A few years ago, during a physiotherapy session, one of Sachi James’ patients mentioned that her neck hurt and her stomach was in knots all the time, and that she was coping by smoking marijuana.
After a brief chat, James suspected that the 52-year-old HR executive’s pain wasn’t physical, per se, but spiritual. She invited her to a separate — and different — session a week or so later. Then, the registered physiotherapist tapped into her secondary skill set: channelling beings from the spirit realm. She called on a group of deceased souls who gave James advice to help her client. Within months, James said, her client’s pain was gone, along with much of her desire to smoke marijuana.
Call her the shaman of St. Clair.
At about $200 an hour, a session with James, who is also known as Soaring Eagle Medicine Woman, is about the same price as conventional therapy but far more accessible and convenient. You can get an appointment in less than a few weeks, at her office near Yonge and St. Clair (until recently she was based in Yorkville, steps from the Mink Mile). The city’s well-heeled, who hear about James through word-of-mouth, flock to take advantage of her otherworldly abilities in the name of wellness.
A term that’s as amorphous as it is ubiquitous, wellness refers to a journey of discovery, said Ophelia Yeung, senior research fellow at the Global Wellness Institute, a think tank that researches this growing $6 trillion industry. Those on that quest seek services from meditation teachers, hypnosis practitioners, energy healers — why not a diviner of the dead?
In James’ practice, she puts out a call to the spirit realm, hoping those familiar with her — as well as the deceased relatives and friends of her clients — make their way to the session. With their help, James said, she can diagnose and repair damage to a client’s spiritual fabric. She described this as a delicate mesh knit from energy and light that connects, as part of a web, all creatures past and present. But over the course of a life it can be compromised, causing it to “leak or allow in things that can harm us.”
Shamanism is one of the earliest forms of “healing practice,” according to a 2024 article in the journal Medicine that identifies a growing interest in it. It dates back tens of thousands of years, predating “organized religion and formal medical systems,” and while its traditions vary across cultures, all forms share “common themes of interconnectedness with nature and the unseen forces that govern the universe.” Revitalizing it is an uphill battle. “Ancient healing practices face numerous challenges in the modern world,” the article says, including “socioeconomic factors, cultural attitudes, and regulatory barriers.”
For many, the word shaman is synonymous with a charlatan, a seller of snake oil and false hope. It’s why when she’s channelling beings from the spirit realm, James prefers to call herself a “medicine woman.”
James, who said her Indigenous heritage is Blackfoot from the United States, said she has been connecting with spirits since she was four or five years old. In her late teens, she said, she got her calling and decided to travel the world to learn different techniques. She studied a wide variety of customs, rites and teachings from different Indigenous cultures, including in Egypt, South America and Canada, where she spent time learning from Cree teachers originally from Montana. She learned different ways to hold fire and pipe ceremonies and call in spiritual helpers, practice making altars and smudging.
There are many differences in how shamans across the globe practice, James said, but she sees a lot of similarities. Many healers use talking, meditation, breathwork, rituals and non-prescription medicine to improve well-being. It is mainly in North America, she said, that death is viewed as a final, irreversible state where the deceased, along with their wisdom, experience and knowledge, are no longer available to us. But in many cultures across the globe they remain a valuable resource who can be called upon to help heal the living. “At its core,” she said, “all therapy is to help us reassess our relationships with ourselves.”
I kept that in mind as I visited James for a session. Modestly decorated with posters of human musculature and her University of Toronto diplomas, her office betrayed no hint of her spirit-summoning services.
Wearing a simple blouse and loose chinos, she looked ready to align my back or relieve a sprained ankle. She invited me to climb onto a gurney and take some deep breaths. Opening a large metal cabinet containing an array of items, including feathers, crystals and bundles of sage, she began shaking a rattle and chanting in Runasimi, an Indigenous Peruvian language. “I used that language to summon a certain type of helper I felt you needed,” James said.
About halfway through my session, James paused to take stock of who was in the room. Multiple spirits who often come when she calls had arrived, she said, as well as my father, who died in 2023. There was also a large Scottish man with a thick accent, Melkeezelbeck, whom I’d never heard of but had likely been protecting me since birth. James noted that the spirits in the room had already formed a council and were animatedly discussing how to repair my spiritual fabric.
That’s when she noticed my grandmother, who died five years ago at 102. “She’s laughing hysterically,” James said, cracking a smile. “She can’t believe you’re here, getting help from a shaman.”
An understandable reaction, I thought, as the smell of burning sage ended our time. Feeling tired, but somehow lighter, I bid goodbye to my relatives and to James — and headed to the front desk to book another session.
