You can still matter, make art, make a difference – even if you’re sick, broken or dying.

“She made broken look beautiful
and strong look invincible.
She walked with the Universe
on her shoulders and made it
look like a pair of wings.” 

~ Ariana Dancu

Lovelies, I have something important to tell you and I need you to hear it and take the truth of it right down inside you so that it can illuminate those dark places you fear may engulf you.

Stop waiting to be fixed. Stop waiting to be well. Stop waiting to be partnered or thinner or less anxious or more whole. Stop waiting to be better somehow. Stop believing all the gurus who tell you THEIR lives are harmonious, perfect, healthy, wealthy, ever happy and without any kind of angst, ill or drama.

Life is messy and hard and wonderful and short. So short.

Do you think you don’t have the right or the energy to pursue a dream or make a difference because of what’s going on in your life right now or what you’re still struggling to deal with from the past?

I call bullshit on that.

What matters most is that you express what’s in you, that you share what is yours to share, that – to the best of your ability – you strive to live while you’re alive and keep making, creating, sharing, teaching, helping, healing, loving.

What matters least is that you are ill, tired, droopy, depressed, failed at something, just hanging on, disabled, incontinent, divorcing, childless, overweight or terminal. What did that ever have to do with your soul and how it came here to express itself?

Don’t let your current or previous circumstances define you. Choose to be defined on your own terms. Choose to be enough, just as you are, and get busy doing whatever it is you’ve been holding back on. Rest if you must, but don’t give up. The world is waiting for what you have to offer.

I’ll leave you with one of my favourite Leunig poems, which I love for the gentle truth of it:

All my love, Nicole ❤ xx

The Fairy and the Bandicoot

“Sensitive people care when the world doesn’t because we understand waiting to be rescued and no one shows up. We have rescued ourselves, so many times that we have become self taught in the art of compassion for those forgotten.” 
~ Shannon L. Alder


I planned to sleep in a little this morning. After my four am meditation I crept back under the covers and nestled in, intending at least another two hours sleep.

I woke suddenly. Hurry up, she’s DROWNING! yelled a little voice in my ear. Sokli, my fairy friend, was insistent.

Disoriented and a little confused I got out of bed. I’d been asleep for twenty minutes. Everyone else was sleeping still on this cool, grey Saturday morning.

Come on, come ON! urged Sokli.

The next minute I was hurrying up to our swimming pool, which is in the middle of the paddock that is our farm’s back yard. I opened the gate and let myself in and there she was, swimming feebly around the edge of the pool. A bandicoot.

I used the net to scoop her out, and then placed her gently on the grass. She shook herself like a dog, tiny beads of water flying everywhere, and then she pressed her nose to my bare foot as if it say thank you, and darted off under the fence.

Sokli often wakes me up to help an animal, or a person we know who’s in trouble. She’s become a dear friend and companion and we work well together as a team. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that as an adult I would be talking to a fairy, or that I would channel her wisdoms to share with my students and workshop groups. I never thought it possible that fairies existed until I met her. I mean, really, I’m psychic, I talk to fairies, I have Lyme disease – as my sister often points out, none of these things exist. Not in Australia, anyway (especially the Lyme disease bit!).

Still, the bandicoot is safe and now I’m wide awake. I’ll make a cup of tea and go sit on the verandah for a while til everyone wakes up. It brings to mind one of my favourite quotes from Alice in Wonderland.

Wishing you the strength to believe in impossible things too,
lots of love, Nicole ❤ xx

The Sweet Smell of Night


“‎Pleasure is wild and sweet. She likes purple flowers. She loves the sun and the wind and the night sky. She carries a silver bowl full of liquid moonlight. She has a cat named Midnight with stars on his paws. Many people mistrust Pleasure, and even more misunderstand her. For a long time I could barely stand to be in …the same room with her…” 
~ J. Ruth Gendler

I couldn’t sleep last night.

It was hot, and I was feverish. I tossed and turned for a while and then left my bed and crept outside to the back verandah.

The house was silent, and the night was deep. There was barely a hint of cool, and not a lick of moisture to be had. But that night air was sweet with the smell of summer grasses and the calm exhalations of the forest and mountain behind us.

A high overcast blanketed the stars so all there was was the darkness, me and the quiet shrill and hum of the night creatures. Eventually, even they fell silent and then the night belonged to me.

Queen of the Night by Josephine Wall

I breathed the earth in until my body grew so still and peaceful that nothing mattered anymore. I was cradled by the night, and by the earth, and by the silence.

