To my son, Gideon

What is the happiest you have ever been in your life?  You know, that moment everything around you dissipates, your smile stretches ear to ear, and your gut churns Monarch butterflies. I become myopic and all I see are the results displayed in a holy, blue cross. “Amor, I am pregnant,” Andrea exclaims on September 10, 2009. For the first time in my life, time suspended. Nothing makes sense, but yet oddly enough, I seem to align with an estranged higher self. “I am going to be a dad? I am going to be responsible for another human being?” I repeatedly question myself. A few days after the blissful high, my dreams of fatherhood are suddenly yanked from underneath me. On September 15, 2009, Andrea’s OBGYN delivers the darkest news of my life. “You are having a miscarriage,” as a pool of blood forms at the bottom of the examining table. “You need to go home, rest, and let the process occur naturally. If it makes you feel any better, I have been pregnant seven times and have three beautiful children,” says the OBGYN’s assistant as tears pour down a picture-perfect world Andrea and I have constructed.  We walk out of the OBGYN’s office; a blood trail behind us highlights our exit while a crumpled world ahead looms over our future. “Andrea will be a mortuary and our home a grave for Baby A,” I morbidly think as I mindlessly hand over my credit card to pay the $25 copay.  Then we were on our way to a radiologist for a sonogram.  The results were confirmed, “See the sack?  There is supposed to be a fetal pole in there and I do not see one,” says the technician as we stare blankly at the empty circular blob on the screen.

For a few days, thoughts of a miscarriage dominated our world. We waited three long days for the results of a blood test.  Since it was so early in the pregnancy, the only sure way to confirm was with a blood test.  Despite the bleak results we were initially given, we somehow held onto a glimmer of hope. Blood results were in, Andrea was still pregnant. Contrary to the OBGYN’s early prognosis, on May 23, 2010, God blessed us with a vibrant, rambunctious, and defiant baby girl, Giselle.

Sometime in September 2014, on my lunch hour, a meditation abruptly brought forth a dark past I had locked away in the deepest chasm in my mind. After my meditation, I called Andrea sobbing. Baby A, or Gideon as I later named him, stepped forwarded and made his presence known.

I followed my routine of meditating. I prayed to God, asked for his protection and guidance. I set my intentions to receive any messages from God and His Angels. After five minutes of concentrating on my inhales and exhales, I felt a presence. The presence was new to me. At that time, I had limited exposure to Spirits. After a few minutes of concentrating on the presence, I deduced it was a toddler; a boy. I acknowledged his presence and asked him to step forward. As any other toddler would, Baby A shows off his toys. Suddenly, my mind’s eye is a stage for a Show and Tell. “Wow, you love tyrannosaurus rex uh,” I proclaim as he shoves the dinosaur in my face. I remain grounded and focused on the beautiful moment I am sharing with Baby A. The cacophony of a little boy playing with his dinosaurs is a sweet symphony in my ear. I recall thinking, “Wow, this is the same noise Giselle makes when playing with toys.” After the Show and Tell ends, Baby A jumps on my lap. Yes, you read that correctly, I feel a soul jump on my lap. Innately, I am not frightened. Contrary, I was entranced by this celestial encounter. While Baby A was on my lap and running his hands on my face, an immense sense of love overcomes me. It was not a Cupid-flung arrow kind of love. It was that immense love when a father holds his child for the first time. “Wait, I know you,” I whisper as he showers me with Eskimo kisses. My brain finally syncs to my heart. “Yes, Giselle was to be born alone. One of us had to go. It was her time,” Baby A tells me. A tear runs down my face. I feel a soft, tender kiss as he wraps his hands around me. “I do not want this moment to end. Please suspend time,” I beg God. “It’s Giselle’s turn to be here. I am watching after Giselle and Gabriel. I love you and mommy so much. Please give mommy a big kiss for me,” as Baby A continues. “What is my name? I would love to have a name. What is my name, Daddy?” I reply, “Gideon Aguilar; Gideon, after God’s brave solider.” A barrage of stars, confetti, balloons, hearts, and firecrackers flood my mind’s eye. I felt and saw his excitement after I named him. “Thank you, Daddy. I love it. Please tell mommy, Giselle, and Gabriel about me. I love my family so much. Can I get a Christmas stocking too?” My composure is a covered pan of boiling water. I say, “Of course Gideon. I love you so much.” He gives me a gentle hug and interlaces our fingers together. Unfortunately for me, time is up. My supplication for time suspension is not answered. Gideon’s presence vanishes.

