The Gift of a Quiet House, Away from People

“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.” 
~  Norton Juster

 

I’ve been struggling since my fiftieth birthday, trying to navigate the last of my psychic gifts. I’d known they were coming, but didn’t know what form they’d take. It sounds like it should be fun, doesn’t it? But it never is. It’s a shock to the system, which then requires major readjustment.

On my thirtieth birthday I woke to find I could see auras around people. I couldn’t turn it off, and it has never left me. It was just something I needed to learn to live with. On my fortieth birthday I suddenly saw auras and energy around animals, plants and places. How could I walk on the grass, or pluck an apple from the tree? It confounded and disturbed me for months. Until I became used to it.

These last gifts? There are several but one has been more unsettling than the others. When I touch someone, or stand near them and tune in, I can feel all of the emotions and energies within their body. All of that messiness and complexity – the conscious and the subconscious and the deeply buried – it all courses through me until I can scarcely breathe.

It happens when I put my hand on my dogs too. Or on a tree or a stone. But those experiences are different. Those energies calm and soothe me.

The mala for my Temple of Light Retreat. Each different bead represents one of the students on the course, or of others I am working with in meditation.

I am home at my farm again after a week of being in the city. I’m so grateful for the geographic isolation of our home here. I can’t feel our neighbours or their energy unless I consciously tune in. There’s no steady stream of feelings and images the way there has been in the city, where people are crowded all around us. Instead I have silence and peace.

What a relief after the onslaught, especially of the recent deep connections I have had with my aging mother-in-law who is in the early stages of dementia, complete with paranoia and confusion.

Last night I stayed up to meditate after Ben and the dogs turned in for the night. As they fell asleep I felt them withdraw their energy, and the house became still and quiet and clear. I sat down and lit a candle, prayed for the world and then meditated with my October crystals and my mala beads for the students on the two retreats I ran earlier this year. In the quiet space magic happened. I could hold each mala bead between my fingers and tune in to my students effortlessly. In the quiet I could feel my mind and thoughts stretch out in ripples from me. I could hear the earth breathing, and the animals sleeping, and the owls and frogs and night creatures conversing with one another. I went to bed calm and reassured. I understood that eventually I’ll adjust to these new abilities too.

When I woke this morning at 4am I returned to meditation. And when I was done I enjoyed the quiet a little longer before my husband and the dogs began to stir.

There is something restorative about a quiet evening house or early morning meditation space. Perhaps you aren’t on the same path I’m on, navigating new psychic abilities without an instruction book, but I am sure that having a little time to yourself in solitude at the close or opening of day will serve you well.

Sending so much love your way, Nicole  xoxo

PS – Want to learn to meditate and work with crystals, to make your own mala beads and to develop a strong spiritual practice for your own development? We still have a few places left on our final residential retreat for this year – Working With Crystals. You can be a complete beginner or more advanced in your abilities and practices, and this course will still suit you. Click on the link here to find out more.

Stars over Byron Bay by Dylan O’Donnell

Letting Myself Cry…

“The cure for anything is salt water. Sweat, tears, or the ocean.”
~ Isak Dinesen

 

It’s been building up for a while.

I do my best to manage it. I meditate twice daily. I ground myself. I sit in awareness and go gently when I need to.

But it’s never enough…

 

All the things I feel.

All the things I know.

All the things I see.

All the things I feel you hiding.

All the pain I feel inside you.

All the things of yours that I feel in me as I connect with you, hug you, work with you. Recent things, old things, things from childhood. Things sometimes from before even that.

All the injustices and terrible things that I see in the world or in some of my work where I must live with that knowledge, and the fact that I can’t change it.

All the times I can’t keep someone safe.

All the times my dreams become a continuation of the truth and suffering of others so that I might take some of that burden from you, or so that I can share that information with those who are empowered to act.

All the weight of all the things and all the feels and all that raw life.

 

Sometimes I find myself moving more and more slowly. Getting heavier and heavier in my body and my spirit. It comes upon me and I know that I can only hold it back for so long.

It always ends in tears.

But, after I have cried I feel better. Then I will take a walk, and then a swim in the ocean or a long shower.

Things go back to manageable again. The weight is lifted from me.

I have learned that it is okay to cry. In fact, sometimes it’s the only thing that truly helps.

How about you? What do you do to manage the weight of the world?

I am refreshed this morning, and sending so much love to you as I sit in meditation,

Nicole <3 xoxo

 

 

Acceptance – A Short Documentary about Owning Who You Are

2016-07-20-14-31-49

“The things that make me different are the things that make me.”  ~ A.A. Milne

“You are always welcome at my table.” ~ Nicole Cody

 

Last year I invited my friend Kerry Warnholtz to come spend some time with me as I prepared for and then ran my Chakra Wisdoms retreat.