And then I returned to bed and slept deeply until first light.

This morning I will walk along the beach with my feet in the water and my shoulders in the sun before the heat of the day scorches everything with her hot breath.

It doesn’t matter. I still have the night and her sweet comfort in every cell of my body and I am still at peace.

Wishing for you some time in nature this weekend too,

All my love, Nicole ❤ xx

Doorway to the Stars by Josephine Wall

Are You The One In Four? A Letter To A Judgemental Friend

“I suppose sooner or later in the life of everyone comes a moment of trial. We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end.”  Daphne Du Maurier

*Long read ahead. Go grab a cuppa.

Someone, a friend (or maybe not), send me a long and well-meaning (or maybe not) message yesterday asking why I so publicly explained my current health situation in my latest blog post, including mentioning that I suffer from incontinence AND had posted less than flattering images of myself that made me look ‘sick and drained and old’. Apparently, you shouldn’t talk about ‘body failure’ so openly. They suggested that it was ‘harming my image and the potential for me to build my business.’ Finally, they added that my life was  ’embarrassing and overly drama-filled, and maybe I should keep those details to myself’. In the midst of all their advice, they neglected to ask me how I was.

I was going to write them a long message back but instead, I’m going to reply here by way of a recent experience:

Dear YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT I WON’T PUBLICALLY NAME YOU!

The other morning Ben and I needed to visit an office supplies store, but when we arrived at our destination the store had moved. It was only a few blocks away, and to navigate to the new address was straightforward, but for some strange reason as we exited the carpark Ben ducked down a side street and suddenly we were travelling down a rabbit warren of narrow suburban lanes instead of using the main roads.

‘Why are we going this way?’ I asked. ‘This is a dumb way.’

‘I dunno. Felt like it I guess,’ said Ben.

Who was I to argue? I haven’t been able to drive for months. Ben could drive there any route he chose.

When we slowed to take a corner I glanced up a street that ran off the one we were on. My vision is limited right now but of my mouth tumbled the words ‘Stop the car’.

‘Why?’ asked Ben, pulling to a halt.

I pointed. ‘There’. And even though I couldn’t see more than a blur I knew it was someone in trouble. That’s one of the gifts of being psychic.

Ben reversed and we drove fifty metres down another street. There on the sloping front lawn a middle-aged woman was lying awkwardly, half across her driveway, with the bulk of her body angled down the slope and her legs bent uphill behind her. Her handbag and car keys were strewn across the ground.

Ben put the window down and asked calmly, ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m a bit stuck,’ the lady responded as she waved one arm in a feeble attempt to right herself.

We jumped out of the car and hurried over. As I gathered her fallen things Ben helped her to a sitting position and then we both helped her to her feet. Since my fiftieth birthday in 2017 I now feel every single emotion other people are holding within them as viscerally as if those emotions were mine. This woman’s story unfolded within my own body – this was the first major fall the woman had experienced and she had been lying on the ground for some time, alone and unable to reach her phone or to get herself back up again. It was terrifying for her, and worse, it had suddenly made real the truth of her health situation and diminishing capacities. I could feel the shame and embarrassment in her, as well as the shock.

The woman told us she had Parkinson’s. She was dazed and shaking but kept insisting she was fine and asked to be helped to her car. It was only when Ben let go of her and I saw his hands were covered in blood that we managed to convince her to go back inside her home and look after herself. She’d taken off quite a bit of skin, and her scrapes and bumps looked like they would become painful bruises later. She wouldn’t let us call anyone, and she was embarrassed and upset. I totally understood. The thing she’d been dreading had happened. She’d fallen, and been left stuck and helpless. Once upon a time if that had been me I would have waved everyone off as fast as I could too!

Chronic and terminal illnesses eventually lead us down paths we may never have imagined taking. But as a species we are resilient. We adapt. Life is about making the best of what we’ve got.

Have you ever been in that place, Dear ____________? That place of wanting to hold on to something that is no longer true for you? That place of wanting to not draw attention to yourself, of not wanting to admit a situation or a problem or something else that you perceive would make you somehow diminished in the eyes of others? It’s so human. It just swells my heart with compassion and pricks tears in my eyes.

There is one thing chronic illness has taught me. We’re all fragile. Poor health, accidents, illness and misfortune can strike any of us, at any time, at any age. Statistics show that one in four adults has some form of disability, physical or mental illness or chronic pain that limits our ability to function and cope with the activities of daily life.

One in four.

