The Lady And The Poet

“Once, poets were magicians. Poets were strong, stronger than warriors or kings — stronger than old hapless gods. And they will be strong once again.” 
Greg Bear

I’m in Adelaide for a conference this weekend. The event began with welcome drinks at our hotel last night, but I was feeling tired and poorly and wanted soup, so I snuck out the main doors thirty minutes before our event began, hoping to find something more comforting than alcohol and strangers. It was my birthday on Thursday, and I’ve spent the last few days reflecting on my life and sitting in meditation and prayer as I asked for clarity about my road ahead. I wanted to prolong this soulful space just a little longer, so I honoured that need and heeded my intuition by heading out into the night.

As I wandered up the city street a man called to me. He was sitting on a small ledge outside a closed shop, rugged up against the cold. In his hands was an upturned empty cap, immediately marking him as some kind of busker or beggar.

‘Can I offer you a poem?’ he said.

I apologised and explained that I was in need of soup. But I promised him I would stop on the way back. As I walked off I saw his look of resignation, and I knew he’d been told such things many times before by people who hadn’t come back.

A block further along I found an excellent soup and dumpling house, ate a bowl of steaming oily broth with wontons and bok choy floating in the silky liquid, and then made my way back out into the busy Friday night streets.

I stopped in front of the poet, who was stooped and huddled on his seat. ‘I’m ready for that poem,’ I told him.

He sat up straighter. ‘This one is about the drought,’ he said, ‘and a message of hope and rain for our farmers.’ After which he launched into his poem.

He spoke eloquently, dramatically. It was a performance filled with emotion and delivered with care. I have long been a lover of poetry, and this one moved me deeply. It took me to the heart of my country. Within the words I also felt a strong message of hope for my own life – the symbolism a gift threaded with a secret meaning I was sure was just for me.

When the poem ended I stood for a moment, still wrapped in the imagery and sentiment wrought by his words. Then I reached for some coins.

‘Did you write that yourself?’ I asked as I fumbled in my handbag.

‘Yes’.

As I zipped open my purse I saw smaller notes, a handful of coins and tucked away right at the back my ’emergency hundred’ – a green crisp $100 note that I carry in case I am ever in need of a larger sum of money at short notice.

I thought about my capacity to earn money, and how much my work is valued in the world. And I thought about the poet, sitting on a cold city street, hoping to trade his words for coins.

It seemed inequitable. The poet had shared something original and good. Something that had given me insights and meaning and unexpected value. I reached for my emergency hundred and handed it to the poet.

He gazed at the note in his hands, then up to me, and then back to the note.

A tear came to his eye.

He tried to give it back to me. ‘Haven’t you got something smaller?’ he said. “I don’t mind if you give me something smaller.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Please. Take it. I want you to know that I value your work. I value the gift of the poem you gave me tonight. It would mean a lot to me for you to accept my gift in return.’

He nodded, his eyes downcast. Silent.

Finally, he looked up.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Justin,’ he said. ‘And you, you’re a true lady. Thank you, my lady.’

I walked away with a full heart.

Rain Princess by Leonid Afremov

Never Off Duty – My Latest Strange Psychic Experience!

“Not everything we experience can be explained by logic or science.” 
Linda Westphal

I didn’t blog yesterday because I was sleeping in.

I was sleeping in because I’d been up half the night.

There was a reason for that, though. One that extends beyond my current flu and health issues that have been keeping me up.

I’m sleeping in our guest room right now so I don’t infect Ben or wake him with my constant tossing and turning. Somewhere around 2am, as I lay in a deep sleep, our smoke detector went off, shrilling loudly just outside my door. I woke in fright, jumped up, turned on all the lights and ran from room to room looking for the fire. My eyes were all hazy, or the house was filled with smoke. I couldn’t tell.

As I panted from the exertion of running with the flu, madly opening every door in our home to find nothing, the alarm stopped. My vision was still hazy. The waving hand in front of my face a blur. But I couldn’t smell smoke or see flames. It was a false alarm and maybe my eyes were just gummed up from the flu. I hauled myself back to bed, amazed that the alarm hadn’t woken Ben. (It had. He heard me running around and figured I’d wake him if there was a fire, so after a few minutes he rolled over and went back to sleep. That man is unflappable!)

No sooner had I closed my eyes than my phone started to beep. Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep, it called incessantly.