Kerry is a talented photographer and videographer who sees the world through soulful and ever-watchful eyes. I hoped that she might be able to capture some footage and a few stills for my new website. My brief to her was that I wanted her to somehow show the love and care I put into each event that I run, and how precious each of my students is to me – how much I take that teaching and mentoring responsibility into my heart.

Kerry didn’t just capture that – she captured me – a little snapshot into my life, and the struggles I have had in coming to a place of self-acceptance. This short film speaks a lot to my WHY – why I do what I do – and I thought many of you might relate to the struggles I had in my earlier life to accept myself as I am.

What I want you to know, more than anything, is that I believe in you and that I want you to be who you are and be true to yourself. Being you is the most important thing you can do, and it’s time. The world needs us to stop pretending to be who we are not or to represent ourselves in the world as less than we are. It’s time to embrace ourselves and each other in all of our glorious diversity and similarity.

So, watch this little documentary. Come meet me at my farm, and in my life, and know that you are always welcome at my table.

You are among friends here.

Thanks for sharing the journey with me,

Nicole <3 xx

 

PS – If you want to see more of Kerry’s wonderful work you can find her at www.tsi-multimedia.com

Sitting with the Big Questions

“I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.”
~ Hermann Hesse

 

I still can’t see.

I still can’t see except for a brief window each morning before exhaustion and overwhelm kick in. In that brief window my left eye has reasonable vision. I can read large text and navigate the world around me more easily. I can write. I can feel briefly safe and more normal. By lunch-time clarity is melting away. By nightfall everything is a blur.

I’ve always believed that there is something to be learned or understood from every experience, if only I am brave enough to ask the big questions. If only I am brave enough to sit open and unknowing – waiting for whatever insights and answers may come.

For days now I have been asking myself ‘What am I not seeing?’ It seemed a sensible question, given my current circumstances.

I’ve had some major realisations around access and disability and what matters in life. I’ve thought deeply about helplessness and dependence and my difficulty with asking for help. I’ve sat with the truths of my need to serve, and my fear of not making a difference. Of my old childhood anxiety around feeling like a freak and never fitting in. Of not being loved if people knew my truth – if they truly ‘saw’ me. Of the pain of ‘not being seen’ by those I love.

I’ve owned the need for self first, of slowing down, of finding grace in impossible situations, of enlightenment through suffering. I’ve watched from outside myself as a part of me has danced with a range of emotions.

And I kept asking myself – What am I not seeing?

What am I not seeing?

Eventually the words themselves became a noose that drew tighter and tighter. I’d stripped myself bare. There seemed nothing more to find. My world grew smaller and darker, my depression and frustration more profound.

I tried to sit in that place of darkness and stuckness. I hoped that by sitting there some great breakthough would come.

Nothing.

Nothing!

Suddenly it came to me, and the realisation was so powerful that waves of relief flooded my body. I am psychic after all. I live between worlds. I have always seen what others cannot.

All this question of ‘What am I not seeing?’ was doing was keeping me stuck in my head. In my rational self. A useful place to be in small doses, but the one perspective I will ever find there will be my own.

‘Not seeing’ ultimately gave only limited answers. It closed me down.

But now I Knew I had the key within me to bring light back into this dark space.

I reframed my question.

What can I see?

The boundaries of my tiny existence exploded. I moved from my head to my soul.

Everything changed.

I still might not be able to see with my eyes, but I can see so much more clearly from this new perspective, and I know there is much here to learn and explore.

How about you? What can you see?

Sit with it for a while. I think you’ll be glad that you did.

Please know that you’re in my thoughts, prayers and daily meditations.

All my love, Nicole <3 xx

 

Batman Or Iron Man? Which one are you?

Image from moviepilot.com

Image from moviepilot.com

“There are two types of people on planet Earth, Batman and Iron Man. Batman has a secret identity, right? So Bruce Wayne has to walk around every second of every day knowing that if somebody finds out his secret, his family is dead, his friends are dead, everyone he loves gets tortured to death by costumed supervillains. And he has to live with the weight of that secret every day. But not Tony Stark, he’s open about who he is. He tells the world he’s Iron Man, he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t have that shadow hanging over him, he doesn’t have to spend energy building up those walls of lies around himself. You’re one or the other – either you’re one of those people who has to hide your real self because it would ruin you if it came out, or you’re not one of those people. And the two groups aren’t even living in the same universe.” ~ David Wong

 

When I first read this quote I had one of those aha moments. The words resonated for me because, you see, I’ve been both.

