Posted by: Bruce Proctor | August 29, 2016

Driving along, minding my own business

I was headed on the two-lane highway south from Alamosa, Colorado toward Santa Fe in 1999, pretty much a straight shot. This was completely new territory for me. One town was lined with adobe walls painted bright pastel colors, a delicious and thoroughly un-American joy permeating the place. Occasional cinder cones dotted the plains, small Native American reservations, tall pine highlands.

Driving along, the most curious thing happened: I felt another human consciousness inside my head. Whoa! It was there for just a second. Until that moment, I never had an inkling that such a thing was even possible. It would never have entered my mind. So to speak.

But that second was enough: While this person was looking into my head, I was able to look back at him and see him and his situation.

He was a young, American Indian male, maybe twenty years old. I could see his adobe community and name it, but will not, of course. He was part of a secret group in that community whose task was to keep psychic watch on any strangers entering their territory and warn people, if needed.

For years I never was able to verify in my studies that this could happen. Now I’m aware of any number of corroborations: from Winged Pharoah, to Robert Moss, to Joe McMoneagle. But back then, it shook me up good.

For me, though, the funny thing about this encounter was how shocked this young fellow was to be found out. By anyone, of course. But horror of horrors, “He was a White guy!”

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