Gideon is very much part of our family.

Gideon’s visit taught me so much. Souls are part of every pregnancy; even as early as five weeks as it was in our case. Although I am not sure specifically at what time a soul enters a body, I speculate it is even before conception. Souls continue to be part of your family. Growing up, Giselle talked to imaginary friends. When she turned two, she became scared of “bad guys” in her room. In that special visit, Gideon validated that he just wanted to play and apologized for scaring her. The connection between you and soul is very much natural and real. Four years after Andrea’s miscarriage, I instinctively recognized Gideon when he jumped on my lap. An ethereal cord connects us to passed-love ones. Souls love to be named and included as family. In my experience, when I give readings, Spirit validates a miscarriage, the souls make it a point to be named and remembered. For those of you who know my children, you may witness Giselle and Gabriel talking about Gideon and how he is in heaven watching them. Also, you may hear them describe their dreams and visits with Gideon. As for Andrea and me, we pray and talk with him often. Although I may not feel Gideon as I did the first time, he definitely leaves a trail of dinosaurs behind to show us he is present.

When Angels Speak, Listen

I give my kids and wife a kiss goodbye for the day as I walk out of the house. The morning sun shines through the rainy clouds on this Wednesday workday. Car keys in hand and a gym bag on my shoulders; I take a deep breath and drown my lungs in the fresh-rain smell. I get in my car and back out of the driveway. Kidd Kraddick’ Beat the Bank is on. “Your back pack, get your backpack,” I hear. By now, I should know better. When Spirit speaks, I normally listen; however, as a husband and father, selective listening often trumps. backpackI shake off the message. Twenty minutes later, I exit Hulen Street when I hear my Angels say, “Your backpack, get your backpack.” This time, I see my Eddie Bauer, red and black backpack in my mind’s eye. “There is no way I forgot my backpack this time,” I reassure myself. A month ago, I forgot my backpack that stores my work laptop. I made what I thought were idiot-proof steps to prevent forgetting my work laptop again. I arrive at work, open the truck, only to realize my backpack is missing. “Damn it!” I cowardly admit my mistake and send a text to my boss, “I am here at the parking lot. I just noticed I left my laptop at home. I will be an hour late,” I type. I apologize not only to my boss, but to Spirit. I was most bothered that I did not listen. When Spirit was speaking, I did not listen. I permitted logic to override my inner guidance. All too often, I encounter similar stories. As a medium, I merely validate the awesomeness of Spirit to friends and clients.

A friend recently shared a new article she stumbled across. reports that on April 23, 2015, a wife in Utah was overwhelmed by a “funny feeling”. The reporter chronicles Nicole Mayhew’s story (see story). After a couple of hours of subsiding her intuition, she surrendered to her guidance, took off work, only to find her husband trapped under their SUV. Nicole’s husband had been trapped under their SUV for an hour and half and suffered six broken ribs. She tells reporters, “I just believe a spirit told me.” “I believe that there’s angels around us. My Heavenly Father was with him.”

Similarly, about two months ago, my brother shared a story that left my sister-in-law, my wife, and me completely amazed by God and His guardian angels. My brother and his crew were working overnight. After a long night, they headed back to their hotel. According to my brother, he usually sits in the front passenger seat and seldom wears his helmet while in the truck. This specific night, something told him to crawl in the back seat, behind the driver, and put on his helmet. He recalls, “Something just told me to take the back seat.” Minutes after he closed his eyes, he woke up to the sound of glass shattering. Heavy railroad equipment had penetrated the front window of the truck and utterly dismantled the passenger side. Had my brother been in the front passenger seat as he was accustomed, he is absolutely confident that he would have died. My brother, a chronic skeptic, this time innately surrendered to his intuition. “It was abuela,” I told him, our grandmother. She was with him that night.

