David Stewart, professor of geology at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill has been in the public eye since Clarissa Bernhardt, a psychic whom he invited to North Carolina, predicted a major earthquake would occur in the Wilmington area. Bernhardt’s prediction was widely publicized and created a furor. Pushed by reporters, Bernhardt had given as the most likely date January 19, 1976, or anytime within the one-year period from January 5, 1976 to January 5, 1977. Nothing happened. Stewart still believes there is a strong possibility of an earthquake in that area.

Although UNC students once elected him teacher of the year, Stewart has been denied tenure by the senior members of the geology faculty. He says it was a consequence of his association with the psychic, and appealed. He also protested the tenure regulations, which he feels are not based on an objective evaluation of teaching and professional abilities.

This interview was conducted in early January, before the meeting of the faculty hearings committee at which Stewart’s appeal was heard. On January 29, the UNC faculty hearings committee decided that Stewart had failed to prove that the geology department’s decision to deny him tenure was a restriction of his right of free speech or based on personal malice. Acting chairman of the committee, Dr. Daniel H. Pollitt, said that the committee had followed the regulations, but that the regulations needed revision; they plan to meet again.

David Stewart and his wife, Lee, are co-founders and officers of the National Association of Parents and Professionals for Safe Alternatives in Childbirth (NAPSAC). They have edited a book, Safe Alternatives in Childbirth, which is available at local bookstores and from NAPSAC, P.O. Box 1307, Chapel Hill, N.C. 27514 for $5.00 plus $.50 shipping. All profits from the sale of the book, which is now in its second edition, with more than 100,000 copies printed, go to NAPSAC.

 

SUN: Why don’t we start with a little personal background? Where did it all begin?

DS: I’m a Missourian. I grew up right on the Mississippi River. The most important part of my childhood was spent just wandering in the woods. I spent a lot of time in nature. Mostly alone. If I could, I’d get a friend to go with me, but usually I’d walk their legs off. There were a lot of caves and real high bluffs, things to explore.

There were four children in my family, two boys and two girls. I was the oldest of the four. My father was a chemist, but he worked in a factory for a long time and didn’t care for that so eventually he went into teaching. My mother is also a teacher. My two sisters are both teachers. Both my grandmothers were teachers; both my grandfathers were superintendents of schools. Several of my aunts are teachers. So education is my heritage.

SUN: Did you start out planning to be a teacher, then?

DS: No, science was always my main interest as a child, but religion is the dominant thing in my life, always has been. I was born a Methodist, so I intended to go into the Methodist ministry for a long time, but to incorporate into that a lot of scientific thinking. I wanted to be a minister who was skilled and knowledgeable in the sciences because that’s the way our society is today.

After two and a half years of pre-theological training at Central Methodist College in basic religion, philosophy, English — skills you would need to preach with — I decided I was really not the type. I’d never make it. In the first place, I have always believed in reincarnation. I was born believing in it. I don’t remember specifics of past lives, but I’ve always felt I’ve lived before. I remember once when I was four years old, I mentioned this to my mother and she laughed at me. That’s the last time I ever had a philosophical discussion with my mother.

So anyway, I got steeped in the Methodist tradition and got away from reincarnation for a few years, but it kept coming in the back of my mind. Finally when I went away to college I decided, “Doggone it, I have believed in reincarnation all my life. I don’t care if the Methodist church believes in reincarnation or not, I have to. I’m not going to worry about proving or disproving or what anybody else thinks, that’s my belief!” But I still wanted to be a Methodist minister. Finally I told a minister friend of mine about my ideas — actually he’s my uncle — and a few months later he told me, “I’m going to recommend that you don’t go into this ministry because your ideas are not Methodist — you just don’t fit.” And it shocked me because I had not been able to admit that to myself.

Then I suddenly felt free. I realized that it wasn’t really me that wanted to be a Methodist minister anyway, it was my parents’ idea. Then I asked myself, “What do I really want to be?” and I didn’t know — so I quit college. I was completely free and had no responsibilities. First I went out and lived in the woods for three weeks just to prove I could live off of nature, get my own food, and survive. This was in ’58. And I read. Something I always wanted to do was read Eugene O’Neill’s plays, so for about three weeks, I read every play of his I could get.