‘Shut up, Siri!’ I croaked as I reached for my phone, which promptly stopped beeping before I could do anything.

A woman I know came to mind. Anna. (*I’ve changed her name here for privacy purposes) Anna lives in another part of Australia with her son who is at university. I became convinced that Anna’s house was on fire. I got up again and rifled through my filing cabinet looking for her contact details. When I couldn’t find them I hacked my personal assistant’s work email and looked for Anna’s contact details there. No luck. Finally, I found her phone number in an old facebook message. Less than ten minutes had elapsed since our home smoke alarm had gone off.

I called Anna. No answer. I called again and again. Nothing. Then I used Facebook video to call her and this time she answered, groggy with sleep and confused.

‘Hello, Anna,’ I said. ‘It’s Nicole Cody. I’m so sorry to bother you in the middle of the night but I think your house might be on fire. Can you please check for me?’

She nodded a yes, got out of bed and made her way through darkened corridors. At the opposite end of the old house, she lives in was her son’s room.

She opened the door and there was the fire. His laptop had set his mattress alight and the curtains were ablaze too. Anna began to scream and dropped the phone.

As I was working out what to do next a next-door-neighbour appeared with a fire blanket and extinguisher. He’d been woken by Anna’s screams, smelled smoke and seen the flames from his own bedroom window and come rushing over. Meanwhile, his wife had called the fire brigade.

Anna called me back a few hours later. The fire was out and the bedroom was damaged but everyone was safe.

Anna was widowed last year and isn’t coping well. When the batteries on her old smoke alarm died she didn’t bother to replace them. That’s something her husband would have done. She has also been relying on alcohol and sleeping tablets to get to sleep each night. Her son was out with friends. If I hadn’t called she would have kept sleeping.

So, that’s why I didn’t blog yesterday. I was busy sleeping off my stressful night. This is how my life always is. No matter where I am, no matter the state of my health or the hour of the day my psychic switch is always on and I’m always on duty. Who made my smoke alarm go off, or my phone beep? I’ll never know, but I’m extremely grateful.

It’s a strange life I live, but a fulfilling one.
Holding you all in my prayers and meditations, Nicole ❤ xx

This Psychic Life

Image from shutterstock

Image from shutterstock

“What we do see depends mainly on what we look for. … In the same field the farmer will notice the crop, the geologists the fossils, botanists the flowers, artists the colouring, sportsmen the cover for the game. Though we may all look at the same things, it does not all follow that we should see them.”
~ John Lubbock, The Beauties of Nature and the Wonders of the World We Live in

 

I had a difficult night last night.

Yesterday, unexpectedly, the face of a client popped into my head. I haven’t worked with her for years, although I see her name in my facebook feed sometimes.

I didn’t think anything of it until I went to bed. I was dog-tired last night, so I did my healing meditation sitting up in bed with pillows propped behind me.

Meditation was easy, and I moved deeply into a place I sometimes go to. Perhaps because I was so tired. I’m not really sure.

Anyway, in this meditation I soon found myself looking at this woman’s face again. A terrible knowing came over me. I saw cancer, profoundly and silently ravaging her body. A cancer that can only be found too late. Because it’s too late. There is nothing now that can be done.

All this woman feels is tired, and fat. Her belly bothers her with its bloating. She’s always bone weary. Everything in life seems suddenly difficult for her, so she is also heavily into self-criticism and pushing herself harder. There is no joy in her life, such is her fatigue. There is only struggle.

I came out of meditation filled with the deepest sadness. Sadness for this woman whose life will end so much sooner than she currently knows. Sadness for the lack of love she extends to herself, and for a society that demands so much of us – that we must constantly flog ourselves because there is no time to rest and never enough money for that luxury. Sadness because I have nothing good to tell her.

I was shown this for a reason.

I’m heavy-hearted today. I know I will have to contact this woman, and find a way to tell her what I can see. I hate that I will have to do this.

I know that I have to do this.

She needs to know. She would want to know. She has been asking God and her Angels to tell her what’s wrong with her. She’s been pleading with the Universe in quiet moments.

It’s better to know than not know. We make better, truer choices in the face of such gravity. We spend time on what matters and stop worrying about the things that falsely garnered such importance prior to knowing our mortality and a deadline.

Spare a thought for this woman and her family today. Send them love and all the courage and good energy you can muster.