One in four of us suffers from diabetes or cancer or anxiety or pain or depression or incontinence or irritable bowel or restricted movement or chronic fatigue or OCD or chronic insomnia or some weird genetic thing or bullying or abuse or an occupational injury or… the list is endless. If it’s not us it’s someone we know. Maybe you’re not the sufferer but you live with that person. Care for that person.

Right now I am that one in four. Why should I hide that? It’s not all of me but it is part of me. And I refuse to hide that because if I do it means I am endorsing a world that says we should only show ourselves if we are perfect or at least ‘unoffensive’ to others.

And what does it say about you if you think that people like me should only show the ‘better aspects’ of our lives? Are you saying that I am not worthy to be out in the world if I wear a diaper or need a cane or someone to cut up my food or drive me places?

One in four, Dear _________________. One in four.

One day, that could so easily be you. Or your partner. Or your child.

This is what I believe – we need to embrace the truth of where we are at, without shame, embarrassment or apology. The ‘Instagram Life’ is a lie, and it puts ridiculous pressure on us to be something that so few people are or are with any kind of consistency; young, rich, thin, shredded, beautiful, stylish, completely together, popular, loved by a wide and ‘normal’ circle of family and friends, well travelled, eating amazing meals at fabulous places and healthy and well-balanced inside and out – with never a hint of adversity.

As to the fact that my life is at times ‘overly drama-filled’, my darling friend Carly-Jay Metcalfe who lives with Cystic Fibrosis responded with her own hard-won insights on my Facebook page, and I’ll include her post here in full:

Can I just say that as a person with a terminal illness, I don’t think people who are unaffected by chronic or terminal conditions can understand that with each step forward, it’s usually four steps back. It’s unrelenting and just because you say you’re on the road to recovery, does not mean you’re necessarily ‘better’. I’m glad you’re being gentle on yourself, Nic. I just wish everyone’s expectations were a little more realistic.

When I think of Carly-Jay I don’t think Cystic Fibrosis. I think poet, writer, aunt to my dogs, hilarious, soulful friend. When I think of myself I don’t think illness, I think of all the dreams that reside in my heart. We are not our illnesses or our frailties. We can live and thrive despite any of that. And we never need be defined or diminished by them. Does illness impact our lives and sometimes the lives of others? Sure. It’s just how it is.

What matters is who a person is on a soul level. Bodies age, fade, fail. But our souls are an eternal brightness. So, who are you in your heart? Who are you in the way you act in the world? Who you are as you live by your values? What are your dreams? Your relationships? Your interests? Your knowledge? Where can your passion take you?

Dear ____________ , I guarantee you that our world is held up and held together by people who are limping along in life doing the best that they can, sharing their ideas and gifts and love and care even though they face their own personal adversities.

I’ve been sharing my vulnerabilities since I first started blogging, and that’s the way I shall continue.

I hope no hardship ever befalls you but statistically, things are not on your side. ‘Life is suffering’ is what the Buddha said, and from my experience that will be true for everyone at some stage. That won’t mean you have failed. It will mean that you are human. If your road gets hard I’ll hold your hand as we navigate the bumpy bits together. To think that we need to be alone in our adversity is a myth perpetrated by people like you. Let’s end that way of thinking. It serves no-one.

Much love, Nicole  xx

A Nicole Update and A Little Lesson In Surrender

“After all, the true seeing is within.” 
George Eliot, Middlemarch

 

Did you know that the energies of November are great for all forms of metaphysical work, for clarifying our Life Path and for honouring a life-calling by owning our capacity to share knowledge? It’s also a month for honouring our connection to the natural world, and to the nature spirits of the Earth. And I had intended to do all of that, in my spare time, after doing all the other things on my very big and busy November To-Do List.

But the Universe had other plans.

It started with a scratchy throat at the end of October. I’d just come back from holidays, I was well rested and feeling fabulous, and I didn’t think anything of it.

The sore throat lasted a few days, my voice got a little raspy, and then a high fever kicked in. From there it was all dramatically downhill. I was in and out of doctors’ offices and hospital. A virus, a severe chest infection, a raft of drugs, and then a bucketload of extra complications. Such is the reality of being immuno-compromised and having Late Stage Lyme Disease.

I might have coped if it was just the infection. But it was the other things that happened which really threw me. My bladder became irritated and painful. Then neurological urinary incontinence kicked in. Inflammation and infection in my body meant that my bladder would suddenly empty with no warning and no ability on my part to control it. I went back to plastic backed bed-sheets and adult diapers. 🙁

My heart raced and thumped with arrhythmia bad enough to wake me up at night.

