There’s a Problem With Your Mother – My latest psychic experience

“The phrase ‘Love one another’ is so wise. By loving one another, we invest in each other and in ourselves. Perhaps someday, when we need someone to care for us, it may not come from the person we expect, but from the person we least expect. It may be our sons or daughter-in-laws, our neighbors, friends, cousins, stepchildren, or stepparents whose love for us has assigned them to the honorable, yet dangerous position of caregiver.” 
Peggi Speers


I woke up this morning at 2.10am. I know it was 2.10am because I looked at my watch, bleary-eyed and thinking it was way too early to be waking up yet.

As I rolled over in the dark, ready to go back to sleep, I thought of Steve. Steve’s a client of mine. I haven’t seen him for maybe five years. I saw his wife maybe two years before that. Why was I suddenly thinking of Steve?

In my mind’s eye I saw an elderly woman lying on a bathroom floor, frightened and frail and unable to stand. She must be Steve’s mum, I decided. Now what would I do?

I hauled myself out of bed and came into my office, where a staff member has recently returned a large box of my paperwork. There were two huge manilla folders filled with client profile sheets, none of them in order, and I knew Steve’s details would be in there somewhere. I flicked on a light and sat down to go through the hundreds of pages. It took me ten minutes but eventually I had his number. I called it, and it rang and rang before finally going to message bank. I left a message to call me back immediately.

But as soon as I put the phone down I knew I’d need to try again. So I called back. Me calling a man I’ve met twice, at 2.30am on a Saturday morning. Steve picked up on the second ring.

‘Oh, you’re that Nicole,’ he grunted. And then he swore at me.

I get it. It was the middle of the night, and I’d just woken him from a deep sleep.

‘Steve, I’m sorry, but this is an emergency. Your mum has had a fall, and she needs help. Can you go check on her?’

‘Mum’s dead,’ Steve said. And then he swore at me again and hung up.

For a moment I didn’t know what to do. The image of the old lady came to me again. She was crying and distressed. I rang Steve back.

As he swore at me I kept talking, describing the tiles on the bathroom floor, and the layout of the room.

He stopped swearing. ‘That’s Karen’s mum’, he said. ‘Sh*t! Why didn’t you say so?’

‘What do you call your mother-in-law?’ I asked.

‘Mum,’ he said, and then he went quiet for a moment. ‘Sorry, Nicole. Look, she lives the next suburb over. I’d better get round there.  I’ll call you back, okay?’ And then he hung up.

I couldn’t go back to sleep. I got up and meditated, put a load of washing on, and waited.

At 5.30am Steve called back from the hospital. His elderly mother-in-law, Beverly, had slipped in her bathroom and fallen over, breaking her hip and her wrist. She’d been on the floor for almost two days. She was in surgery now and Steve was waiting to see her when she came out and was allocated a room.

Then Steve told me that he and Karen were undergoing a trial separation. Karen’s overseas on a holiday so no-one’s been checking on Bev. Steve hadn’t seen Bev since he and his wife split up late last year. And he’s only been talking to Karen and his adult kids via text message.

While he’d sat on the bathroom floor beside Bev, waiting for the ambulance, he’d promised her that he would talk to his wife. Karen still loved him, Bev had said. They all still loved him. So Steve rang Karen and they talked for an hour. He still loves her too. They want to find a way to work things out.

Steve rang off, promising to update me on Bev’s progress and wanting to book a session for himself and his wife, who is going to catch the first available flight home today.

I made myself a pot of tea. It’s going to be a long day and I haven’t had much sleep. But Bev is taken care of and Steve and Karen are talking again and there is hope where there was none. So, all in all, it’s been a good start to my weekend!

