Write Your Will, Tell Someone Your Wishes!

“Another way to be prepared is to think negatively. Yes, I’m a great optimist. but, when trying to make a decision, I often think of the worst-case scenario. I call it ‘the eaten by wolves factor.’ If I do something, what’s the most terrible thing that could happen? Would I be eaten by wolves? One thing that makes it possible to be an optimist, is if you have a contingency plan for when all hell breaks loose. There are a lot of things I don’t worry about because I have a plan in place if they do.” 
Randy Pausch

Hi, Lovelies,

this is a short and possibly sombre post, but also a necessary one.

It’s about Wills and about the fact that I want to make sure you have one.

In this last week I’ve had four clients rushed to hospital after sudden accidents or illness, and another four diagnosed with terminal cancer.

All of them have young children, pets, possessions. Of the eight, six are single parents.

Two of these single parents are in critical condition and unable to communicate. None of the eight of them have a will, or have talked with anyone about what their wishes might be if something like this was to occur.

Because, of course, we seldom think about these kinds of things when everything is going along normally.

Now the families and friends of these severely injured and incapacitated souls are scrambling to put things in place, but there is nothing to guide them.

What do these people want for their children in the event of their death?

What did they want for themselves when faced with major medical decisions?

I know it’s a chore to get organised for something like this. It forces us to think about things that all of us would prefer to ignore. But once it is done you’ll have the peace of mind of knowing that your wishes can be known and that you won’t be leaving further stress and mess for the very loved ones you’d want to protect.

Love and hugs, Nicole  xoxo

PS – Want some questions to guide you in thinking about these things?
Try this blog post:
Conversations about Dying – We Need To Have Them

Disturbing Dreams and Strange Comforts

“Use the wings of the flying Universe, 
Dream with open eyes; 
See in darkness.” 
~  Dejan Stojanovic

 

One of the things my Aboriginal Aunties taught me when I lived in the Kimberley was that night flying would become a very important part of my healing business. During the night while I was asleep my soul became untethered they said, and in the dreaming place it could travel wherever it was needed.

Since my twenties every night after my meditation I pray that my soul can be useful during the dream state. I ask that I can be of service. I trust that it can be so.

I use my nights to fly.

Many of my students and clients have reported me visiting them during the night, or appearing in their dreams. Their recollections always tally with my own. It’s something I can’t explain, but it is also something I have grown accustomed to – a new kind of normal, I guess.

Mostly it’s a positive experience. But occasionally it really throws me. Like the time I cradled a dying stranger in my arms. A man I later found out was real, and who had died on the other side of the globe in just the way it had happened in my dream.

Then there was the dream I had on Thursday night. The one that kept me from blogging yesterday.

In my dream all I know is that I found myself suddenly pulled from the quiet sky and into a streetscape. Everything around me was blurred except for this small bubble of space and time that I inhabited. I was on my knees on the ground, and beside me was a woman. Her confused face was tilted toward me, and I was holding her hand.

I know you are afraid, I said to her, but I am here with you. I am holding your hand and I am here with you.

Outside the bubble of peace we inhabited there was chaos. People were running. Screaming. I heard a series of bangs and the air smelled of metal and dust and something vaguely like a car’s overheated engine. Beneath my knees were pavers covered in lines. The pavers were warmed from the sun.

As I held this woman’s hand I felt a deep love for her. She was all that I could see. All that mattered to me in that moment. I felt her relax and then felt a sensation like a sigh escaping from her body.

Am I dying? she said calmly. Her mouth didn’t move. Her eyes no longer moved. I heard her voice in my head.

Yes, I answered. I knew it with all of my being. You’re gone already.

Oh, she said. I wasn’t expecting that.

I poured all of my love into her and connected her to the peace and love that was all around us.

At the edge of our bubble two women and a man appeared. I knew they were her family. There was so much love for her there in that moment.

Your people are here for you, I told her. It’s okay to go with them now.

She stood up, they embraced and then walked away without looking back. I stayed kneeling beside her body, holding her hand in mine. The bubble of peace dissolved and I was overwhelmed with emotion at the scene around me. So many more people hurt, so much emotional and physical devastation.