Then I went hitchhiking. I decided I wanted to see the USA. I must have logged about 25 or 30,000 miles hitchhiking. I visited more than 40 states, Canada and Mexico. I spent a few months in Texas in a Methodist camp. At the time I became a vegetarian. I ate meat while I was in the woods, and I had to kill with my own hands; finally I just got to the point when I knew this wasn’t right — you don’t have to kill to live. I read a book about the life of Mahatma Ghandi and decided I was just not going to do it anymore, so I set a date. The night before I was going to become a vegetarian we had pork and I gorged myself. And then I went off meat, and didn’t eat it for four or five years, until I got married.

I also thought if it’s wrong to kill to eat meat, it must be wrong to kill for any other animal product, so I didn’t wear shoes. I spent two months in Texas running around barefooted at this camp. I loved it. I was the recreation director for the camp: singing, playing games, telling jokes, doing skits; I was the camp comedian for two months. It helped me get my head straight.

Then I thought, “I’m going to do something different, I’m going to see the thirteen original colonies in thirteen days on thirteen dollars, just to do it.” So I did. I found I could hitchhike indefinitely for a dollar a day. I didn’t sleep in motels, I slept on the ground, under bridges and culverts, anyplace. Frequently I was invited to people’s homes. And if it rained I’d find a church someplace and sleep on the carpet. Normally I could depend on one meal a day from the people I was riding with. They could see I wasn’t carrying much, and they’d ask me if I’d eaten. But I never asked anybody for anything and there were days when I went without food and got pretty awful hungry. But you know you can go days without food.

I was also looking for a place to go. I finally decided about that time that I was going to disappear. I had come to the conclusion that religion was the most important thing — the religious life. And that Christ was not intended to be some sort of abstraction, that His example was real. And that His goal was attainable. That everybody was supposed to attain Christhood; we weren’t supposed to think, “He did it, but we can’t,” but in fact we were equal. We just weren’t showing it, that’s all. And I thought the reason we weren’t showing it is we aren’t meditating and praying. At that time I had not heard of Yoga or Hinduism, I didn’t know anything about it except my own little philosophy. But I drew these conclusions and I thought, “That has to be the truth!”

So I decided, “I’m going to find this truth. I’m going to disappear from the world. I’m not going to tell my parents or anybody.” I knew I could live in the woods, and I was going to pray for the rest of my life and find out the secrets of the universe. So part of my hitchhiking was the search for that place. I had decided on West Virginia, so I set a date to leave in October of 1958 and went back to stay a month or so with my parents. Ten or fifteen years later, I might come back to civilization, but nobody would know where I was. It was obvious to me I’ve done this before; I know I’ve spent many years in past lives in retreat.

There were people who had been trying to get me to read this particular book, The Autobiography of a Yogi. In fact somebody gave me an ad one day back in 1957, and said, “Maybe you ought to buy this book.” I had that little ad up on my bulletin board in college with Yogananda’s picture on it, but I never read the book. What I didn’t know at the time was that this was my guru the whole time, and his picture was right there in my college dorm room. But the time wasn’t right. Finally a friend of mine who had been my piano teacher sat down with me — it was the 19th of September, 1958, the day before my 21st birthday — and she said, “I want you to sit down there, and I’m going to read this, and then I want you to take this book home and read it.” Just like that. And she read me the back cover of the book, a thing about how he had died and his body had never decayed, and that just all of a sudden rung something in me. I didn’t let her finish, picked up the book, went home, and started reading. I thought, “This is it. I don’t have to go to West Virginia, I’m supposed to go to one of these ashrams.”

 

So I started making preparations. I gave everything I owned away except the clothes on my back. I gave all my clothes to the Salvation Army, all my books to the prison library, burned every bridge. I didn’t even write out to the fellowship in California; I was just going to surprise them because I thought if I told them I was coming they might refuse me. I headed out for California, and got there just a couple of days before Thanksgiving. There were several ashrams in California. I went to the one nearest to San Diego, which was Encinitas. There was a little motel right next to it. I had at that time about ten bucks left. Two things that I love to eat are mayonnaise and potato chips. I thought, “This is my last fling,” so I got a bag of potato chips and a jar of mayonnaise and ate them both. Then what money I had left over I donated to some passerby, presented myself at the ashram, and said, “Here I am.” They said, “Are you a member of the organization? Have you been taking the lessons? We don’t accept anybody who hasn’t taken at least six months of lessons.” I thought, “Well geez, what do I do now? I don’t have a penny.” And I thought, “This isn’t right, I’m supposed to be here; I’m supposed to be in this monastery.”