Feeling less than fab, and with almost no functional vision.

I lost vision in my ‘good’ eye. After suffering Bells Palsy some years ago the right side of my face has never been the same again and the muscle control has never quite come back. My right eye often experiences blurred vision or becomes lazy, especially when I am tired. My left eye is my strong eye but it is also the one that is affected by Lyme. When my optic nerve becomes inflamed I lose vision in that eye. After a few days of high-dose antibiotics for my chest infection, I woke up one morning to almost total loss of vision in my good eye and reduced vision in my weak one. Suddenly I couldn’t see well enough to read or watch television. I started tripping and bumping into things. So I couldn’t read your messages or answer them.

 

Then I lost my voice.

My fatigue was off the scale. All I could do was lie in bed. Right when I’d had a million things planned and so much work on my plate.

To top it all off just as I was beginning to improve I had an extreme reaction to one of my drugs which caused bloody urine and off-the-chart bladder pain.

This was not how I had expected to spend November!

I’ll admit it – when I lost my eyesight I came very close to sinking into deep despair. I had a few very messy days. (Yep, I howled like a baby.) But then I got home to the farm and as I lay in bed each day listening to the birds and the wind in the trees I realised that I could still see auras and that my eye with almost no functional vision could see energy in great detail. Ben picked flowers from the garden and put them beside my bed so I could smell roses and gardenias and heliotrope.

I made a decision earlier this month. I could sit in an ongoing pity-party or I could surrender to the moment and use my time to refocus on my inward journey. I couldn’t read or write or talk, but I could meditate. I could pray my mala. And the inner world and the Quantum Field had plenty of magic to keep me engaged.

There have been complications since then, and other problems. But it’s been okay. Because I just shifted out of my body and back into the Zero Pont Field and the All-That-Is for a while.

So, that’s where I’ve been these past few weeks. I’ve been interdimensional – a traveller through space and time. I haven’t had such an intense spiritual journey for many years.

And out of it has come clarity about my own direction, so much new material to share with you, new courses and many, many messages.

I’m finally on the mend. My eyesight is still limited. My bladder is still raw and agonisingly painful. My voice is still raspy. And my battery is still flat. My hair is full of knots and I can’t see to fix it. But my soul is shiny-bright, and I am optimistic and grateful and loved-up right down to my bones.

Life doesn’t always give you what you want, but sometimes it gives you what you need.

This week’s energies support thinking about your dreams and goals and giving yourself space to ask and seek answers for the big questions in life. I sincerely hope you make some time to get off life’s hamster wheel and feel into your heart and your own soul wisdom to help you see what the next move can be for you so that your life becomes more satisfying and meaningful.

Sending the biggest hugs and love your way, Nicole  xx

PS: Looking for some extra help and support for your spiritual journey in the year ahead? These are the very last day to pre-order our gorgeous 2019 Planner, Meditation Mala and membership packages at the special rates. They’ll be officially launched and on sale after Thursday but the prices and packages will change, so get in quick if you’re looking for extra savings! You can find everything you need here.

Home treatment for dodgy airways – thank goodness for my awesome doctor who manages me so well!

Victory in the shape of an outing to the local shopping centre yesterday. My first in weeks! I didn’t walk far or do much, but it was thrilling.

 

Wishing for Good Veins

“I have druggie veins. After so much intubation they are scarred and flat and tired and difficult to handle. It’s an odd thing to confess but the truth is all I notice is people’s hands and their veins these days. I have as much vein envy as any junkie. Oh, I think. Look how fat and juicy that vein is. I could get a cannula into that myself!” ~ Nicole Cody

 

It’s IV day for me. A regular practice, and one that keeps me upright and functioning. These IVs have kept my immune system boosted, they’ve helped me overcome life-threatening infections on more than one occasion, and they allow me to stay functional despite having chronic late-stage Lyme disease. Right now I’m battling an ongoing sinus infection left over from my horror flu earlier this year. It’s slowly wearing me down and I need to get on top of it. Hence the IV.

As much as I put on my happy face, I don’t enjoy them. With each year it has become that little bit more difficult to get an easy insertion or a bruise-free/trauma-free spot after the previous session. My doctor is a dream – so clever and patient, and he and his team work marvels. I know today will be a good day. But still, I’m always anxious until the needle is in the vein, and the fluids are flowing, and everything is proceeding well.

