People in the Air

Connection changes form

When someone we love passes over, the relationship continues. Only its form changes. They leave the physical body and return to the field of consciousness that lies beyond the physical world, a wider field of being that holds all living things, and perhaps creation itself.

We sense this field every day. A mother wakes with a feeling that her son is in trouble on the other side of the world. You think of a friend, and the phone rings. You feel a sudden pull to call someone you love, and later find out you reached them at the very moment they needed you. These are moments of vibrational resonance between two people.

When someone passes, their body, their voice and their touch change form. The bond carries on through memory, dreams, intuition, a sudden knowing, and the clear sense that they are in the room.

Mediumship as shared frequency

I work with what I call vibrational language: frequency, resonance and entanglement. It describes how love reaches us from the other side, here in the present moment.

Mediumship is communication through a vibrational field that already exists between a person and their loved one in spirit. The medium does not create that connection. The medium tunes into it, receives what comes through, and puts it into words, images and the small details that make someone unmistakably themselves.

Through the veil

There are moments when the veil between the physical and the non-physical grows thin, and the two worlds touch in the immediate moment. It begins in the heart. The heart is the centre of love and of creativity, and science has shown that it generates the strongest electromagnetic field in the body, one that can be measured beyond the skin. I have come to feel that this field carries a language of its own. Through that heart frequency we reach the wider field of spirit, and something passes between them: a memory, a feeling, a presence that was once familiar to us.

Often what comes through belongs to the past, to a moment the two of them shared. At times, though, it speaks to the unfolding moment itself, to something happening right now in the physical world that I could not see or know by ordinary means. Two accounts I have documented show this unfolding present.

I was on the phone with Tara, a woman I had never met. I could not see her, and I had no idea where she was. Her mother came through with a clear message: "Tell her about the cranberry juice." At that very moment, Tara was taking a sip of cranberry juice.

Another time, I was speaking by phone with Martin's daughter after he had passed. A message came that a black and white bird would appear. Soon after, a magpie landed on the roof of her car.

Moments like these are why I speak of mediumship in terms of frequency. The connection is already there. The medium opens to it, and a single detail lets that presence be felt, here, as life unfolds.

Grief as recalibration

Grief is a powerful recalibration of mind, body and spirit. We lose the physical presence through which we knew someone, while the love remains. Grief is the weight of that love meeting absence: the struggle of letting go of the physical connection, even as we go on feeling their presence through a deeper, unseen bond.

Grief is love that no longer has a body to land on. It moves differently than sorrow. It is felt as a heaviness of the soul, and as an awareness of something larger than ourselves: a shared frequency between souls.

I have come to feel that we are not only biological beings. We are biomagnetic, carrying fields shaped by and intertwined with the people we love. When physical separation comes, that bond endures. It moves inward, and becomes more spiritual and more heartfelt.

Grief is the process of tuning into that frequency, and learning to carry a bond whose familiar form has changed. In time it becomes a portal toward a deeper relationship with love, memory and our own intuition. Love is never lost. It changes form. We come to feel their love, their laughter and their presence as a living resonance that links us to them still.

What the research shows

As an evidential medium, I have documented many stories of people receiving information in a sitting that feels specific, recognisable and unmistakably connected to the one who has passed. For the people who receive them, these moments carry more than comfort. They feel like evidence that identity, love and connection endure.

Science has begun to look at this too. Controlled studies have reported that some mediums give accurate information under blinded conditions, where neither the medium nor the person judging the results knows who the information was meant for. Researchers continue to debate what best explains these findings. The research is significant, and it has not yet established life after death as scientific fact.

For me, mediumship is a way of asking whether consciousness and love extend beyond the body. The medium receives impressions and puts them into words. The person sitting with me weighs them against what they know of the one they love. I believe these encounters open a doorway in grief, letting people feel that love has not been erased, even though the physical relationship has changed. I share the stories I have documented as testimony, and as part of an inquiry that is still unfolding.

The body is the receiver

The cell biologist Bruce Lipton describes the body as a receiver, like a television picking up a broadcast. When the set is gone, the broadcast continues. I take this one step further, to the people we love.

The body feels before the mind knows. A bad feeling before a flight. A sudden urge to call someone. The hairs on your arm rising as you walk into a room. I have come to feel these are vibrational, the body receiving from a wider field, even across great distances. It is the same way our loved ones reach us after they pass. The scent of their perfume in an empty room. A sense of them beside you. A shiver when you say their name. The body knows them before the mind lets itself believe.

Science has not yet shown that these fields connect us, or that those who have passed reach us through them. Quantum entanglement has not been shown to explain mediumship. I hold the science and the spirit side by side. One measures, the other feels, and both are looking at the same mystery.

Jeremy Renner

After a snowplough accident on New Year's Day 2023, the actor's heart rate fell dangerously low. He has spoken of seeing his whole life at once, and of an "exhilarating peace", before something urged him to come back.

With Oprah

Sharon Stone

In 2001 a stroke brought the actor close to death. She has described rising toward a tunnel of light, where loved ones who had passed were there to reassure her, before she woke in the emergency room. She writes about it in her memoir, The Beauty of Living Twice.

With John Edward

Dr. Eben Alexander

A neurosurgeon who taught at Harvard Medical School, he spent a week in a coma from bacterial meningitis in 2008. A man of science who had doubted such accounts, he returned describing a vivid journey beyond the body, and wrote about it in Proof of Heaven.

At the Clinton School

Anita Moorjani

In 2006, as cancer brought her to the edge of death, she describes leaving her body and feeling an all encompassing love, and meeting her late father. Her recovery afterward astonished her doctors. She tells the story in Dying to Be Me.

At TEDxBayArea

The rupture

When someone we love passes, the world we shared with them breaks open. The body goes into shock to protect us. Days blur. People speak and we nod without hearing. This numbness is a mercy. It lets us take in a loss too large to take in all at once.

The weight

As the numbness lifts, the full weight arrives. Picture a river that has run for years in one bed, toward one person. When that person passes, the river has nowhere to go. It floods, it pools, it circles back on itself. That is grief: love with nowhere left to go. The tears, the longing, the anger and the guilt are all that love, searching for its way.

The recalibration

Slowly, something begins to shift. The touch, the voice across the table, the hand in yours are gone, and the connection is moving into a new form. It is often the hardest part of grief, because it asks you to learn a new language for the same love.

The opening

Grief cracks us open, and through that opening, intuition often wakes. People begin to notice things. A dream so vivid it feels like a visit. A song on the radio at exactly the right moment. A bird that comes too close. A scent in an empty room. The mind wants to dismiss these. The heart recognises them. You do not have to prove anything to anyone. Let what you feel be enough.

The connection

In time, many people discover that the relationship continues, in another form. They talk to their loved one on a walk, cook their favourite meal, wear their jumper, and feel them close. In my experience, the people we love are reaching for us long before we are ready to notice. Joy, laughter and love raise our frequency, and that is where they reach us most easily.

The return of love

Grief softens with time, and changes shape. The love that had nowhere to go finds a new direction: into a garden, a cause, a child, a dance, a life lived more fully in their honour. This is where grief becomes a doorway, leading you back into your own life, carrying them with you.