I decided that I wasn’t supposed to wait six months. I made up my mind that I was going to sleep on the doorstep because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. That day, in the middle of the afternoon, I had an impulse to go out, and I bumped into Shraddhamata, the acting president of the organization who happened to be walking down the hall at the time. She looked at me and immediately made a decision to accept me — just like that. So I went into the monastery, and stayed there for three and a half years.

I intended to spend my whole life there, and never wavered from that conviction until two weeks before I actually left in May of 1962. The work of the organization was carried out by monks, and the nuns, who were separated. We didn’t talk to them or communicate particularly, except in writing for administrative purposes. They trained me and sent me to Los Angeles Trade Technical Institute as a photographer. I acted also as secretary to the public relations director. We meditated morning and evening, and weekends, and had instructions and classes. But we also put in a regular 40-hour week like anybody else. Once a week I went down to a church in Hollywood and played the organ for the Thursday service. One Thursday night in April I came in late; all the monks were already in bed or meditating, and there was nobody around. I was totally alone. I was outside under the stars in the ashram courtyard doing my Yogic exercises for the evening. All of a sudden, almost as if it were spoken, a message came. It said, “Your monastic karma is finished. You are to go back in the world. You are to marry Lee Pomeroy. You are to have five children. You are to concentrate on family life. It doesn’t matter what you do particularly as an occupation; your main goal is to be a parent and a father and concentrate on family life.” It was really a shock to me because I didn’t want to leave, I had never wanted to. What was particularly interesting was that the spouse and the number of children were even named.

SUN: Did you know Lee then?

DS: I knew her. We had met on three occasions before I went into the monastery, but we had never dated or anything like that. For all I knew she was married. Four years is a long time. But I did know that she was a teacher in Sacramento, California.

So I didn’t want to go. I was really upset. Of course you never knew whether it’s a true message to follow, or just some kind of transient temptation to do something you oughtn’t. The next morning I talked to my immediate superior, and he said I should think about it. I approached then the president of the organization, Sri Dayamata, whom I consider to be a real saint of the times. She was the most intuitive and highly spiritual person I have ever known. I told her and she said, “That’s right, that’s what you’re supposed to do. You’re ready for it. If you had done it earlier, you wouldn’t have been.” And this was another shock to me, because I was hoping she would talk me out of it, but she didn’t. As soon as she said that, I decided, “Well, I’ve got to do it.”

So I sent a telegram to Sacramento to Lee. I didn’t tell her I was leaving the monastery; in fact I was kind of sly, I said I was going to be in Sacramento for a few days and I wouldn’t mind seeing her while I was there. Amazingly, she sent me back a bus ticket — a one-way bus ticket.

SUN: Somebody must have been talking to her, too.

DS: Yeah, right. Because she didn’t realize my intentions. So I went to Sacramento and we spent four days together. But we didn’t get together at that time. Now, people who haven’t been through the experience don’t realize when you’ve spent that much time outside of the world, coming back is such an adjustment. It’s like getting out of prison or coming to a new country. I wasn’t even sure I had a Social Security number anymore. The simple social things I had forgotten — it was strange — like learning to walk again. So we parted and I went back to Missouri and enrolled at Central Missouri State College in Warrensburg and she stayed in California. She still had a teaching contract. That summer she came to Missouri, so I went down and visited her at her home. The second day I was there we decided to get married right away, the first of September, which was only three weeks away. All of her stuff was in California, so we borrowed a car and drove there, got her stuff, she cut all her strings out there, and we got back just in time to have the wedding. We never dated; I had seen her five times in four years, in four different states. Lee and I recognized each other as old friends of the past immediately. It took four years before we realized our destinies were linked in this life. But linked they are. Together we have a mission in this life. Its just one of those things that’s been written in gold somewhere, and was intended to be. It’s all in the flow of the plan.

SUN: Can you tell us something about Yogananda and his system of Kriya yoga?