Until my early thirties I lived like Batman. My great secret was that I am psychic. I have been since I was a child.

I remember so clearly the afternoon my best friend at high school passed judgement on an advertisement in a women’s magazine, showing a stereotypical psychic in a purple robe and turban with her hands suspended over a crystal ball. “It’s such a scam,” said  my friend. “Psychics are all bullshit. They just exploit stupid people and the vulnerable.”

My other friends all nodded their heads in agreement. There was something contemptuous about both the people claiming to be psychic, and those people dumb enough or desperate enough to use their services. Lotto numbers. Soul Mates. Fortune Telling… Intelligent people made their own way in the world, did their own research, and chose trusted professionals to be their life advisors. Not women with exotic names who wore jewelled turbans and touted lucky numbers. Here I was, a well-educated young woman at an academic school, intending to go on to university studies. How could I claim to be like the crystal-waving freak?

Bruce Wayne hiding his true identity as Batman - image from www.popsugar.com

Bruce Wayne hiding his true identity as Batman – image from www.popsugar.com

I was so worried about being found out. About ending up an outcast. All I could think to do was withdraw further so that no-one would even suspect this thing in me, engage with people in a way that was all about them and never about me, and stay under the radar until this phase in my life had well and truly passed.

For years I was ashamed to be me. I hid my abilities and true nature, except where I knew it was safe to share the truth of my life.

What an exhausting and miserable way to live. Always in constant fear of being discovered, judged and ostracised. Of no longer being taken seriously.

Eventually illness stripped so much of my old self away that all that remained was my intuitive and psychic ability. The Universe certainly had the last laugh. The thing I fought so hard to hide was the only thing left that I could do.

That was when I decided that it was better to live like Iron Man – Tony Stark. To openly declare who and what I am, and to support others to be who they are too. Psychics aren’t freaks, but normal people with a particularly well-honed sense that is available to us all.

Tony Stark lives openly as Iron Man - image from www.forbes.com

Tony Stark lives openly as Iron Man – image from www.forbes.com

My life and my work is now an open book. I share it all – the good, the bad and the ugly. It’s liberating. There’s no more stress. And in giving myself permission to live honestly as who I am, I help others to do that too. I surround myself with people who accept me for who I am, and I don’t care any more if you don’t like me, respect me or appreciate me or my gifts. I just won’t hang out with you, and I no longer put myself into situations or relationships where it is necessary to hide my truth or where you’ll put me down. Goodness, what a relief!

How about you? Are you Batman or Iron Man?

I know which one works better for me.

 

The Strange Dream With The Even Stranger Twist

“Tis strange, – but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!”
~ George Gordon Byron, Don Juan

 

*Please note that I have changed the names below to protect the privacy of those involved.

I dreamt the oddest dream the other night. It was one of those dreams so rich in detail – the sounds, the smells, the textures and emotions – that it might have been real. Me, transposed into some other reality through the mechanism of my dream.

I sat beside Ben in a big white American-style utility. We were in heavy traffic in an unfamiliar city, my husband behind the wheel and me looking all around at the buildings and the many lanes that were converging on a five-ways. As we began to merge I saw a vehicle towing a closed in trailer cut across the lanes to reach an exit on the other side of the road. A semi was bearing down upon them. I knew there wasn’t enough time. The truck hit the car and trailer, pushing them along and into other traffic.

Ben began to take evasive action as time slowed down. I was aware of every detail. There seemed an abundance of time and yet so little to be done. The crunching, grinding sound was sickening. I was sure that we would become part of the unfolding accident. Sure we would be badly injured or killed. My heart raced at the truly chaotic and terrifying scene.

Suddenly it was over. Our car was safely stopped. The truck and other cars were stopped. Debris was everywhere. People came running from all directions. I flung open my door, assaulted by the smell of burning brakes, rubber, metal and fuel. On the asphalt ahead of us was a small boy. His shirt and jacket were shredded, and he had an open wound in his chest. He was crying out for his mother, over and over. Mum, mum, mum.

I dropped down beside him, picked him up and cradled him in my arms, frantically looking around for some help. His blood was soaking my shirt. I pressed my fingers into the wound, trying to staunch the flow, and the boy looked up at me.

‘Am I dying?’ he asked. ‘It hurts.’

His voice didn’t sound like a child’s. He spoke with the voice of a man.

I somehow knew the truth, that yes, he was dying. I nodded yes.