Look after each other, and yourself. Much love, Nicole ❤ xx

There’s Planning, and then there’s Life…

2016-05-20 11.27.40

“All human plans [are] subject to ruthless revision by Nature, or Fate, or whatever one preferred to call the powers behind the Universe.”
~ Arthur C. Clarke


Thursday last week I’d had every intention of Monday (today!) being the day where I would launch my half-year edition of the Year of ME Planner and welcome you all to come join those of us already working with the Planner, and this fabulous supportive community that has been created,

I’m out by one day!

Sorry, it won’t happen until tomorrow. Our internet and phone problems which have plagued us for months at the farm and which were getting steadily worse became critical on Thursday night. Friday we had almost no telecommunications at all. Saturday, the technician appeared, pulled all our services and worked on the line all day, restoring service that works (fingers crossed!) late on Saturday afternoon. It’s very hard to work on an internet-based business when there is no internet!

And then on Sunday, my scheduled day of rest which I’d decided to repurpose as a catch-up day, I ended up dealing with a psychic emergency that lasted late into Sunday night (or early Monday morning if we were to be specific!).

So now I’m going back to bed to catch up on some sleep after yesterday. All the details of the half-year Planner (which goes from June to December 2016) will be up on the blog and in the shop tomorrow. You’ll be able to buy the Planner on its own, or buy a package that includes the Planner and membership to the remainder of our year-long online course and private facebook community.

There’s an extra-special reason to join the community this year too. All of my Foundation Members (people who joined this year) will have access to a code that will lock you into this year’s full-year price when I launch my bigger, brighter all kinds of other lovely things community next year. And as long as you remain a member you’ll only ever have to pay that price forever. No matter how many extra resources and materials I add.

Cafe Dog is pawing at my leg and looking at me winningly, so maybe we’ll have a little Cafe breakfast outing first before I finally get some sleep.

And I’ll share the details of the psychic emergency later this week. My client’s happy for me to let you know what happened, and I know you’ll find it fascinating and very affirming for those of you who are also intuitive (which I’m pretty sure is all of you!).

Lots of love, a very sleepy Nicole xx

Hopefully, this is me today…

“What hath night to do with sleep?”
~ John Milton, Paradise Lost


It’s been another one of those nights. Those sleepless up-all-night-helping-people-in-crisis kind of nights.

So my plan today involves naps.

Lots of naps. Threaded together with cuddles, and then more naps.

See you tomorrow xoxo


The Baby Who Knew Me!

Image by Aimee at Lily Pad Designs

Image by Aimee at Lily Pad Designs – Note: This is NOT the baby who knew me 🙂

“Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul 
And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops at all.”
~ Emily Dickinson

“Really important meetings are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other. 

Generally speaking, these meetings occur when we reach a limit, when we need to die and be reborn emotionally. These meetings are waiting for us, but more often than not, we avoid them happening. If we are desperate, though, if we have nothing to lose, or if we are full of enthusiasm for life, then the unknown reveals itself, and our universe changes direction.” 
~ Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes


It takes a lot to freak me out. But last week, in the middle of Woolworths in Byron Bay I consider that I was freaked. Let me explain…

I was feeling ill, miserably exhausted on my lyme drugs, depressed and in pain. It wasn’t the best of headspaces. I hadn’t slept much for days.

As I whizzed through the aisles, throwing a few things in my basket, I saw a little girl sitting unattended in a shopping trolley. When she saw me she gasped, and her big brown eyes widened. Her face went bright red. I thought she was about to cry. I grabbed what I needed, hoped her mother was near, shot her a smile and raced into the next aisle.

A few more aisles over we met again. There was more stuff in the trolley behind her, but again she was unattended. Her face lit up as I walked past her.

“Hello,” I smiled as I grabbed some milk.

She reached out her arms to me, cute as a button. I waved goodbye and hurried towards the checkout. So she launched her super power. This little girl let out a blood-curdling scream. A scream loud enough to shatter windows and perforate ear drums.

 Image by © Ale Ventura/PhotoAlto/Corbis

Image by © Ale Ventura/PhotoAlto/Corbis

As soon as I looked back at her she stopped.

