Some Early Reflections on Death

“Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there’s a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.”
~ Helen Keller


Hello, friends. Welcome to my Wednesday series on Death and Dying.

This week, I’ll kick off the series by discussing some of my own first experiences of death. I’m choosing to start here because I see life and death quite differently to many people – and I always have. Perhaps this is because I am a psychic, and was born this way. Some of my knowing though, has happened by witnessing events that have thrown traditional views of life and death out the window – because these events have not supported the traditional views, and yet they happened. These events support  my belief that life and the place that is beyond this current life we are living is something  complex and beautiful. I believe that we continue to exist beyond this life. And I know that love goes on forever.

We’re all going to die. Some of us soon. Some of us not for years. But none of us are getting out of this world alive. Death’s something we will all know, for our loved ones and for ourselves. I hope you find these experiences I share comforting.


When I was a very small child I found life very confusing.

I thought that we were all dead, actually. Or asleep. Trapped in a dream. Living in a fish bowl. Life didn’t seem quite real. I kept trying to make sense of it. Each night I went to bed and expected that I would wake up back in my proper place. My real life.

Instead, each morning I would wake up and here I was. Still ‘alive’. But not the life that I remembered. The only comforting thing for me was that I also remembered other snippets of dreams (or being dead?) where I was living in a different time, and a different place, with mostly different people. I had several fragments of other dreams I had lived. They were as clear to me as movies, and the details never changed. In one of them I lived in a grand two-storey house made of stone, near an old castle. There was a big circular driveway for the carriages, and stables down behind the household gardens where all the horses lived. I had loved that place so much. I’d been very happy there.

There was another place, or may it was the same place, where upside-down coracles were used as buildings. I remember walking to see them in the fields, and the wind being cold and sharp. I knew the word ‘coracle’ and I knew that it was a boat. Some funny people put their boats upside down and turned them into houses. I told my mum this and drew her a picture, but she told me I was being silly. Then she told me only fairies would live in a house like that, because it was imaginary. Fairies were imaginary too, my mum said. She’d only believed in them when she was little. Eventually I stopped sharing my ‘silly stories’.

I knew, deep in my bones, that adults talking about death and being dead were wrong. Especially the ones who were frightened of death, or who believed that when you died there was nothing. That you just ceased to exist. No, I thought. That’s when you wake up again. That’s when you are home.

These are strange thoughts for a child who has not yet gone to school, or watched television, or read books about bigger concepts of the world. Or gone to church.

coracle house

Image from PS – Mum, see, people DO live in them and they are real!!!


As an adult I have met other ‘strange children’ who have strong memories of previous lives or other times and places. You can click on the links to read the full story of each one.

There was the baby who kept staring at me in a cafe. He and his parents were strangers, and I’d never spoken to them. This baby communicated psychically with me, and I was overwhelmed with a series of images of two very young boys – twins – on a farm. There was an accident with a gun and one boy died. That boy had now ‘come back’ as a baby to be with his brother. I shared the information with the father, who -after initially being very angry with me – confirmed all of my information. It was emotional and traumatic, but when the information was shared both the baby and the father became deeply peaceful.

Then there was the little girl, Beth, who insisted that her mother bring her to see me. I had ‘seen’ this little girl before she was born, as a bright bubble of light in her mum’s aura. Beth’s mum had major fertility issues  and had not expected to become pregnant, but then she did and Beth was born. I’d never met Beth, but she knew me straight away. And she had news. Her brother William was coming to be born too. Her brother who was always being her brother. Of course, some time later he did come.

Kevin was a normal little boy until somewhere around the age of five, when he began screaming every time the family car drove under a long overpass or entered a tunnel. The first time this happened his hysteria was so severe that he actually passed out and needed to be taken to hospital. His mum brought him to see me after drugs and psychotherapy had failed to take away this little boy’s terror of tunnels. This wasn’t the only strange thing though. Kevin remembered very clearly being called ‘John’ and having another family with a different mummy. He also remembered how he had died in a previous life. A tunnel had collapsed during the London bombings when he was a little boy. His family had taken shelter there during an air raid. Kevin’s mum researched the things that Kevin told us during their session with me, and they checked out. Kevin had to be telling the truth. He was only five. How could he have made all of that up?


I have too many other stories to list here, but I’ll include one more. An adult this time, who contacted me after his sudden death, in order to save his daughter’s life. If death were a final ending, how could this happen? How could he contact me? How could what he told me save his child? The story is too long to recount here, but you can read all the details at this link: The Power of a Father’s Love


Thanks for reading. Next week I’ll be talking about how to care for and be with people who are at the end stage of their life. If you have any questions you’d like me to cover in this series, please contact me here on the blog or at

Holding you in my thoughts, prayers and meditations, Nicole <3 xx

The Little Boy Who Used To Be John

Image by Toni Frissell

Image by Toni Frissell

“For the first forty days a child
is given dreams of previous lives. Journeys, winding paths,
a hundred small lessons
and then the past is erased.”
~ Michael Ondaatje, Handwriting


*Please note that names have been changed to protect the identity of those involved.