When I work with clients and friends, passed-love ones often validate the nudges, or signs they give to help intervene. “Yes, what you felt/what you saw was real,” I enthusiastically confirm. “Yes, the number 444 or 44 is a sign of her communicating with you,” I recently shared with a friend. “The number 444 or 44 means Guardian Angels are with you.” On a separate occasion, I shared with a client that I heard R. Kelly’s “I believe I can fly”. At the time of the reading, my client could not make a connection. A few weeks after, she confirmed she randomly heard it. At the moment she heard the song, the situation around her suddenly made sense. Her passed-loved one validated that precise moment. Last week while sharing drinks with a buddy, I said, “Yes, that feeling you have regarding organizing a hunting trip with your cousins is real. Your grandfather keeps showing me this very specific hunting gun. Your grandfather is giving you that nudge to organize the hunting trip. He completely supports the idea.”

In both Nicole Mayhew’s and my brother’s case, Spirit, inner guidance, inner voice, or Guardian Angels (whatever your preference may be), triumphed. When I am channeling a passed-love one, I simply validate that funny feeling you may have, those subtle divine nudges, or oddly recurring “signs” you are seeing. Trust your intuition. Trust your inner compass. Trust in Spirt. Trust in Him. You may not pay attention the first time, or you may ignore it altogether; however, when spirit speaks, take it from me, and listen.


I walk by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). That is what I tell myself to brush off comments that associate my gift as black magic, lump it with “other religions,” or assume I am just playing off peoples’ emotions. I completely understand it. As a reformed skeptic, those same sentiments flooded my mind when my wife turned the T.V to TLC’s Long Island Medium or when I listened to Doreen Virtue on Hayhouse Radio. I am not a politician or sales man. I make no attempts to change your mind nor am I bothered by your cynic countenance. “As a Christian, and a believer in Angels, I walk by faith,” is what I recently told a new friend as I delivered a message from a passed love one. Yep, that is right. For the first time, I stepped outside my comfort zone of family and close friends. I exposed myself and felt like I was completely naked in front of an audience. “Milestone achieved,” I said to myself. I surpassed another milestone: the holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening milestone.

After a year’s worth of practice and recognizing symbols, I am able to discern what occurs when I feel someone try to communicate. Think of the game Charades, only amplified with muffled sounds, songs and random pain. Sounds fun right? Let me explain. First, I always get a “knock”. Instead of a soft doorbell sound or the standard three-knock on the door, I feel this immense pressure on my chest. The pressure resembles an anxiety pain; however, it is isolated to my chest and unlike when I experienced anxiety, I am very much coherent. I usually have an option to answer or ignore this “knock”. The majority of the time, I ignore the knock for the sake of perpetuating my lunatic reputation. At times, the pressure is subtle, and at other times, it is so severe that the only way to release the pressure is to deliver the message. This was the case when I surpassed the aforementioned milestone. In researching mediumship, I discovered I am primarily clairsentient (extra-sensory perception or empathic). John Holland’s book, “Psychic Navigator” is a great resource and introductory to mediumship. I can feel if the soul knocking is male or female and I intuitively know if the soul is from your maternal or paternal side. In addition, I can feel if the soul is a brother, a sister, a child, mother, or father, old or young when the soul passed. I can easily hone in on those relationships because I have experienced those bonds in life. As soon as I acknowledge the “knock”, the fun starts.

On day one, I was in a meeting. The intense pressure on my chest spread beyond the usual isolated area. It consumed my entire chest and neck. It felt like a 50-pound bag of dog food was covering my chest. I left work, drove home, and prayed. I asked for clear signs to deliver this message and addressed my concerns of being adversely affected. Once I received my divine “Yes” signs, I sent my new friend a text message. I directed my new friend to my blog and stated I would follow up with questions. At this point, most people would think I am crazy. My brother has expressed his fear of my randomly going up to people and channeling dead people. Again, I completely understand my brother’s stance. To me though, my compass is set to 2 Corinthians 5:7. When I received that divine “Yes,” my fear subsided and I knew that I would be put in an ideal setting to deliver the message. To my surprise, on day two, I was in the same room we were in on day one. I told my angels, “if you want me to deliver this message, make it obvious that you want me to.” Just like that, immediately after finishing that thought, the conversation quickly detoured from the agenda to my blog. My new friend mentioned my blog and how more time was needed to completely grasp the context. That was my cue.