Afterwards, I’ll call my friend Carly, who also has recalcitrant veins (both of us have experienced the joys of having multiple attempts that resulted in nothing but bruises or the inglorious humiliation of having to have your IV line go through a vein in your foot – like all the best druggies who have destroyed all their other useable spots). Carls understands, and we unpack our latest experiences and share notes and support. Two friends with chronic illness finding solace in having someone else who has walked a similar path.

Wish me luck! See it all happening easily and well for me. Thanks a million,

Nicole ❤ xx

A Week Of Wonders

“Well, I always know what I want. And when you know what you want–you go toward it. Sometimes you go very fast, and sometimes only an inch a year. Perhaps you feel happier when you go fast. I don’t know. I’ve forgotten the difference long ago, because it really doesn’t matter, so long as you move.” 
Ayn Rand

Hello, Lovelies!

Don’t you love the glorious blue sky (see top pic) that greeted me at breakfast yesterday on my last day in the Adelaide Hills?

I sat in a cafe and ate on my own, and spent time planning my week ahead. It was wonderful – my table was next to an open fire and I found myself with plenty of quiet thinking time and reflection on the week that was, before I went back to my room to pack and head to the airport to fly back to Brisbane.

Back in Brisbane as I waited at the carousel for my luggage I watched the people coming and going, and I marvelled that I was one of them.

In the past week I have run an evening event, conducted two days of private consultations, been out to dinner and all over Adelaide exploring with friends and then attended a very full-on three day conference that included one late night and very long days. I’ve also drunk coffee and enjoyed a few alcoholic beverages, eaten cake and chocolate and all kinds of other yummy things and managed to still feel good.

Somehow my health has held up for it all. More than that, I’ve enjoyed myself and felt like a normal human being for most of the time I was away.

Look – that’s me at the conference! (see pic below)

That might not sound very remarkable to you. But the truth of my life has been that most of the past fifteen years have been spent in my pyjamas, or in comfortable clothes – staying very close to home, and being in bed early. As someone with late-stage lyme disease and all sorts of other health complications, independent travel has not been on my radar. I’ve always needed someone with me, and I’ve needed plenty of rest and down days.

So this past week has been a glorious victory.

My brain has worked. My body has worked. And I’ve been humbled again and again to still be here on this planet when I’ve had so many close calls that I thought would have ended my life before now.

So for all of you who are currently struggling with health issues or anything else that is slowing you down I want to encourage you not to give up. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see a day again when I’d be well enough to venture forth in life on my own. Sure I’m still working within limits, and I still nurse myself along. I’m careful in my choices. But I HAVE choices, and that’s a miraculous and incredible thing.

It’s back to herbal tea and organic vegetables and early nights and my normal routine again today. I’m looking forward to it!

Don’t give up on your dreams, my friends. Miracles happen every day.

Love you! Nicole ❤ xx
(And yep, that’s me happily upgraded to business for the flight home – yippee!)

PS – Also, I just need to tell you – some days I just want to jump up and down and run around screaming I’M ALIVE AND IT’S BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

An ordinary night of magic!

“The purpose of life, after all, is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

We’re in the city right now, and last night something quite wonderful happened. Our neighbour joined Ben and I and we walked a few blocks down the road in the mild winter air to our local Japanese restaurant.

After a casual and delicious dinner we strolled home again.

That’s it. That’s all that happened.

No biggy, right?

Except that it was. When you live with chronic illness it’s amazing how small your world can become. For the first time in a long while I went out at night. I walked to a destination and home again. And had the energy to do all of that and still feel good about it.

I hardly ever go out at night, and so to combine dinner, friends and walking feels like some small kind of very tasty miracle.

Hooray for feeling better, and for life!
Hugs and love to you, Nicole  xoxo

That 2am Place – A Lesson In Mindfulness for Insomniacs

“It was that sort of sleep in which you wake every hour and think to yourself that you have not been sleeping at all; you can remember dreams that are like reflections, daytime thinking slightly warped.” 
Kim Stanley Robinson

I’m still in the grip of this flu. Not only that, I’m stuck in the city so that I can be close to a hospital while my heart continues to misbehave.

Here I am again, awake at 2am (which is when I am writing this – I’ll schedule it to post all by itself so I can sneak back to bed later and hopefully finally get some more sleep). Each night I’m in bed early, and I’ll fall asleep easily. But then my heart wakes me up, sometime between 11pm and 2am, pounding and crashing and racing in my chest. I’ll sit up in bed, distressed, catch my breath and cough a little and then quieten myself and try to bring my heart back to a normal pace using meditation and my breath. I’ll have a nice big glass of water with magnesium too, which sometimes helps. Still, it’s a bother.