But before I could look around or do more I was awake, lying in my own bed.

Rufous, our young red pup, was standing over me licking my face furiously and nudging me with his body. When he saw that he had woken me he pressed his little body against me and kept licking me to reassure me. I wrapped my arms around him and he licked away my tears.

I couldn’t go back to sleep, shaken by my dream, so we went downstairs together and Rufous stayed pressed against me as I made a hot drink and then sat down to meditate and pray.

A little after dawn my husband found me. You okay? he asked, knowing that I wasn’t.

I shared my dream, and the vivid memory of the pavers on which I’d knelt.

When he showed me footage of what had transpired in Barcelona overnight I recognised the images straight away. Those same patterns on the ground matched exactly what I had just told him.

I don’t know what my night was all about. Or what really happened. But I hope that in my own way I was able to make a difference.

Whatever you do today, be kind. Live from love. Towards yourself and all people you meet. Holding you all in my meditations, prayers and with my whole heart,

Nicole  xoxo

A Quiet Wednesday Today

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“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
~ Kahlil Gibran

 

Wednesday is my day for posting about death and dying.

Today just happens to be Ben’s birthday as well.

And for us, death and dying just came right to our front door, with the recent heartbreaking and sudden loss of our dear friend, Nurse Bert, the bestest and goofiest dog we have ever known.

I have tried, but I still can’t bring myself to tell you what happened yet. It was a little like being in a war zone for those last few hours of Bert’s life. We are still running on adrenaline and not enough sleep. We’re all still bruised and traumatised and too numb. We’re all still raw and feeling too much and not numb enough.

That’s what death brings to those who remain. A deep grief and sorrow. A total disorientation. An ocean of feeling and a desperate need to be able to find a way to navigate that ocean without our flimsy crafts being tossed around and going under.

On top of all of which I am undergoing procedures to help settle this intractable antibiotic-resistant UTI, which has been making life a misery.

While enduring a heatwave.

And with a dog left behind who is mourning the loss of his brother hard, and for whom there is currently only sadness in this world. Poor Cafe Dog, our sweet Harry, needs extra cuddles and care right now.

So, today we are having a very quiet day at home. We might just retreat to the only room with air-con – the bedroom – and all have a cuddle and a cry and try to catch up on some sleep.

Thank you so much for your outpouring of love and support. It has been such a comfort to us all.

Hug your loved ones, and be kind to yourselves and each other, today and always,

Much love to you from Nicole, Ben and Harry xx

Vale, Good Sir Bertle, the most distinguished Nurse, companion and burger connoisseur.

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Nurse Bert

The Strange Dream

“Dreams are today’s answers to tomorrow’s questions.” ~ Edgar Cayce

 

I had the strangest dream last night.

A dream that seemed less like a dream and more like a garden party.

My grandfather was there, handsome and charming as ever. Dressed in his best summer nautical whites.

My grandfather passed away some years ago. I knew instinctively that all of the other people in the dream had also died. But there was no solemnity or sadness. We were celebrating something, waiting for an honored guest, and it was very social.

My grandfather introduced me to an older woman, and a girl in her early twenties perhaps.

We chatted for a moment, and then the happy young girl fixed her eyes on me in a way I could not ignore. She asked me to give her mother a message for me. She told me her mother’s name and where she was from.

And then she gave me the message, which was short but clear.

The message was in two parts. Both for her ‘mom’, but one private and one I could share.

Here’s the share message.

God is love, and love is everywhere.

So this morning I am looking for Dani’s mom. I hope I find her…

 

Conversations About Dying – We Need To Have Them!

“When the time comes to die, make sure that all you have to do is die!”
~ Jim Elliot

“Everybody will die, but very few people want to be reminded of that fact.”
~ Lemony Snicket

 

This post is the next in my Wednesday series on Death and Dying…

 

Last year a good friend of mine died.

She died from breast cancer – a cancer she decided to treat naturally. A cancer that completely ravaged her body in less than two years while using those natural treatments. (And no, we are not going to discuss cancer and cancer treatments today.)