The game of Charades started.

I acknowledged the male, brother-like energy that followed my new friend. I knew it had been some time since the soul passed because I could sense the soul maturing inside of me. Sounds crazy right? Let me attempt to describe this a little more. Imagine an old kerosene lamp. Remember how one would turn the wick raiser to make the flame grow or dim? Well, know imagine how that feels, that swelling and ebbing of flame. That is how I am able to determine if the soul has been on the other side for a while. I heard a name, to which no immediate connection was made. Then, I described the pain I felt connected to the soul’s passing, which was validated. To clarify, I do hear names and songs, or clairaudience. Although clairaudience is not my primary way of connecting, I make it a point to share anything I hear because I know it is somehow part of the reading. Simultaneous to the sounds and pain that I experience, pictures swoop in and out of my mind’s eye, intermittently. The pictures are not bright, high definition, or crystal clear. The pictures are faint, subtle. At times, Spirit throws in color. I can sense a room, describe what it looks like, but the pictures are not movie-reel quality.view master I am left to decrypt the images like a game of Charades. Do you remember the View Master and the reels that went along with it? Remember viewing an old reel and attempting to decipher the full picture? Remember how you would look at the picture in awe and leisurely click through the reel? In my case though, souls are in control and are often way too eager to communicate. They zoom pass multiple reels in a matter of minutes. That is the best way I can describe how pictures appear in my mind’s eye, or clairvoyance. So far I have not determined the logic to the images that I see in conjunction with the sounds and pain. I just know that I see them. Sounds, pictures, and pain join together in my spiritual game of Charades.

As for my new friend, I gave a Cliff’s Notes summary of my story and delivered the overdue message. My new friend looked completely befuddled and shocked. As soon as I delivered the message, the 50-pound bag of dog food was yanked away from my chest. “Message delivered,” I whispered as I stumbled out of the room. Messages come to me by sound, pictures, and feeling. Most recently I started to smell fragrances, cigars, and flowers (clairalience), but never while answering a knock. As I forge ahead on my path of self-discovery, may God and His angels continue to provide guidance and protection.


On April 29, 2015, the Oncologist matter-of-factly states, “The bone cancer has gotten worse. The chemotherapy has been fully maximized. I need to look at other options to prevent the cancer from spreading even more.”  Her words reverberate in my ears as I try to find my footing and stay grounded. My mother was diagnosed with G.I. cancer stage IV in December 2013. The G.I. cancer metastasized into her bones, concentrating in her head and chest.  She lies on the examining table and to get clarification in her native tongue, “Qué dice,” she asks me (“What did she say?”) Immediately I go down the negative path; the path that questions His will; the path that cannot fathom a world without her. It is venom that quickly consumes my soul. Everything I am, all that I have become is because of my mother. My prayers are inflated balloons that burst far too soon. I regularly pray, use affirmative prayer, thanking God, angels, abuela, Archangel Rafael to curing my mother’s cancer, for alleviating her pain, and surrounding her in God’s white light. As the poisonous serum quenches my blood, I feel my heart hit my chest wall and my temporal vein throb as a sweat bead glazes over my head. “The majority of my patients in her similar condition don’t last longer than four months, and they certainly do not have the quality of life that your mom has. It is God’s mercy at this point.” I remember even with stage IV cancer, my mother is still vivacious, runs around with the children, attends soccer games, and on rare occasions mentions pain or discomfort. I notice the yellow flower in my mind’s eye, my symbol for abuela, and I noticed a light-green hue around my mother, “Thank you guys,” I whisper. Instantaneously, my anger dissipates. God, abuela, and Archangel Rafael humbled me, planted my feet on solid ground, and refocused me. I am left grounded and at peace.

I am fortunate to recognize the signs that quickly change my perspective on things. We all struggle to see the good amidst the bad. In the darkest of nights, the rainiest of days, we know the sun is out there, but sometimes the darkness seeps into every cell of our body, every follicle of hair, so that we are left blinded by the darkness that we cannot see the sun. God, angles and loved ones who have passed are always there. They are guiding us, protecting us, and sending us unconditional love. Signs exist. Love ones communicate with us.

