Stories from the spirit world
Proof of the existence of the spirit world.
Have you ever received signs from the spirit world? Have you ever experienced something that simply couldn’t be explained?
We want to share stories like these to encourage people and show them that there is more to life than what we perceive with our everyday senses.
If you would like to share your story with us, write us an emoil with your story.
Signs from our Team​
by Regan Wright
Signs from my spirit team have consistently provided a sense of peace and reassurance on my spiritual journey, especially in the moments when I have questioned my path and purpose. For me, animals are the most common sign that I receive from my team. One recent morning I was headed out for a run in my neighborhood. On this morning, I was feeling frustrated and worried about a number of things happening in my life. As I walked down my driveway, I sent out a thought to my team that I would love to hear or see an owl on my run. There are amazing horned owls in my neighborhood, and they have become one of the signs my team uses to let me know that they are around and that I am on the right track.
Sure enough, as I crested the first hill, I heard the familiar sound and then saw a huge owl perched at the top of a tall cypress tree. I stopped and admired it for a moment and could hear that there were at least two other owls who were also sending out their calls nearby. I put my hand over my heart in gratitude to the owl and my team for being with me and continued my run. A couple minutes later I was climbing up the next hill and was startled by the sound of another owl close by on my left. I stopped again and sure enough, there was a second owl on the house I was running past, and this owl was directly facing me like they were calling right to me. Seeing one owl was special, seeing two and having one be so close was even more special. I sent out gratitude again to this new owl and my team and continued my run.
Finally, as I made the last turn toward home, I huge bird flew across the road in front of me and landed in a nearby tree. At first, I thought it was another owl and then I realized it was a huge hawk! Hawks are another one of my signs and at this point it felt like my team was sending me extra signs to let me know they are around me and on my side.
Have you started to notice the signs that your team sends you? What kind of signs do you receive from your team?
The Christmas Star
by Renata Barbara
A dear person who has passed away reached out to me at Christmas.
As I do every year, I decorate my house with many colorful lights, including a large red star that lights up. This star is connected to electricity. Every evening before I go to bed, I turn it off with a switch. That’s exactly what I did on Christmas Eve. I enjoyed the warm glow of the star and turned it off before going to sleep.
The next morning, when I walked into the living room, I saw that the star was still shining. My first thought was that I had simply forgotten to switch it off the night before. So, I went to turn it off—only to realize that the switch was already in the "off" position.
I found that strange. And in the next moment, I noticed something even more puzzling: the plug that supplies power to the star wasn’t even plugged into the socket.
The star was shining without any power at all...
I knew this was a sign from a dear friend in spirit, and I was so happy that he sent me this little message at Christmas.
The picture on the mirror
by G.H.
​I have been friends with Renata Barbara for many years. She was the one who introduced me to mediumship and contact with the spirit world. So this is nothing new to me—certainly nothing strange. By now, the idea of this "other dimension" seems more plausible to me than the notion that at the end of life, the lights simply go out and give way to eternal nothingness.
During a phone conversation about various life challenges, we once again touched on the subject of contact with the deceased. In the middle of our talk, Renata paused and said that my mother was present with her—would I like to connect? Of course I did, and what followed was a sort of three-way conversation: questions and answers, images and insights, all of which led to the evidence-based conclusion—this was my mum. I asked a few questions and received resonant, meaningful answers. Renata acted like an interpreter, conveying everything she perceived to me in her own words. Naturally, such a setting requires trust—and for me, there was no doubt about the authenticity of what she conveyed. After a few minutes, Renata said the connection had ended, and we spoke for a while longer about what had just happened.
Renata’s call had reached me as I was stepping through the door, returning from grocery shopping. After we hung up, I wanted to take off my street shoes before starting dinner preparations. I walked into my bedroom—and jumped. What was that? A chill ran down my spine when I saw that the photo of my mother, which had been on my mirror for almost ten years, was now hanging upside down and reversed in its place.
Since May 2012, photos of my parents have hung on that mirror—my parents as a couple and each individually, my brother, and his adopted daughter. My mother's photo had been tucked under the top and left edge of the frame for better support, with just a small piece of tape on the bottom. Sure, one could argue that any piece of tape eventually gives out, and strange coincidences do happen. But why would this happen after such a special and intense phone conversation, one that felt as if I had spoken directly with my mum? How could the picture have come loose from the top and the left—held in place for almost ten years? And why on that day—at that exact moment after that call?
Crossing Charing Cross Road
by G.H. Switzerland
​In my younger years, England—and especially London—was my "promised land," which I visited once or twice a year. Not just because of the music and the clubs where all the bands I loved used to play. English football and the British lifestyle have fascinated me to this day. In London, the Sixties are still alive—that defining decade that always stirs a kind of "homesickness" in me.
It was in the early eighties when I once again treated myself to three full days of everything London had to offer: live bands, football, street markets, fish & chips, and Guinness in the pub. I spent a lot of time wandering through Soho and the West End. Of course, I also visited the legendary Denmark Street, lined with music shops—some of which no longer exist today. From Oxford Street heading toward Piccadilly Circus, you walk down Charing Cross Road to Shaftesbury Avenue, then onward to Piccadilly, or left toward Covent Garden, or right into bustling Soho. I've crossed Charing Cross Road hundreds of times, and rarely at a pedestrian crossing. Because the traffic lights farther down regulate the flow so drastically that, at times, there are long stretches with no cars at all.
So I come out of Foyles, the bookstore I always visited, and start moving. I know there are a few second-hand bookshops across the street that are always worth a visit.
I’m standing at the edge of the road—and, I assume, forget for a brief moment, like a greenhorn tourist, that I’m not in Switzerland, but in England—where cars come FROM THE RIGHT because of left-hand traffic.
I look cheerfully across to the other side, excited about the antique books. Internally, I give the command: "GO." My brain has already instructed my legs to move—a reflex performed a thousand times. My brain says GO!—and yet I stay put. In the very next split second, a bus hurtles past my face—not a red London Transport double-decker, but one of those Bedford vans used by thousands of tradesmen in London. And they don’t slow down for anything. Rush hour traffic in London is merciless. Estimated distance from my nose to the van: about 30 centimeters.
I suppressed the experience at first. Only gradually did I allow the memory to resurface and realize just how incredibly lucky I had been—and how absurd and inexplicable that moment was. What I do know for sure is this: I was about to step into the road, had already done so in my mind, and yet I didn’t move. To this day, I have no idea what—or who—stopped me from taking that fatal step out onto Charing Cross Road…