When I turned away, she screamed.

“Do something,” a woman beside me said angrily. “Don’t just leave her sitting there.”

What could I do? I was already so disoriented from pain and fatigue, and that scream was splitting my head open. I hurried back over, put down my basket and put my hand on her chubby little leg.

She stopped screaming immediately and beamed up at me. She held out her arms to me.

‘God, where’s her mother?’ I kept thinking. The little girl stretched so far I was frightened she would fall out of her seat. I stepped up close and to my surprise she grabbed my face and started smothering me in kisses. At least she wasn’t screaming.

“Nicole?” an embarrassed voice said from behind me.

I half-turned, my hair caught up in fistfuls by the little girl. It was a client of mine, Susan, whom I haven’t seen for a few years, although I have spoken to her on the phone a few times last year.

“This is Melody.” She came and stood beside me, and started crying as she detangled my curls from her baby’s hands.

And then I understood. I hugged her and we both cried, right there in the dairy aisle. Bless Byron Bay – it’s a perfectly natural occurrence in our shire for people to hug and cry. Everyone walked right past without batting an eyelid.

Melody (I’ve changed the names here for privacy purposes) is a soul I first saw as a bubble of light in her mum’s aura, many years ago. She was all ready to come through, given any opportunity to be born. But her Mum was in a turbulent relationship, and uncertain if she was ready for children. For her, career was what took all her energy.

In mid 2012 Susan rang me, feeling very unwell, and I asked if she could be pregnant. “Impossible,” she’d answered. “I’m on the pill. And anyway, I’ve separated from Max months ago. I’m on my own.”

Months after that she sent me an urgent message via facebook late one night. More a confession that anything else. She was pregnant after all, most likely from a one-night stand, and with no way of tracking down the father. Her life was falling apart. Susan was contemplating a late-stage abortion, and she wanted to discuss the implications of that for the soul she might not bring through, and for herself.

This little soul, Melody, spoke to me, and said that she didn’t mind what her mother chose, because she loved her so much, and if it wasn’t the right timing she would wait and come through at another time. It was all okay.

Melody was so calm and loving. I trusted that too.

But I was deeply upset by the emotional state that Susan was in, and how very unsupported she was. I stayed up that night praying and doing a healing meditation for her and the little soul with her, asking for the best possible outcome and highest good for both of them. I called in all of the spiritual support for her that I could muster.

Susan rang me the next morning to say that she had found a doctor and booked the procedure. She sounded much calmer. I didn’t hear from her again.

So here we were, in the middle of Woolies, with the baby daughter she decided at the last minute that she had to keep after all.

Susan was up here in Byron on holidays with her daughter and her new partner. She’s happy, and in a great relationship. She loves being a mum. It has all worked out okay.

I got more hugs and kisses from both of them, and then I took my shopping, paid for it and headed back to my patient husband and cafe dog out at the ute – who were wondering what had happened to me to make me take so long.

Synchronicity – that’s what took me so long. I love the mystical magical nature of our Universe. It never ceases to fill me up, and give me hope and peace.

Image from Espaco Yoga

Image from Espaco Yoga

The Elephant Elder of Chiang Mai

On my thirtieth birthday I woke up to find that I could see auras around people. After I adjusted to the shock, and the disorientation that comes from having additional materials in your field of vision, I soon found that I could understand and interpret those energies, and it has formed the basis of much of my psychic work.

On my fortieth birthday I woke up and I could see colour all around me, in everything living thing, and many more things besides.  I was so overwhelmed. It was as if God had allowed me to open Pandora’s Box…

Image by Marta Dahlig

At first I felt as if I could no longer even walk on the grass, in case I injured it. The world was so beautiful.  But what would I eat? Animals, plants, they all had auras – I could see within them the existence of a sentience well beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Energetically, they were so much like us, and we like them.

But how I resolved that is best left for another day.