My friend avoided seeing me for months and months after she first detected the small lump in her breast. Why? She was frightened of what I might see psychically, and what I might tell her. She knew I would tell her to see a doctor, and to get additional information and ideas about possible treatment plans. So instead we kept never being able to make our calendars meet, even though we lived so close to each other.

But I knew there was something wrong. Very wrong.

Finally her husband rang one day and asked if we could come over.

I was so shocked when I walked through the front door. Here was my friend, suddenly an emaciated old woman. She smelt of death. I could see cancer throughout her body. I packed my shock away. My friend shuffled towards me for a hug and I saw it, a massive fungating tumor where her breast had been – so large that it was preventing her arm from moving naturally. Her arms and legs were swollen from lymphedema.

I hugged her gently, and she burst into tears.

Can you help me? my friend asked. I need some help.

As her husband made us a cup of tea I followed her to the lounge, where they had set up a bed for her.

You’ve defied the odds, my friend said. You’re still here and you should be dead. What else do I have to do to get better?

She then gave me the long list of everything they were doing. The infusions and diets and injections and colonics and green juices and superfoods and anti-cancer foods and no sugar and oxygen therapy and bicarb and turmeric and every other thing. Such a long list of things. Such a stressful thing, this list, with its military precision timing and increased severity as my friend’s condition worsened. They were having trouble coping with administering the regime. And now my friend couldn’t breathe if she lay down. What else could they do? There must be something else they could do? She couldn’t control her thoughts. She couldn’t stay positive. Could I help her meditate? Maybe that would sort her mind out?

I held my friend’s hand and our husbands brought tea for us and then disappeared out into the garden.

I found some lavender essential oil in my handbag and gently applied some to her swollen feet and hands, and showed her how to breathe it in. Then I talked her through a meditation as she sat in her chair, propped on soft pillows. Mercifully, somewhere in the middle of all of that my friend fell asleep.

I took my tea out into the garden, and told my friend’s husband that his wife was sleeping. He burst into tears.

Will she be okay? he asked me.

You already know the answer to that, I said. She’s dying. She needs medical care.

Can you tell her? he asked me.

Yes, I said. I’ll be back tomorrow.

Artwork by Daryl Zang

Artwork by Daryl Zang

The next day I sat on my friend’s bed and we talked about dying.

These are conversations I have had to have with my own husband many times during my illness. We’ve come to realise that they are conversations we all need to have, whether we are ill or not.

My friend and I talked about the possibility that she might die.

We talked about how to manage her care and her pain.

These were long, hard conversations with many tears.

We talked about wills. Did she have one? What did she want to happen if she could no longer make medical or other decisions for herself?

Our husbands joined us and we talked some more. We talked about all the things which were suddenly hard to talk about because they had become so real and so close.

We talked about her wishes, and the need for a plan.

Just a few days later my friend was admitted to a palliative care unit. She remained there until her death six weeks later. Until a few days before her death she had truly thought that she would get better enough to be able to go home and keep fighting.

In that whole time not one medical practitioner told my friend that she was dying. They told her only that she had stage four metastatic breast cancer.

I spent much of those last weeks with her, for short visits. For some of that time I was in hospital too and we would text madly, and talk when we could. We laughed a lot. We cried a lot.

The thing that broke me heart was an incident two weeks before she died.

I came to see her just after morning tea and she burst into tears. She felt so guilty, she said. The morning tea trolley had come around and she’d had the most delicious pumpkin scone with jam and cream. All that sugar. All that dairy. All that wheat. All the things she had been depriving herself of as she continued her green juices and superfoods that her husband brought up to the ward each day. She’d eaten cancer foods.

Darling, you’re dying, I said as I hugged her and wiped away her tears. One scone won’t make any difference. What matters was that it was delicious! Take pleasure from that. Then I went down to the canteen and fetched us both an excellent coffee and a chocolate brownie that was so good and we devoured them and laughed and for a moment we were two old friends who could have been anywhere.