Once upon a time, years and years ago, I used to panic at stuff like this. I was an amateur back then and worried excessively about every creak groan, pain and weird symptom. Now this kind of stuff is background noise mostly, and I have a raft of management techniques I use while I wait to see what my body will do and if I will need medical attention or whether it will settle on its own. One of my favourite techniques is mindfulness.

Mindfulness has become a soothing companion for me over the years. I use it three ways. I thought that by sharing this you might be able to add it in to your coping skills toolkit too. This technique works for pain, anxiety and many other kinds of problems.

  1. I become mindful of my body. Sitting or lying quietly I bring my attention to my breath. Then I take a tour, starting at the top of my head and working all the way to the tips of my toes. At each part of my body I draw my focus inwards and observe. How does my body feel? Any pain? Hot or cold? Any sensations or things I need to be aware of? Can I use my awareness to bring control, assistance and calm to my body? I’ve found that this simple act often dials down my pain, calms my heart and breathing, and lets me work through and out the other side of whatever is going on. Thinking about pain generally is very different to feeling into it specifically. When you connect with your pain through mindfulness and being in the moment everything becomes much more manageable.
  2. I become mindful of what’s going on outside my body. Always I bring my attention back to my breath first. Then I reach outside myself with my senses. What noises can I hear? How far can I hear when I reach beyond myself? Where does that awareness take me? Is there a breeze or any other kind of weather I can detect? What animals or people can I hear? If I can see the sky I pay particular attention to that. I let myself dissolve into the world around me, so that I am at the centre and life surrounds me. (This is a brilliant technique for developing your psychic senses too!) If my eyes are open, what can I see? What can I feel? Can I feel the texture of the sheets, or the cool of the night? This brings me a sense of reconnection and belonging. I see that I am more than just my body.
  3. I become mindful of my thoughts and emotions. By now, having spent time in mindfulness of my body and surroundings I am usually calmer. I sit or lie quietly and bring my focus to my breath. Then I stay quiet and open, waiting to see what arises for me. I tune in to any thoughts or emotions – not grabbing at them but letting them float up into my awareness. When I recognise a thought or emotion I sit with it, to see what it means for me. I do this with love and compassion for myself. Often this simple act of witnessing will dispel worry and uncrowd my overactive mind. This, in turn, soothes my physical body and often enables me to return to sleep.

Once I am calm again and things have settled I might go back to bed, or stay up for a little longer and write, or perhaps stand at the window or sit on a chair and watch the slumbering world for a while.

There’s a gorgeous moon tonight, a streaky golden sky, and the air is warm and slightly salty. It feels like there will be early morning fog here in Brisbane. It’s May and I am wearing only a thin cotton nightdress. My feet are bare. It’s almost winter, but it could be a summer night.

As I stand on our balcony I see a lone black and white cat walking down the centre of our street, placing her paws very deliberately, looking warily as she patrols. A possum and her baby are creeping along the power lines and there are fruit bats crying noisily and flapping all about the fig tree across the way. A rescue helicopter flies high overhead enroute to hospital and I send them love, light and my prayers for their journey. Meanwhile, the street sleeps on…

Hopefully soon so will I.

Sending much love to you, Nicole ❤ xx

 

Three In a Row!

“The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep.” 
W.C. Fields

This morning I’m celebrating a minor miracle at my house.

For the past three nights I have gone to bed, fallen asleep and then woken in the morning.

It’s been years (at least fifteen!) since I’ve had an uninterrupted night’s sleep, and I can’t think of the last time I had three in a row.

Usually I’ve found it hard to fall asleep because of pain. Or pain has woken me up. Or a bladder infection. Or both.

At my worst I was waking up hourly because of my bladder. And a good night meant that I’d get up maybe three times to pee.

The longest time I’d go between waking for any reason was maybe three hours.

And then this miracle happened.

Three nights where I have gone to bed, fallen asleep, slept all night, woke up in the morning.

I am finding it hard to explain how incredible this feels. How marvellous. How miraculous.

I went to bed and slept. Then I woke up and it was morning.

Actually, I’m crying now, writing this.

It’s amazing. Wow.

Dear Lymies and friends with seemingly intractable health problems, don’t ever give up. If it changes for me it can change for you too.

Biggest hugs, Nicole  xx