‘I’m frightened,’ he said. He started to cry. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have taken my bike out today.’

I’m still dreaming, I thought to myself. I’m not really here.

Image from smartiplex.com

Image from smartiplex.com

Beyond us I saw a badly damaged motorbike on the ground. I looked down again and it was no longer a little boy, but a man whose head and chest were on my lap as I cradled him in my arms.

‘Mum,’ the man said. He squeezed my hand hard. ‘Thanks for coming. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve screwed everything up.’

‘I’m not your mother,’ I managed to say.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘My mother is already passed. My name is Andy. Andy Little.’ Bubbles of blood were coming out of his mouth.

I held Andy’s hand and stroked his hair. I whispered to him to not be afraid. That it would all be okay.

A woman in white walked towards us through the smoke and debris. ‘I’ll take him now,’ she said. I looked down and Andy’s eyes had glazed. The woman was gone. Andy was dead.

I woke up crying.

The dream stayed with me, and I couldn’t let it go. It affected me so strongly that I vomited. My head ached all day and I felt exhausted and disoriented. I offered up prayers for Andy, and held space for him in my meditations.

Finally, days later, I decided to google the name. Andy Little had been killed in a multiple vehicle accident at around the time of my dream, in a city on the other side of the world. He had been riding a motorbike. His photo matched the face of the man from my dream.

He had no next of kin.

I still feel so sad. I can’t explain it. Was it a dream? Was I there? What does it all mean? I do know that Andy is with his mum now, and for him, everything will be okay.

This life of mine is so strange at times. I hope that in some way, energetically, I was there and was able to offer Andy comfort as he passed. To think that gives me a measure of comfort too.

Image from EmilysQuotes.com

Image from EmilysQuotes.com

The Psychic and The Shower Encounter

Image from Urban Times

Image from Urban Times

“Patience is the calm acceptance that things can happen in a different order than the one you have in mind.”
~ David G. Allen

 

I am not fond of being late. Maybe it’s the Virgo in me. So I was grateful to be running early the other morning. It gave me some extra time to enjoy the warm water of my shower before we headed out on a coffee date to meet a friend.

“Oh, this is glorious,” I said to Ben as I stood beneath the flow.

And then, unexpectedly, this.

An unbidden image of a human bowel came into my mind.

Sexy, huh?

What followed was worse. I was keeled over by a vicious pain in my lower abdomen. At the same time I was flooded with knowing. The teenage daughter of a client was in big trouble. A beautiful girl with an undiagnosed (or discussed) eating disorder and severe anxiety. (A sore point in the reading I’d had with the mother, who hadn’t wanted to hear what I’d needed to say.) I suspected a twisted or obstructed bowel. I could see that the girl had been trying to treat herself for a few days with laxatives and purgatives.

I couldn’t remember her name or her mother’s, although I could see their faces clearly. How could I track them down with no names?

‘Facebook!’ I yelled at I hobbled out of the shower, still hunched over and clutching my belly.

‘Woah!’ said my poor husband as I pushed past him. ‘You okay?’ His face was drawn with concern.

‘Psychic emergency!’

‘Of course,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Need some help?’

But I was already downstairs.

Sitting at my computer I remembered that the woman had been referred to me by another client. I found that client on facebook and scrolled through her friends until I found the woman in question. I messaged her, and she responded within a minute. Soon we were talking on the phone. I managed to convince her to go into her daughter’s room, and then get her up and take her straight to hospital.

Then, running hugely late by now, I threw on some clothes and we hurried to off to meet our friend. I was preoccupied and had no appetite, wondering if the mother had taken me seriously. Wondering if I should call again to check. I certainly wasn’t the best company.

I received a text message an hour later. The woman’s daughter, Melinda, had been rushed to surgery. Finally I could eat my breakfast, knowing that something was being done.

By the end of the day I learned that surgeons had removed a section of Melinda’s bowel that was obstructed by adhesions, and she had already been referred to a psychologist and from there to an eating disorders clinic. Situation under control.

That’s my life. I can plan, but I never really know from day to day what might arise, or how I may be called to be of service.

I’m so grateful for my husband Ben, and for good friends like the girlfriend we met for coffee, who accept the delays and changes that this crazy life of mine can sometimes impose.

There is nothing glamorous about being a psychic. It’s not like the tv shows. It’s not the way so many people portray it. It’s gritty and real and wonderful and distressing and frustrating and overwhelming and humbling all at once.

Please hold Melinda and her family in your thoughts and prayers. They need a little extra love and support just now.

Thank you <3 xoxo

Image from imgkid.com

Image from imgkid.com