A few years ago I took a trip to Thailand. I was recuperating from a heart attack – and it’s true to say that I was in a very open and accepting space about what life had in store for me.

While in Chiang Mai we trekked up to an Elephant Camp. As we walked through the park, a line of elephants came towards us from the other direction.  Each elephant had their mahout (trainer and guide) and a tourist or two on their back.

One of the elephants lifted up their head from quite a way away and stared directly at me.  It made me feel quite uncomfortable. As that elephant stared at me, others began to notice me too.  They were so big, and suddenly I felt very small and very vulnerable. A few of the elephants walked past us now and then suddenly the one who had been staring trumpeted and ran towards me. It happened so quickly that no-one did anything. Fear surged in me and for a moment I thought I might die. But just as suddenly she stopped in front of me, and I swear she looked at me with recognition.

Her mahout yelled to her, and urged her to keep walking, but she stood a moment longer with me, and then ever so tenderly she stroked my cheek with her trunk.   It was the most extraordinary thing, and it reduced me to tears.

As the rest of the elephants filed past us, each of them stretched out their trunk towards me. I could see that the mahouts were uncomfortable and that this was not usual elephant behaviour.

Later, after we had watched a group of elephants bathing in the river, we bought bananas and went over to where some of the elephants were resting.

There was my elephant, and she tapped me on the shoulder with her trunk, so I would favour her with a banana.  Her aura was quite different to the other elephants around her.  It was complex, with Master Colours and a Psychic Channel. She reminded me of my favourite one-eyed cow, 767, who is that matriarch of our cattle herd, and an incredibly wise old girl. Just as with 767, I saw the other elephants looking to this wise old mother for direction and guidance.

This elephant kept looking at me with her querying eyes, and my whole body vibrated as she touched me, tapping her trunk gently right over my heart. I had only been out of hospital for a fortnight, and was still experiencing constant pain. Somehow she knew. I stood with her for a long while, and without being able to speak each other’s language, I felt that we had understood each other. My aching heart actually eased.  Later I would have my first full night’s sleep since I had first had chest pain.

My day with the Elephant Elder of Chiang Mai remains one of the most profound experiences of my life.

Life is so much more mysterious and wonderful than anything I had ever dreamed. ♥

Hey Sister, You Okay?

Image from

I was looking forward to Saturday. In the last few weeks I’ve supported a friend through the end stages of terminal cancer, holding her hand til she passed, ridden the roller coaster of supporting an addict in recovery, and juggled my daily work and writing. Saturday was this wonderful window of calm in front of me like a soft pillow to lay my weary head.

Nothing went to plan for me. My do-nothing day of leisure and self-replenishment which I had so looked forward to became about helping others through various crises and melt-downs.  It’s okay.  The Universe obviously cleared my calender so I’d be available for the people who needed me most.  But it was an emotionally draining day, capping a difficult few weeks, and it left me wrung out.

I was driving through the inner city late yesterday when the traffic suddenly slowed.  Cars tooted their horns.  People yelled and gestured. I though there must have been a dog on the road.

The traffic slowed to a stop.  I couldn’t see what was happening, so I said a quiet prayer, asking that the animal be okay and be guided back to safety.  Finally the cars began moving again, swerving around something in the middle of the road.  Some stopped to hurl abuse as they drove past. I craned my neck, trying to see what was obstructing our way.

Imagine my horror and disbelief when I saw an elderly aboriginal woman in the middle of the road.  She was just sitting there, a shopping bag beside her on the ground, one shoe off, grazed knees.  I pulled my car over to the side as soon as I could find a park and raced back to check on her.

“Hey, Sister,” she croaked at me as I got closer. “Can you see me? All the rest of your mob think I’m invisible.”

“Hey, Sister,” I called to her.  “I see you. You okay?”

She swung her head towards me, squinting in the sun, but said nothing.  I waited for a car to pass and crossed over to her.