Image from North End Coffee Roasters at Foursquare

Image from North End Coffee Roasters at Foursquare

Am I really dying, my friend asked me when our coffees were done.

Yes.

She burst into tears and sobbed into my arms all of the regrets she had. That she would never get to travel. That she wouldn’t go home. That she never tried the new Thai restaurant, and we never had our beach picnic with the dogs. So many regrets. So many thing she would have done differently if she’d realised that her time was so limited. If only someone had been honest with her. She thought there was still time.

And she confessed that she’d known the natural treatments weren’t working a year ago, but her husband had been so committed to them, and she was a naturopath and dietician so she felt it was her duty to keep going. Now she knew she’d made the wrong choice. She hadn’t honoured her intuition. And that choice had shortened her life and put her on a terrible path of suffering.

The little chemo she had been given palliatively had shrunk her masses and given her a better level of comfort. But it was too late.

I could barely talk that night for the pain of it all.

When my friend died she went downhill suddenly. She and her husband hadn’t talked with doctors about what might happen. There was no plan. Things were managed quite badly for her.

My husband and I got back to the hospital in time and I helped her to have a peaceful transition. Her death became a beautiful one.

But she died without a will. Without instructions. And it took her husband painful months to sort it all out after she was gone.

We don’t know when we will die. We don’t know if we will die unexpectedly and quickly, or if we will have time to prepare.

The only thing we know for sure is that one day we will.

Please talk with your friends and family. Do you want to be an organ donor? Are there situations where you would prefer that medical staff did not fight to save your life? What other instructions would you have if someone else was suddenly making the decisions for you?

Is there a point in trying where you might want to stop treatments?

Would you go into care? What would need to change if you ended up with a disability or chronic illness? Or a terminal one?

Funeral? Do you want one? Buried or cremated? Donated to science? Scattered at sea or the family plot?

Do you have a will in place, or at least have your wishes known to your family and friends? Is there a plan for your home, your children, your car, your possessions, your pets, your finances?

What matters to you in life? Are you living that life right now or are you putting all of these important things off to some mythical time in the future that may never come?

Death is a part of life. Let’s start having those conversations. One day you might be very glad that you did.

 

Accidents and Sudden Deaths – My thoughts from a psychic perspective

“Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am that swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.
~ Autumn Rain – Mary Frye, 1932

 

This is the next post in my Wednesday series on death and dying.

Many people have asked me what happens to a person if they have a sudden death through accident or illness.

I’ve sat holding the hand of people who’ve been suddenly and gravely injured and who have then passed away.

I’ve also been ‘visited’ psychically by souls whose life has suddenly terminated due to trauma, or I have connected with them through my meditations.

One of the strongest psychic experiences I have ever had was of sitting in my friend’s body and being aware of his thoughts in the hours before and after his death from suicide. Although that remains the most brutal experience I have had, it was also a supreme gift.

This is what I have come to understand…

Death that is sudden is a shock for the soul. We live on, and our capacity for thought and awareness lives on. There is a period after death where the soul must orient themselves to their new circumstances.

This doesn’t always happen the same way.

 

Some people die in trauma and there is a short period of nothingness – as if someone wiped part of a video. In this way the soul is spared the traumatic memories. There will be no trauma to process even if the circumstances of death were difficult. Sometimes the soul abandons the mortally injured body before death takes place. There is no suffering. Life just stops. In every instance the newly liberated soul is met and guided by loved ones who help to move the soul to a place of love and comfort. Later the soul may revisit their body or the scene of their death, but by then they will have disconnected from their life to an extent that the revisiting adds no trauma, only understanding and closure for the life they have just lived.

Some people die, and don’t immediately realise that they are dead. They may look down on themselves and be completely disoriented and confused. There is no physical pain. I liken this situation to when you awaken from a dream and are not sure where you are for a moment. Then gradually understanding comes as you orient yourself to the room you are in. This may take minutes or hours. There is never a situation of being trapped in the body, or trapped on earth. Instead there is a period of readjustment before the soul accepts their death and moves to wherever it is we go after this current life journey is complete. And wherever that is, it is ALWAYS a return to love.