Recently, I had the opportunity to channel Baby Marie. Client, I will call “Carrie,” approached me to do a reading.  I felt a baby girl came through. She showed me a birthday candle and I heard her name. “Carrie” was able to validate the name and her miscarriage. In her chaos, internal storm, her baby girl was coming through to tell her mother exactly what she needed to hear. She provided reassurance that her current state did not align with her higher self. Baby Marie also reminded her mother of the importance of reconnecting mind, body, and soul. Words that, only when delivered by a loved one on the other side, could penetrate the darkest chasm and provide a ray of light.





Loved ones who have passed use many symbols to try to make their presence known. I have a friend who read my blog prior to my debut. I could tell she wanted to ask me about her loved one that passed over. I have felt her relative “knock at my door” but I never answered for the fear of outing myself. My friend told me about her connection with the number 4, and 44. Ever since her relative passed, she has noticed that number follow her. Anytime she is down or unsure on her next steps, she looks up and sees a 44. “It means guardian angels are looking after you. Your relative is following you, guiding you.” I saw an imaginary ton lift from her back and her light bulb turn on. She feels her relative’s presence, recognizes the signs, but was too afraid to accept it. I just merely validated what she has felt all along.

After my mother and I left the hospital, I shared the information I witnessed in the examining room. Her darkness quickly brightens. Although she is aware that abuela (my grandmother and her mother) is with her, she enjoys hearing me confirm it as often as I can. It energizes her. Her happiness oozes out of her soul so much that I feel it. So instead of wallowing in sadness and anticipate death, I commit myself to enjoying the days God blesses us with her; to enjoy more hamburgers, ice cream, tamales, enjoy more moments gathered around her small house, and the endless food she doles out. We leave the hospital, pick up my children, and enjoy a nice lunch and blizzard at Dairy Queen. In this moment, I thank God, abuela, the angels for our impromptu lunch, with my mother. I am grounded and at peace.



To Swifties, Red is the title of her fourth studio album released October 22 (coincidentally, my birthday). To me though, red is a color very much present in my life. After I posted my first blog, I was overwhelmed with hesitation. “Did I do the right thing? Did I follow my guidance? Holy crap, people are going to cast me as a witch.” Prior to posting, I spent hours praying and meditating asking and listening to His guidance. I was relieved to see red anytime I questioned my intuition, anytime I asked myself if I did the right thing. Flashback to a year ago, I distinctively remember red following me days before and after the bar conversation that changed my life. To Taylor Swift, red is the color of passion, of anger, of hate, of love, but for me, red is a divine mile-marker: it is my angels’ way of telling me, “Hey, changes are coming your way, you are on the right path.” I have received the celestial red light to proceed.

Let me tell you how a spirit we will call “Casper” used me to deliver flowers to a surviving loved one via a red-headed Earth Angel named Colleen.  On June 8, 2014, I begrudging let my wife, Andrea, talk me into going to a holistic fair in town. After two months of excuses, and with two hours before the doors closed, I exhausted all excuses. I felt like a ball shackled to a heavy chain with a final destination to the Holistic Fair in Fort Worth, Texas. For the first time, I noticed the color red. On the way to the holistic fair, at a stop light, I noticed I was shielded by red cars. There was a red car to the front, to the left and to the right of me. “Interesting,” I thought.  It also reminded me of Christopher in the book, The Curious Incident of the Dog at Night Time, by Mark Haddon. I cautiously followed my wife into the holistic fair. I was expecting to see crystal balls, Cleo the Jamaican Physic, and dark images on tarot cards. To my surprise, the crowd was oddly normal. Yes, there were hippies sprinkled in a group of soccer moms, teachers, and men like me: men chained to our wives. With our time constraint in mind, I noticed Christine Cappuccino. Christine’s table read “$20 for a twenty-minute session.”  “Ok, let me get this checked off my Honey-Do List and then we can go home,” I said to myself. As I sat down, I had no expectations. She reached out her soft hands and placed them under mine. She closed her eyes and we embarked on a spiritual journey. She told me about my children, their personalities and their past. Christine mentioned my recently departed abuela, my mother’s health condition, my interests, and my career aspirations. In between my past, present, and future, she sandwiched incongruent words. She affirmed I was a bright light for those who passed; a magnet for those departed to communicate their words, their regrets, and deliver their messages to those on this physical plane. As she continued, I was left utterly bemused. She also stated that I would soon channel people who have passed and I would heal hearts, especially for those who left Earth prematurely. In the midst of my transformational journey, I thought of “Casper,” the apparition that hovered over my bed when I was away from home on business trips.