“Hi, I’m Nicole.  Are you okay?  Do you need some help?”

She nodded her head yes.

I helped her up, and over to the footpath. She was unsteady on her feet and I wondered if I should call an ambulance.

“Sorry, love. I’m real sorry.”  She leaned heavily on my arm.  “I just live along here. Too late eating lunch and my strength’s gone. I came over all dizzy. I’ve got sugar,” she said weakly.

“You’re diabetic?” I asked as we walked up some steps to a small flat.


I got her inside, and she asked me to make her a sandwich, while she ate some jellybeans.  Then her neighbour popped in and said she would make her friend a cup of tea and stay with her until she came ‘right’ again.

Before I left I asked if there was anyone I could call, or if she wanted me to take her to the doctor.

The old aboriginal lady patted my hand. “I’m alright now I’m home. You know, you’re a true nice girl,” she said.  “Brought up proper. Your mother and grandmother, you do them proud. Here….”  Reaching over to a box she pulled something out. “This is for you.”

She opened a small drawstring bag and put the contents in my hand, one by one.

A bag full of treasures

“This shell, it’s from up my country.”

She placed it on my palm, and tiny grains of sand stuck to my fingers.  I wanted to hold it to my nose and smell the sea.  Suddenly I was homesick for my little farm at Byron Bay with a physical ache.

“Got this stone from the river.  See how nice and smooth it is.” It was a piece of clear quartz, tumbled milky, and still luminous. I felt such comfort, and thought of Angels.

This one,” she held up a twisted grey rock, “I got this one off the beach. It reminds me of a baby wrapped up tight in his blanket, trying to talk to you. Feels real nice in your hand.”

“This one – it’s coral.  Looks like an alien head with them two eyes.” She chuckled. “Friendly fella for watching over you.”

“And this last one, he’s a fossil crab, real old from the old times.  Good for protecting your soft heart.”

I left with brimming eyes, embarrassed by her kindness.

And I never asked her name.

Today I’m holding these precious treasures in my hands and feeling humbled and awed. I wonder if she knew how much these things would mean to me, or what they symbolise after so hard a day, so hard a week.

Hey Sister, you okay?

I feel like it was HER watching out for ME.

Rainbow Dreaming. Rainbow Tribe. We are One. ♥

The Power of a Father’s Love

Image from

 “Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third.” ~ Marge Piercy

One night, in the middle of 2010, I was on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. It was late, and we had been asleep for some hours. The room phone rang, waking us up.  When  I answered there was no-one on the end of the line. I hung up, groggy and disoriented, turned over and went back to sleep.

The phone rang again.

Again I answered it. No-one there. I hung up, cranky to have been woken a second time.

For the next two hours the phone kept ringing. Of course there was no-one on the end of the line. In frustration my husband pulled it out of the wall.

Then my cell phone rang. In the middle of the ocean. Miles from having any sort of reception. I fumbled for it and then gave up in disgust as once again there was no-one on the line.

And then had a realisation.

“Someone’s trying to contact me,” I said to my weary and shaken husband. We both knew what I meant.  A psychic thing.

“I’m going outside to do a meditation,” I told him. Wrapping a robe around me I went out onto the balcony and perched on a sunlounge. Soon I was deep in meditation, asking for guidance around what had just happened. Nothing came for a long time, and I pulled my robe closer as the air cooled before dawn.

Image by Thinkstock

Suddenly in quick succession I saw a single vehicle accident on a country road as a series of jolted images – sliding, rolling, slamming into a tree. It was so real I could smell the metallic tang in the air, the dust, and the blood. It was as if I were in the driver’s seat, and then somehow I was standing there, beside the mangled car. Steeling myself, I bent to look through the window.

A moan came from behind me.  I whipped my head around.