My friend who suicided realised too late that he had acted from emotion in making the decision to end his life, and that he didn’t want to die. He was still alive when that realisation came but it was impossible to change his outcome. In the moments before death he experienced extreme regret and sorrow, and a deep awareness of the trauma he would now inflict on his family. After death he came to a place of deep love and acceptance for himself and his life. That was his gift to me. He showed me and allowed me to feel that love. I have never experienced anything as comforting or all-encompassing as that place of unconditional love his soul moved into after death.

Souls don’t remain trapped on earth, or stuck in some strange in-between place because of trauma, sudden or violent death. We always return to love.

The true suffering is done here on earth.

The energetic imprint of trauma, violence and suffering can remain in a place, and many psychics and empaths will pick up on that. They can tune into thoughts, emotions and even images that have been imprinted. This energetic residue is NOT a trapped soul. Lightworkers can bear witness to that low vibration energy, and use love and light to dissipate it and heal a space or place if that feels right.

 

Do we always die because it is our time? I would love to say that I am wise enough to know the answer. All I can say here is that while many people do indeed die because whatever experience they needed here is complete, there are instances of accident and mishap that can terminate our lives before we did all we came here to do and experience. Life is fraught with risk. We are biological organisms. It’s a crazy adventure that sometimes goes wrong. I do know that, no matter what happens, we return to love when we die. And everything we experience teaches us something and helps us to grow – either in this life or in our time between lives.

It is important to remember that the ones most affected by sudden death (be it accident, suicide or medical) will be those left behind in life.

 

I also had a question from a reader about organ donation that fits in very well with what we’re talking about here on the blog this morning. Here it is:

“My understanding is that taking organs when the person is brain dead, or just after their heart has stopped beating means their spiritual body hasn’t completely left the physical body yet. I understand that this can cause distress in the next world and maybe even problems when reincarnating with a spiritual body that hasn’t fully healed from having parts taken or damaged. have you had any experiences of this type of thing, or is it something you could enquire into? My only personal experience is living in a building where they did experiments on human eyeballs in the basement. I’m not scared of ghosts usually, but the corridor by the basement always seemed to be teeming with unhappy souls.”

 

A ghost is an energetic residue. Many empaths and intuitives pick up on strong positive or negative emotional energies that have been imprinted upon objects or places. I believe that the reader who posted this question is highly empathic and intuitive, and hence their ability to tune into old energies held within the building where they lived.

When organs are taken from a donor, the person is already brain-dead or their heart has stopped beating. There will be no possibility that this person could be brought back to any form of life. Life is sometimes artificially continued for a short period of time through the use of machines that keep a supply of oxygenated blood flowing through the body. These keeps the organs viable so that the donor’s wish to gift life to others can still take place. The soul of this person will have already detached from their body when the organs are removed.

A soul is never hampered in their journey after death because of what may have happened to their physical body before or after death. A soul would not experience difficulties because part of their physical body continued to exist. That organ serves no purpose for the disembodied soul. We exist as more than just our physical bodies, and we have no need for our physical body after death. Our physical bodies may continue to do good and be of service after our death though, through acts such as organ donation.

Be kind to yourself, and those you meet. We never know what is going on within another, and this is often a hard time of year remembering those we have lost.

Much love to you, Nicole <3 xx

 

What Happens When We Die?

“There once was a girl who found herself dead.
She peered over the ledge of heaven
and saw that back on earth
her sister missed her too much,
was way too sad,
so she crossed some paths
that would not have crossed,
took some moments in her hand
shook them up
and spilled them like dice
over the living world.
It worked.
The boy with the guitar collided
with her sister.
“There you go, Len,” she whispered. “The rest is up to you.”
~ Jandy Nelson, The Sky Is Everywhere

 

Welcome to the third post in my Wednesday series on death and dying.

Last week I talked about the end stage of life, and what you might expect as a loved one or carer. Today, I’d like to discuss the moments after death, and what happens for the person who died.

