In the clear light of day, I strolled along Pirates Alley coming from the direction of Bourbon Street. At the end of the alley you arrive on Decatur Street, which leads you to a wonderful treat at Café du Monde. Here you can have a seat and sample world-famous beignets, which are best described as French-style doughnuts served warm and covered in powdered sugar, served up hot on a white plate with a cup of café au lait. Café du Monde provides a stunning view of Jackson Square, and the breezes coming off the Mississippi River make this one of the most enchanting areas in the city.
Café du Monde is one of my top 10 places to see and be seen, as the people-watching is incredible. Everything changes constantly here, as people move in and out of the café amid performing musicians and street artists. Across the street, horse-drawn carriages are lined up to take visitors on a tour of the French Quarter, and artists display canvases against the wrought iron fence surrounding Jackson Square. St. Louis Cathedral provides an easily recognizable landmark in the square, and it is surrounded by a lush garden.
Sitting here at Café du Monde creates a distinct moment in time. As I relax and savor the beignets, the coffee, and the music, I realize that I have become part of the scene and part of the history here, as does each person with his or her presence at this moment. The mood is complex and intriguing; it is every bit relaxing while also strangely energizing due to the music and the movement of people. One has a sense of being somewhere special and in the midst of life as it should be. People from every walk of life you can imagine are mixing together: bohemians, artists, professionals, travelers, children, seniors, along with a few writers thrown into the mix.
The scene is one of chaos blended into bliss, where each note of jazz played by rotating artists at the café carries the people along from day into evening. To my delight, I find that the energy of the music and the people moving in and out of the café are an exotic representation of this same movement, which is delightful. I am experiencing a moment of heaven on earth, where the spiritual planes open and the veil is so thin that those here on earth can easily bump into angels and spirits from the other side.
I’ve been to Café du Monde more times than I can count over my many visits to New Orleans. This time I’m here to experience something new—I’m waiting for twilight, the “tween” time. Mystical practitioners know that the one-hour time period during sunrise and sunset is the easiest time to slip through the veils and commune with spirits on the other side and those who remain here on the earth plane.
Café du Monde, where the author spent time eating beignets while waiting for sunset. Pontalba Apartments in the background.
I’m choosing this time to connect with the spirit world because during the day as I travel through Pirates Alley, it is so crowded and busy with people that it would be hard to discern who is a ghost and who is a local. So I wait, sipping my coffee and letting the spirit of New Orleans wash over me note by note.
Sunset soon falls, and the crowds begin to disperse. The café thins out, and the waiters take this opportunity to sweep up some of the mounds of powdered sugar that waft across tables and the floor. Jackson Square seems to sigh deeply with a long breath as vendors pack up their art to head home, and musicians pick up their instruments and move over to Bourbon Street to play on the streets to the nightly crowds. The café doesn’t close; it remains open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, as a beacon of light and warmth in the quarter. Come here at midnight or at 3 a.m. and the seats will be filled with those who are wrapping up their night from the bars and the bands, locals who are enjoying coffee after a late dinner, and others who prefer the night as their companion.
As the energy of the city shifts during sunset, it’s a prime time to walk again along the alley. This time as I walk along Pirates Alley, I am no longer fighting hordes of people with small children, strollers, and shopping bags. I am not bombarded by the sounds that humans make with hundreds of voices mixed in with musical notes played by the street musicians. Now, here in the quiet, it’s the night and me. In the dark with the streetlamps offering their gentle light, I open myself psychically and ask that should there be anyone here in spirit who wishes to communicate, they are welcome to do so now.
Admittedly, I do this with some trepidation. Jackson Square, though beautiful as it is today, was historically the site of public executions for many years in New Orleans. Execution sites are well known for restless spirits, and I’m not sure what type or how many spirits I may meet here in the still of the night when I put out the call.
Extending my hands outward, I raise my protective white light shield around me, which accomplishes two goals; it creates a layer of protection around my aura to ward off any forces that I don’t want to come too near and brightens my auric light, which will be noticed easily by those in the otherworldly planes. This is a good technique to use to attract attention and can be seen for miles by those in the supernatural world. This can attract beings from both sides who may have an interest in checking out a bright energy source, like moths to a flame.
Opening myself up to the experience, I wait to see who responds to my call. At first, all is quiet and still, which surprises me. I grow impatient and, after a minute or two, let down my guard, which is a mistake. Seconds later, a wave of energy washes over me, and I’m now seeing Pirates Alley as it was in the past. Something here wants me to see their life but isn’t willing to show themselves to me directly. I look around, hoping to see the figure that is engaging with me, but have no luck. The alley appears much darker and quieter at night now than it did in my time, though I can hear the shouting of two men in the far distance.
As I walk farther down the alley, I make out a shadowy figure in the distance. As I get closer, I see a woman sobbing, nearly bent over in grief, holding her arms around her waist as if to support her body from falling to the ground. Her head hangs low and tendrils of her hair have loosened and are falling on each side of her face. She’s cold and appears weary to her core. As I draw closer, she looks up at me with tears streaming down her face. She shouts at me angrily in loud bursts of French. Growing up in Louisiana, I picked up some of the French language, but it was a less proper form of Cajun French, which sounds quite different from the formal French flowing out of her at a rapid pace.
As a psychic, people often ask me how can I understand what ghosts and spirits are saying when they speak in a foreign language, as I only speak English. The best way I can describe this is that in the other planes of existence of the spirit world, language is a pattern of light and sound with its own formula of creation that is quite beautiful; the language is expressed telepathically rather than verbally.
As the young woman on Pirates Alley continued to scream at me in French, I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. I was intrigued by her language and had allowed myself to become both fascinated and captivated. I needed to take a step back and experience what she was expressing to me. As I did, I saw the image of the young man who was her lover. She was not