I think people often imagine that communication with spirits has to always be profound. That every message must carry weight, that every whisper must offer relevant information, that every contact must be a meaningful message.
But in my experience, living alongside spirit, that’s not how it works at all.
Sometimes I don’t even know it’s him. His voice is mixed in with my own thoughts, so subtle that I can’t tell where my mind ends and his begins. It’s not a clear, distinct voice from the other side. It’s more like a thought that arrives just slightly to the left of my own. A nudge. A suggestion. Something that doesn’t quite feel like mine.
And other times, the messages are so unimportant—so mundane, so silly—that I can’t help but laugh.
There’s this bargain basement shop near my house that I go to occasionally to look for t-shirts. I think the place gets them from a print shop selling off their overstock. Sometimes they have licensed prints for bands and brands—AC/DC, Guns N’ Roses, things like that. You never know what you’ll find.
One time, I was in search of a green top. Just a simple green top. As I flipped through the racks, I heard in my mind: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
I found this rather strange. I wasn’t thinking about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I wasn’t looking for anything related to them. But I kept flipping, and there it was—one Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt. In green.
On another occasion, I was at the same shop, flipping through racks of Rolling Stone and PinkFloyd tops. Then I heard it: Betty Boop.
I found myself a Blondie top in beige neutral, a pinky purple Snoopy top, and a Fanta logo top.
I flipped through the entire rack. Nothing. I was about to move on when I checked the very end—and there she was. One Betty Boop shirt.
I wasn’t looking for either of these things. They’re not often there. But what it told me was simple: his spirit was there, browsing the items with me.
That’s the thing about psychic information. It doesn’t always have to be profound. Not everything has to be a sign or cosmic revelation. It doesn’t always have to be informative. Sometimes it’s just company. Sometimes it’s just him, walking beside me through a bargain basement, pointing out the things he notices.
The lesson isn’t that every thought is a message. The lesson is to pay attention. To notice what isn’t yours. To trust the quiet nudges that arrive when you’re not looking for anything at all.
Because sometimes, the most sacred connection is the one that shows up in the most ordinary places—a discount shop, a rack of t-shirts, a green top that you weren’t even sure you wanted.
Recently, I went back to that store. I found myself drawn to the back, where I spotted a single Lakers team shirt. I felt a surge of excitement that wasn’t mine—like I had to get it. He was known to attend a lot of Lakers games.
Sometimes, his communication isn’t a voice. It isn’t a word. It’s just a feeling.
And that’s enough.
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