Let’s start with Antoinette, a friend of mine who lost her life to breast cancer at age forty-two, leaving behind a loving husband and two little girls. Antoinette had battled cancer for a number of years. She was the first friend who ever contacted me after she died. Let me share her story…

 

Antoinette

When Antoinette’s time came, it came quickly and she went downhill very fast.  She did not want to die in a hospital, so her family brought Antoinette home, arranged for medical care, and went about their lives with her firmly in the midst of it all.

My friend had been ravaged by cancer. She was bald, skeletal, and frail as a bird, with a hugely bloated stomach and a deep pallor. As I sat holding her hand in the days before her death, my friend would whisper to me about what she was experiencing as she faded in and out of consciousness.  It was very beautiful, she said, and her Dad had come to help her (he had died some years before)  but she was very afraid.  There was a beautiful garden and people dancing, and she really wanted to join them there.  She was tired and couldn’t keep fighting, but she felt so guilty to be leaving her family when her job with them wasn’t finished. 

As her body began to shut down Antoinette’s words became slurred and incomprehensible to others, but I could still hear her voice as loud and clear as a bell. Her mum and husband would come into the room, and her physical aura would immediately strengthen as she tried to be strong and stay with them.  When they left the room her physical aura became instantly weaker and her etheric aura (her soul energy) grew bright again.

The day of her death a strong pink and gold light descended upon Antoinette, and the whole room was filled with a Divine presence.  I don’t often work with Angels or people who have passed over but my friend’s room became filled with Angels that I could physically see.  As soon as they arrived she began the journey of letting go, and became more and more peaceful.

We all gave Antoinette constant attention and love, and told her that it was okay for her to go to the Light.  My friend was leaving a young family behind, and she resisted death with every breath while the living were in the room with her.  Finally a beautiful moment allowed her to begin the process of finally letting go.

I saw the spirit of a charming man, perhaps in his forties, just as if he was really in the room with us.  I couldn’t hear him, but Antoinette could.  “Dad’s here”, my friend whispered, but she was also distressed – she knew her life was coming to an end.  I had never met Antoinette’s father, and did not know what he looked like.  When I described the man I saw later to her mother without saying who I thought he was, she said – “oh yes, that’s my husband’’.  He’d been much older when he died, but he appeared to Pinkie at an age when he was strong and handsome.

 

Then the spirit of an older woman turned up – my Guides explained that she was a relative from Antoinette’s husband’s family – who had died before Antoinette or her husband were even born.  Her presence soothed family members, even though they could not see or hear her, and did not know she was there.  I watched this older woman standing unseen to all but me in the energy field of Antoinette’s husband, strengthening and supporting him, and witnessed the most moving scene as he then began to recall how he and Antoinette had met, and some of the special moments in their lives together.

Hours before Antoinette’s death, the spirit of a physically stunning blonde young woman turned up by her left side.  Antoinette’s eyes widened in amazement and delight.  “My friend’s here, my beautiful friend.  I don’t believe it.  She’s here!” cried my dying friend.  I watched this beautiful girl lean over Antoinette’s broken body and stroke her cheek, whispering to her, and as she did this Antoinette’s physical aura became paler and paler and her breathing laboured.  Then her etheric aura completely disengaged and floated to the top of the room, held by the most slender and delicate silvery cord.  I left then and went home, so that my friend could share her final moments in privacy with her family.

Even though I knew Antoinette was meant to be leaving us, and would be well guided and looked after, I was very upset at losing my friend, and found it hard to sleep that night.  Just after I finally dozed off I was woken by a bright light in my bedroom, which was filled with the fragrance of sweet flowers. My beloved friend was standing at the end of my bed in a pink dress, and with raven hair down to her waist held by a jewelled head band.  She looked years younger and radiantly beautiful.

“Thank you, Nicole,” said my friend, smiling widely.  “I’m okay, and I understand everything.”  She then gave me some short messages for her Mum, husband and family.

I heard from the family the next morning that Antoinette had passed away ten minutes before I saw her.

