving wooden telephone pole I had apparently challenged to a game of chicken. The impact had forced the Impala to swing out to the left, where it sideswiped and knocked down the streetlight.
When I finally got back to the office — without the car, of course — and explained to my boss what had happened, I expected to get fired, or at least yelled at. But he essentially laughed it off, saying he was just glad I wasn’t hurt.
I recall him chuckling about how his daughter would be happy it happened. She’d get a nicer car, something less embarrassing for a teenage girl to be driving in the 1980s than a ‘67 Impala.
I still appreciate how understanding he was. And I also haven’t forgotten that brief out-of-body experience.
Did it really happen? Are such things even possible?
I think that falls into the category of “belief is in the eye of the believer.” All I know is that it proved to me that there is something beyond this body and this life. What form that takes, I have no idea.
But that day took away any fear of the process of dying. (Of course, I thought I was invincible at that age, any way.)
That's not to say death doesn't have its downsides, or that getting T-boned in a violent collision would be a lark. But I do think — I do believe — that when we eventually (or suddenly) enter that stage where the soul separates from the body, it will not be a painful process. We'll have transcended the concept of pain at that point. We'll witness the process "from above," rather than suffer the physical reality.
Maybe that’s nonsensical. But maybe not. All I can say with certainty is that it gives me peace of mind — and provides yet another example of that fine line between faith and delusion.
Have you had an out-of-body experience? Share your story here.