“Casper” appeared several times. The apparition revealed himself when I traveled and never at home. Instinctively, his presences never frightened me. Never did I think I was possessed. At times, the subtle moments seemed rather phantasmagoric. I can best describe the encounters as occurring at that indistinguishable moment before sleep and being awake. After my reading with Christine, it all made sense.

If you remember, I was away on a business trip during the bar conversation that changed my life.  The day after my bar conversation, I noticed subtle red reassurances. At the end of the work day, as I routinely said good bye to co-workers, I was compelled to stop by Colleen’s office. For whatever reason, I knew I had to talk to her although I was eager to begin my trip home. As I walked into her office, I noticed the color red: her red scarf that hung in her cluttered shelf, the newly applied red lip stick that welcomed me in, and the red marker on her white board. “How in the hell am I going to tell her this?” I told her my previous night’s experience at the bar. To my surprise, she completely embraced my story. She held no judgement, no preconceived notions. As I hugged and thanked her for her listening, I knew she was going to be instrumental for another task.

Weeks following my night at the bar, “Casper” was present. I gathered he was eager to speak to me, share his story, and share his love and his shortened destiny to a certain loved one. As I type these words, feel “Casper’s” energy guiding me. The truth is, I was (and still am) afraid. I am afraid because I have not talked to “Casper’s” family. I have not received consent from his loved ones. However, “Casper” was insistent that I deliver flowers to “Wendy.” Financially handicapped (a future blog), I told “Casper” that I would deliver the flowers on the conditions that I would not use my own money, not be outed as a medium, and the timing would have to be blatantly obvious to me. June and July passed. “Casper” helped me find remote controls, helped me with my iPhone that my son flushed in a toilet, and a handful of other technical issues. August ushered a new phase in my mediumship.

The last week in August catapulted me into another level of mediumship. On my way to drop of my kids at daycare, I randomly received a Pro-Flowers email and thought of “Casper.” “I know you want me to deliver the flowers, but you have to remember my conditions: I did not have the money to spend on flowers and I do not want to be outed,” I told him. Following my internal dialog, “Casper” showed me Colleen and orchids. Once I was back at home and settled, I called Colleen. I told her how “Casper” wanted to send flowers to “Wendy.” Without hesitation, Colleen said, “I will do it today.” We just did not know what type of flower. I told Colleen that I kept seeing orchids. She immediately connected to bleeding heart orchids. Colleen explained that her deceased fiancé uses bleeding hearts as his symbol to communicate with her. Colleen faithfully bought flowers, delivered them to “Wendy” and shared Casper’s message of regret and love. It reminded me of Archangel Gabriel who appeared to the Virgin Mary and Joseph to deliver His announcement and more than anything, to provide comfort. “Casper” met my conditions.

Red follows me. Red is present. I surrender to God’s will and embrace my purpose. Just recently, I went to Buffalo Wild Wings to grab a few beers with my brother and friends. Inevitably, my blog was a topic of conversation. I was relieved to be gathered around family and friends; to be accepted. Jokes, laughter, and humor were used to prod at my blog and gift. I laughed right along with them. From their perspective, I completely understand how ridiculous this sounds. From my perspective, on the other hand, I am unwavered; faithful to my calling. After all, the red truck that followed me all the way to the restaurant, the numerous red shirt-clad patrons, to the sea of red audience at the Pelican vs. Golden State playoffs, and the red shots that were ordered helped me to unequivocally recognize the divine mile-markers that guide me.