A girlfriend rang later that day to see how Antoinette was.  I told her of our friend’s passing, and the things I had experienced with her before her death.  This girlfriend had gone to school with Antoinette and knew her very well.  From my description she immediately identified the girl who had come to Antoinette’s bedside as a childhood friend who had died tragically in the company of Antoinette when they were just eighteen.

My girlfriend asked if I would be prepared to share what I had seen with the family of the girl who had died so many years ago.  I was able to share my experiences with that girl’s family, who took great comfort from the fact that I had seen their long-lost daughter and sister, and that the girls were together again, looking after each other. A photo they showed me matched the girl that I had seen exactly.

I’ll share with you with the final thing Antoinette said to me on the night of her death as she stood at the foot of my bed.  “Don’t worry Nicole.  God is everywhere.  It all makes sense when you get here.  It’s really okay, and so am I.  I love you.  Tell them all it’s okay.  It’s all just love.”

 

And here’s another reassuring story, although this one is very different.

Angela

When my friend Angela died, in the early hours of the morning, her spirit stayed in the hospital room for a long time afterwards. At first it was hard for her to believe that she was truly dead. There was quite a period of adjustment for her until she could finally feel a deep love for herself, and for her body. In life she had never felt beautiful, or good enough. In death she looked down upon herself and her loved ones and felt only love.

As dawn approached she slipped out of the room, and understood that with her thoughts she could travel freely. She gave me a running commentary as she travelled from the confines of the palliative care ward in Lismore. Angela spoke with joy about what it was to feel free. The world was so beautiful. She flew back over her home, and visited her dogs and her garden. She flew down to the coast to watch the sun come up over the lighthouse in Byron Bay. She could see dolphins! She could see so far, and the dawning morning was one of the most precious gifts she ever received. She was euphoric.

Angela’s spirit came backwards and forwards to our realm until her funeral a few days later. She was calm, joyful and completely at peace in a way she had never been in life.

Image by micahkiter

Image by micahkiter (The link takes you to great drone footage of the Byron Bay Lighthouse)

 

And this final story is of a stranger.

The Motorbike Man

I witnessed a terrible road accident a few years ago, involving a motorbike. It had just happened when we came upon it. There had been two people on the bike, but I only saw an empty helmet, and a rider who still wore his helmet, but who was horribly injured. As I sat in the car in the middle of the traffic jam, waiting for the emergency responders, a man in motorbike leathers came to the open window of our car. He asked me to help his friend. I poured all my love into the injured man, and prayed for him. I called upon his Guides and Angels and Ancestors. I prayed for the paramedics who were working on him, and I asked for the outcome for the Highest Good for all.

It was only much later that I found out the young man I’d been speaking to had actually died in that accident, and he’d stayed because he wanted to make sure that his friend would live. By an uncanny twist of fate I later met this friend again, at a cafe in Brisbane. You can read more about that here.

 

In every instance that I have sat with the dying, and with their body afterwards, their soul has left their physical body and stayed for at least a short while with their loved ones here, or taken a final tour of important places.

Wherever our soul travels to after this life, I know that we reunite with loved ones who have already passed, and that we feel nothing but radiant joy, love and calm. We return to love and we are never alone.

Whenever I have communicated with souls after their passing they have been at peace. Anger goes. Shame goes. Fear goes. Pain goes. All that is left is love.

Image from tatamom78 at www.photobucket.com

Image from tatamom78 at www.photobucket.com

I also know that love gives us ability to reconnect with and visit our loved ones in small ways, once we are no longer in a body.

Haven’t you ever felt the presence and love of someone dear to you who has died? We might not talk about it often, but it is a common occurrence.

I certainly don’t have all the answers to the mysteries of life and death, but I have seen so much that goes beyond what was ever taught to me or held as true around death and dying that I cannot but believe that we go on, that love goes on, and that love is all there is.

 

 

Thanks for reading. Next week I’ll be talking about suicide and also about grief. If you have any questions you’d like me to cover in this series, please contact me here on the blog or at cauldronsandcupcakes@gmail.com

Wherever you are, go in peace today, and know that you are in my thoughts, prayers and meditations. I’m wishing you well. I’m sending you love,

Nicole❤ xoxo