DS: The best introduction is to refer your readers to his Autobiography of a Yogi. But, briefly, Yogananda was a realized master and avatar who came to the United States in the 1920’s. He established the Self-Realization Fellowship which has ashrams for renunciates here and in India. He consciously left his body in 1952 at a public gathering at the Biltmore Hotel in downtown Los Angeles, the same place he stayed when he first arrived in that city. Because his citizenship was not certain the authorities would not permit his body to be buried for about twenty days. Since his casket had a glass cover, it was clear that his body did not decay within that time. This is unusual. Most bodies are starting to decay by the time they are buried. No amount of embalming fluid can halt that process. However, there are other saints whose bodies are known not to have decayed for an unusually long period of time. Sometime within the next decade his followers will dig up his body to check on its state of preservation.

Kriya yoga is a psychophysical technique that enables you to magnetize your spine and focus concentration inward so you can meditate and reduce karma. The technique is given only by initiation after taking the Fellowship’s lessons for a period of time, but it basically consists of meditative, breathing, and mantric, or sound, parts. Meditation puts you in touch with your true being. You can never be a successful or competent person until you know who you are or are not. People think they are the body, the ego, or the mind. By daily meditation, you can go beyond this. The first step toward a happy life is to figure out who you are and how you fit in with the universe.

SUN: Do you feel your monastic experience changed you greatly?

DS: It didn’t change me. It was in perfect harmony with how I felt and still do. The only changes it brought about were a complete reinforcement of childhood feeling that I’d always had. Like coming home. Find this path was just what I was looking for. I’m still on the path. Leaving the monastery was just taking on a new assignment from my guru, that’s all.

 

After I left the monastery, I didn’t know what to do. I’m a Virgo, if that means anything to you, and am interested in intellectual truth. School was my bag. First, I studied history at Central Missouri, then business, then considered being a lawyer. After that I though, what about the life sciences? That was fascinating. Everything is fascinating to me, math and physics especially. I had a deep yen to understand what science was all about, what its limits were, and what it could do for you. I have now discovered that science does not even touch the truth. But then I wanted to find out about science in the most fundamental way — by studying physics and math. I enrolled in Missouri School of Miners at Rolla. It was a very rigorous, tough school. I put in three times as much work as at Warrensburg and got my B.S. in physics in ’65. We had a baby by the time we were in Rolla. Financially, it’s not usually too feasible unless the wife works, but we thought it important that Lee stay with the baby. So, I tried to live simply, work, and go to school at the same time. I taught piano lessons for two years, but I always put my family first.

After that we went to Southern California for two years to work with the U.S. geological survey studying ground water problems. I was hired as a hydrologist. Eventually I decided I didn’t want a job that kept taking me away from home. Plus with all the smog and noise in Southern California, I had to meditate ten times as much to stay even. We decided that we would not live in the city as long as our children were growing. So, we left to go back to Missouri. I wrote to the chairman of the geology department at Rolla. He wrote back offering me a full-time four year fellowship leading to a Ph.D. in geophysics. I graduated in ’71, then came to Chapel Hill. My studying geophysics was a complete fluke. I just recognized it as the next step.

I may or may not remain active in the geologic sciences. Probably not. It was an interim thing in my life. I’ll probably spend full time in the childbirth movement. That’s part of what was meant by the message to concentrate on family life.

SUN: How did you and Lee get involved in natural childbirth?

DS: We got into that the same way we got into everything else, and that is through intuition. Everything I do related to religion. I don’t understand a compartmentalized philosophy — you go to church here and do your job there, and your family is over there. To me it’s all one. So when we got pregnant, we looked on this person who was going to come into our lives as a human, as a soul equal to our own; and perhaps someone from whom we could learn. We wanted to treat that soul with the respect that was its due, and the hospital childbirth procedure is just outrageous — it’s cruel, it’s barbaric, and it’s physically and mentally damaging. We have no idea to what extent mental retardation, learning disabilities, so many problems in our society today go right back to obstetrics. We went to a doctor, and we said I wanted to be present at the birth, we didn’t want any drugs administrated to Lee, and we wanted to keep the baby with us after birth. Intellectually we had very solid grounds for not wanting to be separated. If you were to take a mama cat’s litter away from her at birth and bring them back in 24 hours, she would reject them; she’d probably kill them. It’s a mammalian impulse. The mother has to be with that baby for the first few hours uninterrupted for the identification to take place. And that’s one possible reason why we have so much alienation among our teenagers today. Children are thinking their parents are masked monsters without mouths because that’s the first sight they see in hospitals.