In suburban Brisbane lives a little boy whom we will name Kevin. He has only just turned five.

About six months ago Kevin began screaming. It happened at night sometimes, when he would go to sleep happy and then wake from a nightmare. It happened whenever his mum or dad drove their family car into a tunnel. In fact, the first time they drove into the Clem 7 tunnel, Kevin reacted so strongly that he wet his pants and passed out. His distressed parents took him straight to hospital where he was cleared of any problems. But his odd behaviour continued to the point that they had to plan driving routes or public transport to avoid any kind of tunnel or low overpass. All of these situations triggered severe anxiety, panic attacks and screaming.

Their family doctor referred them to a child psychologist. Who eventually referred them to me.

The tunnel reaction wasn’t the only unusual thing about Kevin.

As a very small boy he rejected breakfast cereal, asking again and again for egg ‘n’ dippers. His mother eventually worked out that he wanted soft boiled eggs and toast soldiers, a meal she had never prepared for him, and that to her knowledge he had never eaten before. Kevin told her that his other mummy made him egg ‘n’ dippers because they were his favourite.

His other mummy back when his name was John.

Image from

Image from

Poor Kevin’s mother had no idea what her small son was talking about. She found it very disquietening. Soon she began to chastise him whenever he spoke about being John, or this ‘imaginary family’ he referred to, from his ‘other time’.

When Kevin and his mum turned up at my door early one afternoon, mum was at her wit’s end. Behaviour modification hadn’t worked. Sedatives hadn’t worked. It was a desperate move on her part, coming to see a psychic after being given my details by their family therapist who just happens to be a friend of mine.

Kevin was quite happy to sit at my dining room table, although he insisted in sitting beside me so that his mother might sit opposite me. He also asked me for a glass of milk just as soon as we’d sat down. After milk and a piece of cake he was ready to talk.

I spoke to Kevin at length while his mother listened quietly, a look of embarrassment on her face.

He told me his name used to be John. John Taylor. But no-one believed him. He liked being Kevin, and he loved his family and his new house. It was a very good life. But still, he remembered being John.

I told Kevin that I had met other boys and girls who remembered being someone else.

“Have you been someone else?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I replied. “And when I was little I used to dream about it all the time. It was very confusing. What do you remember about being John?”

A lot, apparently. Kevin told me his street address, and the number of his house, at a place called Islington. He used to live there with his mother and father, big brother, and little sister. He told me all about breakfast that was eggs ‘n’ dippers and a cup of tea. Sometimes bread with jam. Soft white bread. No butter though. They weren’t allowed.

He told me about the street where they would play.

Finally, I asked Kevin why he was afraid of being in a tunnel.

He became very agitated, and held my hand very tightly in his two small, sweaty ones.

Kevin said that when he was John, bad men were coming in their planes. They all had to leave their homes, all the people in the street, and go down into a tunnel to be safe. He never liked to go there. It was dark and scary and it smelled bad. One day the roof fell down and he got all broken and then he was dead.

Image from

Image from

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I said to him gently. “But you’re okay now. You have a lovely new life and a mummy and daddy who love you very much. There won’t be any more bombs. The tunnels here are perfectly safe. You don’t have to remember this any more if you don’t want to.”

Kevin looked at me, wide-eyed. “I miss them, though,” he said.

“I know,” I answered, “but they still love you too, and they are all okay. When you love someone that love can last forever.”

His lip began to tremble and he broke into tears. Sobbed and sobbed. It was awful to hear the anguish in his cries. His mum picked him up and held him close, but it took a long time to comfort him. Eventually he calmed down and fell asleep in her arms. She stood up, still holding him, and I opened the door and helped her take him down to her car. We hugged, but didn’t say anything else.

The next day Kevin’s mum called me. Kevin had slept all through the afternoon, and all through the night. While he slept she had gone online to research the things her son had said. To her surprise a little boy called John Taylor, along with his parents and siblings, a boy and girl, had been killed in the London Bombings of World War Two. They had lived at the street address Kevin had given us.

“He was telling the truth,” she said to me. “I don’t know how he knows all of this, but he couldn’t have made this up.”

When Kevin woke up after his long, long sleep he was hungry. She’d made him egg ‘n’ dippers for breakfast, hoping to bring him comfort.

“It’s okay, Mum,” he told her, pushing it away. “I can eat cereal now.”


Can You See My Baby Brother?