My purpose for writing this is not to pretend to be perfect (obviously). I am imperfect: just a guy who occasionally enjoys drinks at a bar. God does not limit delivery of his messages to Archangels. You never know, you may get your message through subtle signs and symbols (the color red) or from someone like me: a guy in a bar.

How a Bar Converstation Changed My Life

A guy walks into Applebee’s and finds a spot near me. I was by myself, not because I’m an alcoholic, but because I was on a business trip. The bartender has all ESPN stations, in English and Spanish, playing on each forty-eight inch flat-screen TV. The 2014 World Cup dominated news coverage; however, June 26, 2014, was an especially slow day at the bar in San Antonio, Texas. After one 20oz Shiner Bock down, I ordered a Crown and Coke. A week away from home and a busy work week, I was ready to responsibly relax and walk upstairs to my hotel room. I noticed the gentleman beside me. We each made a polite head gesture to acknowledge one another’s presence and set our territories. By doing so, instinctively we mutually set our boundaries to the bar stool that separated us. In that brief interaction, I noticed his business attire, his exhausted demeanor, and I quietly commiserated on our hectic, work-week away from home. Since I was a child, I just knew things without really knowing why I knew them. Minutes passed, I lost track of time. I texted my wife good night, reviewed my Facebook page, and read work emails. “One last double-shot of Crown and Coke? Sure, why not,” I thought. Suddenly, I felt my chest tighten. “Is it the caffeine? Am I having a stroke,” I questioned. The same guy, one bar stool away, asked me a question. Little did I know at that moment how life-altering our conversation would be; how this bar conversation would change my life.

I asked the gentleman to repeat the question. I was struggling to diagnose the pain in my chest. “Yes, there is a good chance that US will beat Belgium.” He continued to talk about soccer and sports, while I pretended to listen. “Who are you? What is happening,” I asked myself. I felt someone, something near me. I knew it someone trying to connect. At last, my drink arrived. Drink and flight was the response I immediately sought, but for some reason I was compelled to ask him questions. It was time for me to turn my passive listening to active talking.

Instead of asking his name or what he did for a living, I asked him what any normal person would ask, his age. Well, to be more precise, I asked him to confirm his age. I inquired, “Are you 52?” For whatever reason, I was not surprised to hear him confirm his age. Before he could finish processing why I was asking something so personal, I quickly followed up with, “Are you a banker?” Again, he confirmed he was a banker. “Cool,” I said while I paused and took another gulp of my drink. “Are you also known as Miguelito?” At this time, his sun-bathed faced turned pale. He was perplexed beyond description. His face showed deductive reasoning in process. He stammered, “Do we have mutual friends?” I debunked his deduction with a polite, “No.”

I apologized. Although I had enjoyed one too many drinks, I had the foresight to know how bizarre this conversation was going. I sounded crazy. I was merely repeating what I was seeing, feeling, and hearing. I gave Miguel the opportunity to decline, to turn around, and walk away from the schizophrenic, random dude at the bar. I asked three or four times if he was sure he wanted to hear what I was seeing, feeling, and hearing. Secretly, I wanted to stop, but he insisted. He wanted me to continue. I knew I felt a male energy trying to come through. The male energy was painting a picture. I discerned a farm, with a cactus, a little boy with overalls, running, and a green, old truck. He instantly made a connection. He affirmed he had fond memories growing up on his uncle’s farm. Then, the uncle shows me a body outline of an Operations game board (remember the old game?). Everything was blacked out except for the heart. The heart was red, but broken. I asked him, “Did your uncle pass from a heart attack or heart condition”? He quickly finished his beer. I saw sweat beads form just above his eye brow.

Imagine, here I am giving personal details to a random guy at a bar. I had no fears. At no time, did I think Miguel was going to pull out a gun and shoot me or throw me across the bar. I was guided to deliver this message.

Before I continued, I remember saying, “I know, this is totally crazy, I can stop whenever you want me to.” He was adamant. He wanted me to proceed.

