When people hear that I’m a psychic medium, they usually imagine me surrounded by flickering candles, incense smoke, and the occasional chatty ghost giving me fashion advice. And while that’s not entirely wrong, my work goes far beyond messages from the spirit world. These days, one of the most profound—and oddly practical—ways I use my abilities is through something called remote viewing.

Remote viewing is essentially psychic sightseeing. It’s the art of perceiving information about a distant place, person, or even a pet without using the five senses. In other words, it’s like borrowing someone else’s point of view across space (and sometimes time), using nothing but consciousness and intention.

If I had to describe what it feels like, I’d say remote viewing is like being a GoPro strapped to someone’s head—except the GoPro is my awareness. I don’t always see crystal-clear movie scenes; it’s more like snippets of sensory impressions, textures, or emotions. One moment, I might feel the crunch of gravel underfoot, and the next, I’ll get a whiff of something oddly specific, like wet dog or motor oil. It’s not glamorous—but it’s effective.

One of the most rewarding ways I use remote viewing is to help locate lost animals. Our furry friends are remarkably psychic themselves, so tuning into them can feel like connecting with a fuzzy, wandering soul that’s halfway between curiosity and chaos. I once worked on a case involving a runaway golden doodle named Daisy. Her owner was heartbroken, convinced Daisy had disappeared forever.

When I tuned in, I suddenly saw through Daisy’s “eyes”—a low vantage point, tall grass, and what looked like a rusted green tractor. I also felt the vibration of water nearby. Sure enough, Daisy was found later that day by a pond behind an old barn about two miles from home. She came trotting out covered in mud but looking smug, as if she’d just completed a spiritual retreat.

Another time, I helped track a missing cat who—true to feline form—did not want to be found. My mind-Gopro showed me narrow metal bars and flickering lights, which turned out to be a storm drain under a street. When the cat’s owner arrived, she heard faint meows echoing from below. The cat was rescued, slightly offended by the ordeal but otherwise fine.

Now, not every session is so tidy. Sometimes the information comes in metaphors, like seeing an open gate to represent “freedom,” or a tangled rope meaning “stuck energy.” Other times, I might sense strong emotions rather than clear images—panic, exhaustion, or relief. It’s as if consciousness speaks a symbolic language, and I’m just translating its poetry as best I can.

The Metaphysics of Finding What’s Lost

From a metaphysical standpoint, remote viewing works because everything—every being, object, and event—is connected through the fabric of consciousness. There is no true separation; there are only varying frequencies of perception. When I focus on a missing person or animal, I’m not searching in the physical sense. I’m aligning my awareness to their energetic signature—like tuning into a radio station that’s been broadcasting all along.

The process begins with stillness. I quiet my thoughts, call in my guides, and set a clear intention: to serve the highest good and find what is lost. Then I simply listen. Sometimes I’ll feel pulled in a certain direction, or I’ll sense movement, like the wind rushing past my face. It’s a bit like lucid dreaming, except I’m awake and occasionally muttering to myself about landmarks. Many times I like to use a map as a starting place and use my hand like a dowsing rod to help me pinpoint the location of the animal.

One of my more serious experiences involved a missing person. I won’t share details, out of respect, but I will say that the impressions I received—sounds of running water, a violent altercation, and the smell of dirt and oil—helped narrow the search area. The validation later came in a quiet phone call and a tearful “thank you.” Those are the moments that remind me why I do this work.

Humor keeps me grounded, though. Remote viewing can be emotionally intense, and laughter is spiritual first aid. My guides, bless them, many times have to repeat the clues over and over to me. Sometimes I can be a little daft. During one particularly stressful session, when I was trying to tune in to a missing parrot, I kept hearing the words, “Check the buffet.” I assumed it was symbolic—some metaphor about abundance or temptation. Turns out, the bird had indeed wandered into a local restaurant and was happily sampling the salad bar.

At the heart of it all, remote viewing is not about psychic power; it’s about connection – connection to the cosmos, the energy, to the spirit of Source all around us. Every session reminds me that consciousness is vast and loving, and that nothing—no creature, no person—is ever truly separate. We may lose sight of one another, but energetically, we’re always within reach.

So yes, my mind has become a kind of cosmic GoPro. Sometimes the footage is breathtaking, sometimes blurry, and occasionally ridiculous. But every glimpse into that infinite field of awareness feels like a sacred privilege—a reminder that love, intuition, and the mystery of existence are all part of the same grand, interconnected view.

And if you ever lose your cat, your sense of direction, or your car keys, just remember: the universe already knows where they are. You just need the right frequency—and maybe a psychic with a decent sense of humor—to tune in.

Author: Mari Cartagenova