Faery Seer, Ancestral Silence: Navigating Spirit Work Without Recorded Lineage

For a long time, I have used the term Faery Seer to describe one facet of my practice — to define the ways I see, hear, and move within unseen realms. It is a title, a name, a claim. And yet, as a person of color — specifically within the Latino community — my lineage carries fractures. I have no complete record of my ancestral practices, no inherited vocabulary to articulate my experiences, no teachers to hand me maps that were destroyed or hidden.

I have encountered spiritual groups and individuals who questioned my connection simply because of how I look or because I lacked “documentation” of my own lineage. I have been reminded that access is often tied to privilege, to record-keeping, to visibility — things I do not have. But this is not a matter of appropriation. Authority in spirit work is claimed, not lent. Connection is lived, not borrowed.

Today, I followed the pull of the trees. Different places called me, but the strongest call came from a cemetery near my home. As I walked among the tombstones, I felt the pulse of something older than me, older than my words. Statues of women caught my gaze, and my body registered a tension I could not yet name. Only when I let my camera bridge the space between me and the unseen did the sensation soften.

I communed with the sycamore, a vessel between me and Osiris. I honored the oak, taking a piece to carry to my altar — a reminder of connection, continuity, and care. And then, unexpectedly, I stepped into a fairy circle — a ring of mushrooms, perfectly formed — grounding me in a world both here and elsewhere. In its center, I sat, opening to the guidance that has always met me in these spaces: the ancient, primordial Faery intelligences, my companions, my teachers.

These are not whimsical beings of story. They are conscious, elemental, sovereign. They have orchestrated my encounters, guided me to books I should read, teachers I should meet, and filled in gaps left by history’s silence. The ecosystem of the Fae — the living unseen — pulses through these spaces, connecting me to guidance that is as old as the earth itself.

Across the world, beings like the Faery appear in many traditions. In Latin America, they are often called duendes, earth and nature spirits. In the Philippines, they are recognized as anito, diwata, or engkanto — spirits inhabiting natural locations and sometimes appearing in human-like forms. These cross-cultural resonances reveal an essential truth: connection to the unseen is not bound by bloodline or geography. It is an act of devotion, of presence, of respect.

Walking through the cemetery, touching trees, and following the whispers of the unseen was not just a walk. It was a deepening of mediumship, a living initiation, a reminder that my guidance has always come from realms beyond the visible. Water, a candle, and my inner light are enough to meet my allies on the other side. My spirit companions have guided me, filling in the gaps left by fractured lineage, teaching me through presence, and reminding me that authority is claimed, not borrowed.

This is my invitation: to walk with courage and curiosity, to remember that the unseen has always been available, and to honor that your practice, your connection, and your authority are yours to claim — unapologetically, sovereignly, and fully.