Intuitively, I felt bad energy surrounding the farm, and I knew it was connected to a boy. I told him exactly what I felt. At first he did not make a connection. I felt profound regret; a big secret. I repeated what I felt. To my surprise, Miguel divulged that his uncle had two separate families. Just recently, he had met his male cousin. Miguel further added that he did not really intend to start a relationship with his cousin. The uncle made me aware that he wanted his family to accept his other son. I felt how much the uncle wanted a unified family. As I said those words, I saw tears form; I made a grown, random man cry. Never have I ever made a man cry. To undo the tears that I caused, I reassured him everything was going to be OK and summarized the point of his uncle’s message: to embrace his cousin. As soon as I completed that sentence, my chest pain completely dissipated. The energy I felt, the energy that was concentrated on my chest, left. Message delivered.

I got up from the bar; I saw a WF and an 89. I told him what I saw although, it did not make sense. I thought I was finished. I thought the uncle had left. Miguel did not make any immediate connections. What started off as a relaxing night at a bar completely turned my world upside down. The bar conversation altered my course in life. My eyes were unveiled to a world that includes Angels, Spirit Guides, & Mediumship. This blog is intended to share my journey, the books, articles, courses, and resources I researched to understand and grow as an intuitive medium. As for the bar tab, I turned to Miguel and told him my charge for the reading was my bar tab. I shook his hand and walked away thinking, “What the hell? Am I Theresa Caputo?”


After an enlightening bar conversation that changed my life on June 24, 2014, I felt like a walking sponge. In the proceeding weeks, I was unknowingly absorbing energy around me. The energy muddled my mind and engulfed my soul. It was as if an invisible antenna had sprouted, reached up into the heavens, and tuned me into another dimension; a realm vaguely familiar only in my dreams. For the first time, I was seeing (clairvoyance), hearing (clairaudience), and feeling (clairsentience) things that I could not discern. For about two weeks, I struggled to make sense of everything. I was completely drained, exhausted, short-tempered, and had low to no appetite. I self-diagnosed myself as “crazy,” or “schizophrenic.” I did not recognize myself. Normally, I love food and enjoy a stout drink with good friends. For a time though, I could not be around people. This “newness” completely hampered social activities including, but not limited to the following: work, grocery stores, restaurants, malls, and banks. Ashamed, but admittedly so, the “newness” that was consuming my life even hindered my interaction with my children and wife. I was withdrawn from my earthly life as a husband and father. My mind was in the clouds; my feet were off the ground. My body was a zombie and my soul a Chatty Cathy, sparking up conversations with random spirits. I needed help, but had no immediate support.

Below is a reference list of healers, books, authors, YouTube videos, and articles I researched to help reconcile the “newness” I was experiencing. Each played a monumental role by helping me identify my ability, hone and grow into my Mediumship, and learn to master my gift and not allow my gift to master me. This is only a list. Make sure you keep posted, though. I plan on providing detailed testimonials in future blogs.

  • God via prayer and meditation
  • Christine Cappuccino at
  • Spirit Amplifiers Andrea and Amanda
  • Daily Om at (Become a Spiritual Psychic in 28 Days, Connecting with the Archangels)
  • Gifted: A Guide for Mediums, Psychics and Intuitives, by Lisa Andres
  • Heaven is for Real: A Little Boy’s Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back, by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent
  • All things Theresa Caputo,
  • Developing Mediumship with Gordon Smith, by Gordon Smith
  • All things Doreen Virtue,
  • Psychic Ability Made Simple Series, online course by John Holland
  • Psychic Navigator, by John Holland
  • Hayhouse Radio via
  • Radleigh Valentine on Hayhouse Radio and at
  • Intuitive Medium Deborah Hanlon on
  • Lisa K., on
  • Edgar Cayce’s A.R.E on
  • Meetup, search for mediumship, channeling, and spiritual practice groups in your area
  • Decoding Deepak, movie written by Gotham Chopra
  • The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne
  • All things about Chakras

What’s this about?

“Never have I ever channeled a passed love one while drunk at a bar?” Dang it, I guess I will drink to that. June 26, 2014, completely shattered life-long perceptions, jolted my faith, and set me on a spiritual path that includes Spirit Guides, Angels, & mediumship. I share my chronicles with you, no longer afraid of backlash from family and friends, but rather to shed light on how Spirit can work through a beer-drinking, God-fearing, Baylor-loving, devoted husband and father of two.