No Angels Wear Pink Pyjamas

Image from Chakra Centre

Image from Chakra Centre

“I do believe we’re all connected. I do believe in positive energy. I do believe in the power of prayer. I do believe in putting good out into the world. And I believe in taking care of each other.”Harvey Fierstein

 

Yesterday I went to a favourite cafe in New Farm. It’s the first time I’ve driven myself to a cafe in over a year, and I was really looking forward to the opportunity to sit on my own in a quiet corner, writing and enjoying a good coffee.

I arrived very early, just after six, put in my order and got to work. While I wrote, completely absorbed in my story, the place filled up. It was a typical wintery raining morning in Brisbane, and there were couples, family groups and lycra-clad cyclists at all the outdoor tables.

After a while I had a strange feeling, and realised that a man a few tables over, sitting with a small group of his friends, kept staring at me. If I looked up he looked away, but as soon as I returned to my laptop he was staring again. It made me feel quite uncomfortable.

Eventually I caught his eye, and we just held each other’s gaze for a minute or so. I had a sensation of the most intense recognition, Now I was sure that I knew him, but I couldn’t place him at all. I smiled, mentally wished him well and sent him some love and went back to my writing.

As I was getting into my car an hour later, a young woman came over to me.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” She was nervously screwing the edge of her jacket between her hands.

“Sure,” I said, throwing my bag into the car.

“My boyfriend thinks he knows you,” she said, her words tumbling out in a hurry.

“The one from the coffee shop?” I asked. She had been sitting with her back to me, so I’d never seen her face.

“Yes, the coffee shop and from the Highway…” She said it like a challenge.

And then I knew. Slowly I sank down onto the driver’s seat of my car. “The man on the motorcycle,” I whispered.

Brisbane is a small place. If you lived here you’d know that we’re always joking about how the rest of the world may enjoy seven degrees of separation or connection, but in Brisbane it’s only two.

Last year, very very early, Ben and I were heading back to our farm at Possum Creek, about two hours drive from Brisbane. It was about 4am, rainy, and I was incredibly ill from my Lyme drugs. That’s why we had decided to drive home at such an hour. After some sleep, and before my next round of meds I was hoping that it would be a vomit-free trip.

Image from Transgrediendo

Image from Transgrediendo

We’d only just entered the Highway when a motorbike screamed past us on the empty road, going so fast it made it look like we were standing still. I was overcome with the blackest of dreads.

“Slow down! Slow down!” I screamed. I wasn’t sure who I was even talking to, my husband or the bike.

My husband slowed the car, and put his hand on my leg. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I couldn’t even speak, I was so upset, but I shook my head to indicate that I was okay. We drove on for less than ten minutes and then the traffic came to a stop. There had been an accident. It was the bike, as I’d known it would be. Debris was strewn across the road. A solitary motorbike helmet sat in the middle of a lane like someone had casually placed it there. The traffic banked up behind us.

An ambulance was already there. More arrived. Police cars came. I was trembling with shock. To calm myself I closed my eyes and went into meditation.

And there I saw it all, as though I was looking down on the accident from above.

“That’s my friend,” said a man beside me. He was wearing a motorbike jacket. “Can you help him?”

His friend was on the ground, badly injured. Ambulance crews were bent over him, trying to get him stable, trying to stop the bleeding. His leg was hanging by sinew and denim. He was distressed and awake.

I poured my love into the man on the ground. I called on God. I asked all of the Angels, Guides and Ancestors to help him and to hold him safe. I prayed for the paramedics, who were fighting so hard for this man. I asked for the best outcome for all.

Image from tumblr

Image from tumblr

Eventually the ambulances left, and the police and fire crews cleared a lane so that the traffic could creep past. The sun hadn’t even come up yet.

The twisted remains of the bike had been pushed against a concrete wall. The car involved had already been towed away.

I cried.

When we got home to the farm I couldn’t stop thinking about the accident. I searched the online news and police reports, but found only the briefest mentions. In the end I lit a candle for all involved, and included them in my daily prayers and meditations.

“My boyfriend is sure that you’re an Angel,” the young woman said, bringing me out of the past and back to the carpark. “He says you came to him in the accident, and you were wearing pyjamas.”

I had been wearing pyjamas that morning. Pink pirate pyjamas and fluffy purple socks.

“It’s because of you that he believes in God now,” she said. “He comes to church with his mother and me.”

“I’m no Angel,” I said, trying to smile, deeply embarrassed at what she’d said. “What Angel would wear pyjamas? I’m just a person. I am a meditator, and when the accident happened I was in a car nearby, and so I prayed for him, and sent him love and light in my meditation. That’s all.”

“It’s been a terrible time,” said the girlfriend. “He lost his leg you know, but the worst thing is the guilt. He’s been so depressed about his friend.”

Now I understood. The man in the jacket who asked me to help his friend that day had been riding pillion. He’d been in the accident too. “I’m so sorry, for you and all your family,” I said.

The girl nodded, tears rolling down her face.

“Hey,” a voice behind her said. It was the man who’d been staring at me. It was the man from the crash.

I extended my hand and shook his, and we introduced ourselves. And then I stood up and gave him a hug. He was thin and frail under my arms. I could feel how tenuous his will to live still was.

“This is your second chance,” I whispered in his ear. “Make it count. Make it count for you, and for your friend. You’re still here for a reason.”

He cried. I cried. We hugged again. And then we said goodbye and I came home to my little house in Brisbane, pulled myself together and began a day of psychic readings for clients.

Truly, there is no such thing as an Angel in Pink Pyjamas, but I do believe that we are all connected, and that with our thoughts, intentions , love and prayers we can make a difference.

In our hearts we are all one. Let’s help each other wherever we can.

weareallconnected

31 thoughts on “No Angels Wear Pink Pyjamas

  1. Yes, thank you for sharing this. I so often feel powerless to help anyone around me that I may know needs help. The thing I like the most is you helped with no physical action but in the spirit realm. I can’t wait to read your book. Thank you.

  2. Nicole you have the most amazing experiences. You are an angel obviously for you to do what you did, and in the midst of being sick yourself. That the man recognized you is also amazing. I think you are amazing.
    I made a blog post about my feelings of late without details, and I mentioned you and your blog in it, unrelated to your latest post about the ”difference between spiritual awareness and psychic awakening”…. when I ponder life, which is often…..I think of many people I hear about or read about and try to make sense of it.

  3. Beautiful story Nicole and it illustrates how when we’re held up in traffic due to accidents that our prayers are heard and directed towards those who most need them. You are indeed an earth angel, bless you.

  4. Pffftt… why *wouldn’t* an angel wear pink pirate pyjamas and fluffy purple socks??? Derrr. Sometimes you’re silly Nicole! 😉

    And thank you for the wonderful work you do on the energetic level. xxx

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