We Do Not Take Our Bodies With Us
Developing Psychic Powers
Shona Bear Clark
My first craft sighting was in 1970 in Roxbury, Connecticut, when I was twenty years old. I saw lights through the skylight in my apartment and was told to travel out of the city to an isolated location in the country. A triangular formation maneuvered on the horizon. Then one craft came forward and its light disappeared. The craft proceeded to directly where I was standing; it hovered some two hundred feet above my head. A field of energy transmitted information to me.
I was told that I had work to do pertaining to them. At no time did I feel threatened or afraid. Instead there was a tremendous sense of well-being and confirmation of a more highly advanced technology and presence. I knew that we were not alone.
Finding my cousin Shona Bear, a powerful Indian doctor, has been one of the greatest gifts of my journey.
Shona Bear Clark was born of the Wind Clan and raised on the Creek Indian reservation near Oklahoma City. She descends from a proud line of medicine women. Immersed since childhood in secret knowledge and fluent in the sign language of the Creek, Shona is a practitioner of ritualistic healing arts. My cousin on my mother’s side, she is the mother of seven, grandmother of seventeen, and great-grandmother of one.
My mother started teaching me by drawing circles on my hand, with her hand, from a six-inch distance. Then she would draw squares, then crosses, so I could feel them. She would pull her hand farther back, continuing to concentrate on my hand until I felt what she was drawing.
You have to draw the energy from the base of the skull, where your head sits on your neck, she would tell me. This is the place of the brain stem. My mother taught me that a little farther up in there is a house that sits inside the middle of the brain. This little house is what you clean when you become confused or disturbed. You go in there mentally and wash the house. You unplug the things that are bothering you. You must keep this house very clean and peaceful because it is the center of your being.
You can go there as a place of refuge or you can go there to make contact in other dimensions, to travel the universe. You create a quiet zone, and then you focus between your eyes, right into the middle of your forehead. You look, but your eyes are closed. You see a haze, like a purple mist with a little bit of white to it. Then you will find a small hole. You go through that hole and come to a tiny hole, a much smaller one, and you’ve got to slip through that. Once there, anything is possible. It’s a matter of centering yourself. You can stay there as long as you want. So when I have a need I go inside that little room, project myself out, and travel. Every time I have left my body I have looked back and seen my body. I never once took my body with me on any trip.
I didn’t see a spacecraft until I was twenty-five and my daughter had been badly bitten by a dog. We set off in a couple of cars, myself and my closest family and friends, driving to the hospital as fast as we could. On the way a saucer-shaped object came down from the sky and hovered a short distance above us. It was silver and looked like two saucers, one over the other, with a line around the middle made of windows. We pulled over and got out of the car. There must have been ten of us. Above us we could see figures in the windows. Everyone got scared except my daughter and me. They all got back in the cars and were yelling for us to come too, but we had left our bodies and entered the craft.
The Blonde men I knew from earlier in my life were there, enveloped in a pale blue light. They examined my injured girl, and either cured her or determined that she was not in danger. Then the saucer rose up and disappeared, as if through a hole in the sky. When I looked down from the hole, my daughter and I were on the ground again, staring at each other in amazement. Everyone else had driven off. The next night that craft came back and stayed over my mother’s house for nearly two hours. We weren’t afraid.
There is no difference between the Blonde beings and what people call angels. I didn’t see one of the Blondes again until I was forty-three. It had been a cold winter and my father had pneumonia. On my way to check on him one day I encountered a white man standing in the front yard of my father’s house. I thought he was a preacher. He had blue eyes and shoulder-length hair and was wearing what seemed to be a clergyman’s collar. I passed within three feet of him, paused, and then asked him who he was. He just smiled and said, “Everything is going to be fine.” Then I blinked and he was gone. Inside, my father was greatly recovered. He was in the kitchen making coffee. I asked my mother who the white man was, and she looked out the window and stared at me funny. I told my father about what had happened and he just laughed and said, “Maybe it was my guardian angel.” I went back outside to look for him again, but there weren’t any tracks in the snow.