I knew his face, but I couldn’t place him. He looked so lost, so broken, and I found it very hard to breathe. It came to me slowly. He was the husband of a client.  I’d never met him, but I’d seen his photo, maybe two years before. The same man was standing on the road. With a sickening feeling I understood.  He was dead.

I don’t do dead people, I thought to myself, feeling panicked. Come on guys, I don’t DO dead people.

It all went black. Like the lights going out in a cinema. My husband was shaking my shoulder. “Come on honey, you’re freezing.  Come inside and have a shower.  We’re meeting for breakfast in half an hour.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do it. Can you meet them?”  We were supposed to be breakfasting with friends, but I was hollow, shaken and distressed. And I knew I still had unfinished business somehow.

Ben gave me one of those looks. Loving, understanding, unhappy all at once. “You okay?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“No. Neither am I. That was the freakiest thing. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. A  car accident I think.” I felt terrible for Ben.  Here I was on holidays and I was still working, my world affecting his, intruding on what was supposed to be a well-earned break.

After Ben left I took a warm shower and then dressed and settled back into meditation again, propped up in bed with the blankets over my legs. This time my entry back into that strange space was unsettlingly quick.

The man was where I’d left him, pacing up and down on the baking bitumen beside his wrecked car. “I need you to call my wife,” he said.

My heart began racing. Nicole, none of this is real, I told myself.  “You’re dead,” I said stupidly to the man.

“Yes.” He calmed down. “But it’s okay.”

In fact he was calmer than me. I was still feeling the horror and trauma of his passing.

He put his hand on my shoulder and a warmth flooded through me. “Call my wife. Not about me,” he added, “it’s about our daughter. Our youngest daughter. Please.  It’s urgent.”

I nodded yes. What else could I do? A picture flashed into my mind of a tiny baby girl, perhaps a year old. She was shallow breathing in a small crib. I felt a fluttering flooding feeling in my chest.

Father and daughter – by Emilia Pawlikowska

“My daughter’s dying,” he continued. “It’s her heart, she’s got a hole in her heart. I can see it now. She was sleepy all the time, and losing weight, and our family doctor said she was fine.  But we still thought there was something wrong. She just wasn’t thriving. She was fussy and wouldn’t eat. And then she began to have blue fingernails. So my wife took her to the hospital. The doctors there sent her home. They said she was just cold.”

“Please,” he said again.  “I can’t reach her. I can’t reach my wife. I tried, and then I thought of you. You have to call my wife and get her to take our daughter to the hospital. She needs to go right away. She needs to make the doctors understand. My wife will listen to you. Call her!”

I snapped back into my body abruptly, my open eyes trying to take in our room. Lurching off the bed I opened my laptop, scrolling through my old emails.  Finally I found her name and the contact details she’d submitted via my website. I checked my cell phone. There was one bar of service.  I stepped back out onto the balcony. There was land sliding by us. My signal managed to get a little stronger and I dialled the number with a shaking hand.

It was one of the hardest phone calls of my life.

But because of a father’s love and persistence a little girl was able to have open heart surgery, and now can lead a healthy life.

I spent the rest of my day sitting on the balcony, looking out over the ocean and being grateful for solitude. My darling husband told our friends I was unwell, and gave me the space I needed to pull my head back together.

And the next day Barcelona opened her arms to me, and I gave myself over to her healing charms.

Image from

The baby who needed to speak…

(this gorgeous image by Michelle Meiklejohn)

Okay, so I’m a psychic.  No secret there.  It’s an odd thing to be in our mostly rational and scientific world, but I’ve come to accept who I am and I live in a way that honours this energy within me. Does it define me?  Sometimes.  But I am also more than this particular skillset – and I certainly don’t foist my abilities on the unsuspecting. If people need me, I trust that they will come to me.

I can’t turn off this flow of psychic information, but I have learned to manage it, so that most of the time it is just background noise.