Well, the doctor said the hospital procedures wouldn’t allow this, so we said how about a birth at home? His first reaction was, “People have been that for centuries, why not?” Then all of a sudden he caught himself, got red in the face, and stomped out of his office in a rage at the thought. He sent his secretary in there, and she said, “You’re dismissed, five dollars please.” We were shocked. What should we do? So we began to study and do a lot of meditating, and a lot of intuitive feeling about it, and we knew intuitively everything was going to be all right. Intellectually, we were still a little troubled, so we did a lot of reading. I read an obstetrics book, and the horrors in that book — such as that drugs are one of the leading causes of death in infants — were enough to convince us home had to be the place.

So we gave birth to the baby, the two of us, in our apartment. The next baby we had, we told the doctor, “We had our last baby at home and we want to have this one at home, too. We need you for pre-natal care, and if we have any problems with delivery, we’ll call you. If that’s not agreeable to you, we’ll see someone else.” He said that was fine. Now the doctors don’t argue with us anymore.

We have had all our five children at home unattended, without a doctor or a midwife. It wasn’t our choice in the beginning. We wanted dearly to have a medical attendant, but none were available. Our last two, we could have had an attendant, but we’ve learned that most attendants are trained for hospital procedures which would be hazardous at home. Unless specifically trained and experienced in home birth, a medical attendant may or may not be an asset. This places a tremendous burden of responsibility on the parents. I can’t recommend anyone else do what we did, it was strictly our own personal thing. It might not work for anyone else, but it was right for us.

SUN: Your major concern right now is your appeal of denial of tenure by the UNC geology department.

DS: Yes, when I came here, I took an intuitive look at the future, and I could never see myself as a professor retiring from this university. I’ve always known that I wasn’t going to be here. I wasn’t sure how I would go, whether it would be voluntarily or how it would be. I am going all out with my case, because that’s something, too, that has to be done. There is a tremendous injustice, not to me personally, but to hundreds of others like me. It’s been going on for more than a hundred years. Good people get let go at universities, and almost none of them ever appeal their cases, because they were threatened. I know I was. They threatened me with professional blackmail. “Don’t appeal and we’ll give you good recommendations for your next job.” Well, I know what I’m supposed to do, and my jobs don’t come from their recommendations. They come from elsewhere, so I just don’t worry about it. And I also know that this is a role that I have to play out here, which may or may not result in winning my case; but it will certainly help a lot of others to follow. It will certainly make some points on matters of principle. It’s no apparent to the public at large, and to the student body and the rest of the faculty how arbitrary the system is. As a matter of fact, the department is not required to give any reason whatsoever for letting you go. In fact, they don’t have to give you tenure at this university no matter how excellent your record is. You could have been a Nobel prize winner, you could be the most famous person in your field, and they don’t have to give you tenure. They can simply justify your dismissal by saying, “This guy is great. We know he’s the leading world’s expert, but he’s an expert on green rocks. And we need a guy who knows red rocks.” And that’s the way it is. So when it comes right down to it, with all the pretense of objectivity, of going by your publications and considering your teaching, none of it counts. It’s a fraternity clear and simple; they vote you in if they like you and vote you out if they don’t. And just like a fraternity, the blackballs are anonymous and behind closed doors. You don’t know who they came from and you never will.

But I have every expectation of getting a fair hearing. My only hope is that the hearings committee will realize what a stacked deck it is, and be willing not to cop out — to become involved. I hope they are going to jump in and try to do something to prevent this kind of arbitrariness in the future. You see, if they do get involved this would be a precedent. This is a new committee. This is the first case they’ve tried. And it’s a new set of regulations; this is the first time they’ve been tested. So what they decide in my case is going to have an impact for a long time.

SUN: Many feel that your involvement with Clarissa Bernhardt, the psychic who predicted an earthquake in Wilmington, and your friendship with parapsychology in general, may have been the reason behind your not being given tenure. How did all this come about?

DS: I have always had an interest in that kind of thing. Psychic phenomena are something I have to believe in if I believe in myself, because I’ve had a lot of experiences. Except for one brief visit with J.B. Rhine back in 1958 during my hitchhiking tours, I hadn’t had much contact with parapsychology except conversations and reading a few books once in a while. But I was deeply concerned about the earthquake risk in the Wilmington area because the geological data down there do look ominous. In 1974 it came to my attention, through routine geology publications, that the levels for the whole east coast appeared to be slightly sinking, except for Southport (40 miles south of Wilmington), which appeared to be rising. There’s a nuclear power plant at Southport.

