For my birthday, I decided to visit Salem, Massachusetts—a place I’d always been fascinated by. The history of the Salem Witch Trials, the burial sites of those who had passed, and the energy of the town itself had always intrigued me. Ever since high school, I’ve been drawn to witches, their practices, and the rich history behind it all. In a previous blog post, I mentioned how my friends and I dabbled in Wicca back in the day, exploring the community and rituals. So, visiting Salem felt like a natural pilgrimage for that part of me.

While in Salem, I had the chance to visit the Peabody Museum, where I stumbled upon an exhibit called “Conjuring of the Souls”. It focused on the history of mediumship, and I couldn’t have been more excited—it felt like it was meant for me. The exhibit did not disappoint. I spent nearly two hours soaking in the history, folklore, and research they’d compiled about the spirit world. But as I walked through, I kept thinking: the spirit world is so elusive. You can’t photograph a spirit, the thin veil between worlds, or even the process of mediumship itself. True mediumship is mysterious, intangible, and, in many ways, indescribable.

After my time in Salem, my family and I visited a place called “Taino Woods.” It’s a sacred community cared for by healers and Indigenous people who host ceremonies and tend to the land. While my wife and kids had been there before, this was my first visit. As soon as I stepped into the woods, I could feel the spirits all around—peaceful, watchful, protective. That weekend, the groundskeepers had organized a gathering of volunteers to help care for the land. Afterward, we all sat around a fire, listening to a DJ play ancestral music. The atmosphere was electric, almost otherworldly.

One song, dedicated to Yemaya, came on, and something within me froze. In that moment, I felt a download—a rush of energy and information flowing through me. I couldn’t fully process it at the time, but I’ve had these experiences before, so I trusted that clarity would come later. Once the download was complete, someone handed me a drum. I played for the rest of the night, and as I drummed under the moonlight, I felt an unexplainable connection, as though the drum and I were perfectly in sync.

The next day, I attended my first Afro-Cuban dance class. Now, I’m not much of a dancer, but I’ve always believed that movement is a powerful way to connect with our ancestors. I wanted to learn more about my roots, and this felt like the perfect opportunity. What I didn’t expect, however, was how much knowledge I would receive—not just about the movements themselves but about the African Orishas. As the drums played, I felt the download from the night before start to release. It was as if attending this class wasn’t a coincidence but part of a bigger alignment bringing me closer to this wisdom.

In the weeks that followed, each dance class deepened this sense of belonging. It felt familiar, as if I’d been there before. During a morning meditation, I heard the voice of a woman. She told me I was on the right path and urged me to pay close attention to my Orisha. In an instant, I was transported back to my first spiritual awakening—the moment I first felt called to the ocean. I remembered the countless times I’ve had visions or epiphanies in the water, whether swimming or simply standing under the shower. Water has always been my bridge to my guides and ancestors.

Since then, I’ve started noticing Yemaya’s presence everywhere—in my dance classes, in my interactions with others, and in the subtle nudges Spirit sends my way. It’s becoming clear to me that she’s the one I need to follow next, guiding me toward the next chapter of my spiritual journey.