That’s why yesterday rattled my cage a little. During a break I went to a local cafe.  It was quiet and I was the only patron.  After a while a mother and father entered, with their baby in a pram. The parents were tired and fractious. I looked up only to see who had come into the room, and then went back to my pot of chai and my book.

Suddenly I had the feeling of being stared at.  I looked up, and into the intense blue eyes of a young baby boy sitting in a highchair – he had craned around to see me. I smiled and then kept reading.  He kept staring. After a while his mum became frustrated with him and kept guiding his attention back to their table.  He kept cranking himself around to stare at me.  It began to get a little weird.

Finally I left. As I stood at my car the family walked past me. As soon as the little boy saw me he began crying and reaching for me. A series of images flashed through my mind. The mother stopped pushing the pram and her child stopped crying.  She started walking and he began to scream, reaching for me, his face turning a mottled purple from his efforts. Help me, I heard his voice in my mind. Tell them.  His mum stopped again, distressed, and I walked the few steps over and took her child’s outstretched hand. He stopped crying and smiled at me.

“I don’t know what’s come over him,” said the baby’s mum. “He’s never behaved like this before.”

“I’m sorry, ” I said, although I did not know why I was apologising.  Before I knew it I’d opened my mouth again.  “Your husband’s having trouble sleeping.”  I said it as a fact, knowing I was right.

“Yes,” she said.  “For months now. Nightmares.  He won’t tell me what about.”

The images came to my mind thick and fast as her baby son clutched my hand.  Two young boys, barely more than toddlers. Tousle-haired twin brothers. A farm. A gun. A terrible accident.

“I’m a psychic, ” I said.  “Your baby is communicating with me.  He wants your husband to know that he is Jamie.”  It all came out in a rush.  “He’s Jamie and it’s all okay and he loves him enormously.”

“I wanted to call our baby James, but my husband wouldn’t let me,” she said. Her voice took on an edge of hysteria. “Did I call him the wrong name?”

Her baby began to scream. The woman slumped against my car, and her husband came running over. “Tell him what you just told me,” she said, in tears, trying to comfort her infant son, who was still gripping tight to my hand.

Now I felt beyond awkward, but I repeated what I had said.

“How can I believe you?” the man said angrily. I thought he might hit me.

This is why I don’t do this stuff, I was silently reminding myself, wishing I was anywhere but here…

I lowered my voice so only he could hear me, briefly explained the images I had seen, and gave him the words in my head – the name of the farm, the year, the make of the car and its colour, the checkered red and black wool rug on the front seat, his own name, and the name of his brother who died in the accident; James.

Now this big tattooed man began to cry. Through his tears he told me his story. Jamie was this man’s twin brother, killed twenty-six years ago when the boys found a loaded rifle on the front seat of their father’s car. The gun had discharged as they played with it. The man had begun having nightmares about the incident he barely remembered from shortly after his wife had conceived.  He thought it was because he somehow didn’t deserve to be a father – that he might put his child into danger, or fail to protect his child somehow. He had never told his wife about this tragedy from his childhood – the family had never spoken of it again.

“I always thought he had the same eyes as my brother,” the man said.  “Does he forgive me?” he asked.

I nodded. “It was an accident.  He wants to be with you now, he wants you as his Dad.  He chose you both. He loves you so much he did all he could to come back and be with you.”

“Hello mate,” said his dad. Then he gave the baby a big hug.

“He won’t remember,” I continued.  “By the time he can talk he will have forgotten who he is.  He’ll just know he’s your son. But he needed you to know.  He needed you to have peace.”

The baby stopped crying as I stopped speaking. He let go of my hand. Within a minute he was asleep.

The family walked off, arm in arm, peaceful. They didn’t say anything else to me. They didn’t look back. I stood lonely, depleted and shaken at my car for a moment, and then got in and drove home.  Message delivered.

Such is my life…

PS – I felt compelled to google the words ‘James’ and ‘reincarnation’ a little after writing this blog post and I found this. I thought you might find it interesting too. ♥