There are many signs of an impending earthquake. Some of these are changes in magnetic fields, ground water pressure, ground water temperature, gravitational fields, uplift. These physical changes indicate stresses building up that will then snap and revert back to the original state. I checked other people’s date, such as ground water level, since I had no means of obtaining my own. I found that there was a high pressure problem in that area for which there was no explanation. All this could mean that there will be a major earthquake within a decade, but it’s not conclusive because the signs could be there with no earthquake. Two independent approximations rate the magnitude of the possible earthquake as measuring 7-8 on the Richter scale. There have only been four that large in the last century. The biggest ever measured was 8.9. But I can give no probability with such ambiguous geological data. It’s anybody’s guess what the hypothetical danger would be, depending on how badly the plant was damaged. If the cooling system failed it might melt the steel of the plant permitting huge, explosive, radioactive clouds of steam to escape. Everywhere they blew would be a path of death. Where would depend on the wind conditions at the time.

 

My datawere convincing enough that the Nuclear Regulatory Commission has required that Carolina Power and Light Company put instrumentation at at the power plant down there to check this out. CP&L spent a lot of money and a lot of months trying to disprove my scientific findings and could not, so I feel that as a physical scientist I’ve certainly been put to the test and passed.

I heard of Bernhardt through a National Enquirer which I picked up in March, 1975. I bought that copy, as I always do when I see anything about earthquakes. I had received a number of letters and seen other articles on psychics predicting earthquakes in the past, and never any successes. It had been a complete strikeout. But she had been successful and extremely precise. She predicted two more in that Enquirer, so I wrote the dates on my calendar to see how she did. One was, I think, May 25, and there was an earthquake on that date, the biggest in the world in five years. But it was in the wrong place. Her other prediction was for November 29, so I decided to wait until then and if she hit that one, I’d think about it some more. November 29 there was an earthquake in Hawaii, the biggest one since 1868. Hawaii doesn’t have many large earthquakes. If you want to predict an earthquake and you want to have a chance of being right, don’t say Hawaii, say California or Japan or someplace like that. But, though it wasn’t printed in The Enquirer (which has a policy of not printing places of earthquake predictions so as not to cause alarm), the reporter who wrote the article told me Clarissa had said Hawaii. So she got the place and the date right, and hit the biggest earthquake in a hundred years. Now that’s no accident.

So I called her on the telephone and said I was a seismologist from North Carolina. Immediately she said, “You know I’m really concerned about a nuclear power plant at Wilmington, North Carolina. There’s something really wrong down there.” I said, “Well, that’s what I was hoping you could tell me about. I think maybe there’s a possibility of an earthquake down there. I’ve read about your past successes, it’s most incredible, and if you could shed some light on this we’d appreciate it.” She said she’d do better if she visited the site, and she’d see if she could arrange it. She had no money, and I had none. She said, however, she lectured, and if I could arrange some lectures, they might pay for her trip. I arranged two through Jerry Solfvin of the Psychical Research Foundation, just enough to pay her plane fare and a little bit extra. People tried to say she did it for the money, but she didn’t get anything out of it.

I was hoping she might tell us, “Wilmington’s OK, nothing’s going to happen.” But, instead, she made that startling prediction. It was on the 5th of January, 1975, and she said within a year there’s going to be a major earthquake in the Wilmington region. I didn’t know what to do. I conferred with Bill Roll and Jerry Solfvin at the Psychical Research Foundation, and also the National Earthquake Center out in Denver. It was my opinion and the general consensus to make it public, but just to give the facts, which I did. I told the press she’d been right before; you can make out of it what you want to. The geological data correspond to the prediction. That’s all I stated to the newspapers. Just because I’m a seismologist doesn’t make me an expert on psychic predictions evaluation. For that matter, even a parapsychologist couldn’t tell you whether this was going to be true.

SUN: That would have to be just another psychic prediction on their part.

DS: Yes, and then it’s their psychic prediction, which doesn’t do you any good. Since then I have heard of three other psychics, including Jeanne Dixon, who without any communication from each other or Clarissa, over the past three years, have predicted a large earthquake in that area. But they differed on the times. I’d say psychics are better at predicting events than times of events.

Anyway, I have no regrets. It was all I could do within the framework of my past research. And what will ultimately come of it, who knows?