For the first thirty years of my life I was quite simply ipso facto nutso-terrified of ghosts and all things “unseen.” This is because I had no idea I am, in addition to being an intuitive, a medium.
This means I am able to practice “mediumship” or sense and communicate with spirits (some deceased, some never born).
[This story will be fully explained in my pending memoirs, Flash Floods + Flood Lights]
This is not a newsflash to those who have been following my blog (thank you!!) or if you are one of my wonderful clients (thank you!! thank you!!).
However, I have never really revealed what a mediumship moment is like for me –and since a dear friend just wrote me, saying, “We really can’t hold back anymore” –I knew I needed to share this very personal-and-sacred-to-me story.
As TV’s lovable and amazingly gifted Long Island Medium, Theresa Caputo, often wisely tells her clients, “Every medium’s gift works differently.”
I appreciate that she acknowledges this, because I know my process works somewhat differently than hers, however I believe the goal is always the same: love and healing.
Now, for the story.
This past week, I visited the glorious Beavertail Park, not far from where I live in 
Jamestown, Rhode Island.
It’s on the Atlantic Ocean and boasts the country’s third oldest lighthouse. On this particular day, the sky could not have been bluer or the waves greener. I mean, glorious.
I went there to walk, meditate and clear my head. There’s a road that threads through the park creating a loop. I usually do two “laps,” which feels like the perfect duration.
During my the second half of my first lap, I began to sense that there was a group of Native American men walking with me, specifically men from the Narragansett tribe.
I feel that they have been connected to this land, their land, for a very long time. Many centuries.
How do I know they’re there?
Great question!
First, I feel them, just as I would feel the presence of living people.
For instance, you know when you sense someone is behind you or next to you?
It’s just like that.
So when I sense these beings who are acting as my guides, it feels quite natural and normal, as though I’m walking with friends.
Then in my mind’s eye (often referred to as the 3rd eye), I begin to see my fellow travelers.
They shift from a “feeling” that they’re there, to a visual experience, so now I can “see” that they’re walking all around me.
How do I know it’s not my imagination?
Hey, another great question!
When I see spirit guides or deceased beings, it’s a very different sensation than looking at a picture or even an actual person. They look very real, but not 2D or 3D.
I believe they’re in their own dimension, one that coexists with ours and I am able to see “into” with it my second sight, or clairvoyance.
When I really focus on them, I see many specific details.
They are barefoot and bare-chested, wearing a minimum of clothing because it’s a warm day. Their clothing is clearly made of sheepskin.
They are carrying spears and walking with intention, their focus being on fishing. They speak to each other, but I can not understand them since I don’t speak their language.
I can also see their skin (tone, coloring), their hair (length, texture), the lines on their faces (some are younger than others), the expressions in their eyes, the condition of their feet.
When they want to communicate to me, they gesture.
At one point during the walk, they indicate that they want me to follow them down to the water (to fish, most likely), but I kindly beg off as I want to keep my pace.
Being the supportive guides that they are, they opt to stick with me on my (our) promenade.
I should mention that while I’m with them, my usually busy mind is quiet, which is how this communion is able to occur. I am very calm and very grounded.
On the second lap, we are in a quiet part of the park that is wooded on either side.
My Native American guides stop walking and point across the drive into the woods.
They want to show me something.
I look into the trees and see three young Revolutionary War-era British soldiers standing there looking at me.
Again, this is in my 3rd eye, but my physical eyes are open.
These soldiers, these boys, all of whom must have been no more that seventeen, are patiently standing there in the trees.
They are wearing the famous red coats (that are rumpled and dirty), tri-corn hats, they are holding their guns with bayonets on the ends, their faces are a little dirty.
Most of all, they looked lost and shocked.
I don’t sense that they died right in the spot where they’re standing (though they may have), but somewhere in the vicinity.
They died a traumatic fashion, probably in an ambush.
A traumatic death can leave an energetic imprint.
This is where it gets complicated, but I believe that when we die, our souls leave our bodies (sometimes even moments before death to spare our souls trauma), but with traumatic deaths (violence, accident, tragedy) a powerful energetic echo can stay behind.
I liken it to getting off an elevator in a hurry, but your coat gets stuck in the door, so your momentarily locked into place against your will.
You can get out of your coat and leave it behind to continue on, but ideally, you’d really like your coat back. You really like that coat.
Now I understand the Narragansett men guided me here so that I can help release these poor young soldiers, whose echos have been “stuck” here since the Revolutionary War due to their traumatic deaths so far from home.
I’m like AAA. Getting them back on their way.
I thanked the Native American spirits for bringing me to the soldiers.
I then proceeded with my healing and clearing process that allows them to transition over to the dimension of light, love, and oneness.
I see the young soldiers turn to leave. Their expressions are no longer shocked, but smiling. They wave good-bye to me to signal that they’re on their way.
These experiences are always incredibly moving to me. I always feels a big chunk of love and compassion to those who died so in such a terrible manner, that part of them still lingers here, in shock.
Now I look into the woods, the young boys are gone. I can see them now “on the other side” looking happy and relieved.
My Native American guides are pleased that this is now accomplished. They contentedly return to their fishing expedition. Before the depart, I thank them for appearing today.
I feel very humbled and grateful to be of service.
My heart is overcome with love.
I head back to my car.
Love,
Alix
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