Image from

Image from

“For truly we are all angels temporarily hiding as humans.”
~ Brian L. Weiss

*Note – all names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved.

Last year Beth’s mother brought her along to a session with me because Beth had been insisting on seeing that lady.

I need to see that lady. I need to see that lady. I need to see that lady, Beth chanted over and over again as only two-year-olds can.

What lady? Beth’s mum asked.

The one who saw me before I was borned.

Yep, that would be me…

Beth’s mum has been a client of mine for fifteen years, and I’d connected to the soul who would become her daughter in our very first psychic session, before she’d ever met her future husband, Beth’s dad. Beth was a bright little bubble of light in her mum’s aura.

Beth’s mum was skeptical that first day. She had PCOS and had been told she would never have children. Over the next  decade I saw Beth’s mum a few more times. She met a wonderful man. They fell in love and married. They tried everything, but there was no baby. They resigned themselves to being childless and adopted two small dogs instead.

Then, at the age of thirty-six, she became pregnant. They’d long ago stopped using any form of birth control. She didn’t realise until she was nearly six months along, such had been the erratic nature of her cycles, and then three short months later Beth was born. A healthy baby daughter. They’d been worried she might have had problems – Beth’s mum had been on aggressive drug treatment for acne when she fell pregnant, but Beth was fine. In fact, she was thriving. Beth’s mum sent me a long email and lots of photos of their adored little girl. I was thrilled for them.

Last year, Beth and her mum came back to see me. Beth’s mum booked in for a top-up session, and cleared it for her to bring her toddler along. Just for a visit. Beth’s mum promised me that her daughter was very shy, and would sit quietly in her lap, or play on the floor with her toys.

Um… no. 🙂

When the doorbell rang, and I opened the big old wooden door, a tiny person charged inside, her mum hurrying to catch up with her.

Hello, said this little poppet, looking up at me with her big blue eyes. I remember you. Do you remember me? I’m Beth, but my proper name is Grace-Margaret. The way she said Grace-Margaret, the tiny girl sounded like a Southern Belle. That’s my last-time name, she added, but Mummy didn’t know. It’s okay. I don’t mind being Beth this time. It’s a nice name.

Beth’s mum looked at me, confused. I gave her a hug and assured her that everything was fine. Meanwhile her little daughter had walked into my reading room and had climbed up into the chair meant for her mother.

We need to tell Mummy about Will-iam, said Beth in her baby, sing-song voice.

Who’s William? Beth’s mother asked, completely unnerved.

I pretended as if conversations like these happened all the time around my dining room table.

Is he your Guide, darling? Beth’s mum prompted. Or an Angel? Beth’s mum was very into Angels.

See! Beth said, looking right at me.

What shall we tell Mummy? I asked brightly. But I knew…

He’s coming, Beth announced proudly. Will-iam is coming to stay. He’s going to be my brother. And then she rolled her eyes as if the joke was hilarious. Again! she said. Will-iam is going to be my brother again. Like last time.

Image from Bumble Button

Image from Bumble Button

No, Beth’s mother said gently. Mummy isn’t having any more babies. You are my one miracle.

See? Beth said to me. She won’t believe me. You tell her. You can see him, can’t you? You can see my baby brother like you saw me?

But before I could say anything, Beth’s mum held up her hand, and her eyes filled with tears. Please, she whispered, can we talk about something else? The doctors had assured her there would be no more children. Ever. No matter what she tried.

Beth hugged her Mum hard. It’s alright, Mummy. He won’t be any trouble, she said. And then she sat down on the floor with her colouring book while her mum and I talked about other things.

In February this year, Beth’s mum left a message for me on facebook. She was pregnant again.

Last night I received another long email from Beth’s Mum. Attached were several photos of Beth proudly holding her little brother, William. Another healthy child.

Image from Red Rose Mummy

Image from Red Rose Mummy

William looks quiet and wise, and very peaceful. The love between Beth and her brother shines bright in every image. It’s so fulfilling for me to see the souls I have met firstly as energy, now made human in their form once more. Especially in the presence of so much love.

Life is the most amazing mystery, isn’t it? I take great comfort from that. Great comfort, indeed.


The Lady Who Walked Out of My Past

“I sustain myself with the love of family.” 
~ Maya Angelou

One late afternoon in April this year, the dusky sunset was shimmery and luminous.  A light rain fell, misting the cold air and making us hurry to light a fire and get inside where it was warm.

That evening the moon rose brightly amid patchy clouds, but the light stayed this eery silvery-blue colour.  All night I was covered in goosebumps, and the dogs were watchful and alert.  The owls came and sat in the trees and on the fences around our little farmhouse, and I wondered what might be afoot.

Whenever owls arrive, things seem to happen.  And our farm seems densely habited by owls. I’ve been being visited by owls since I was a girl.  Significant things have happened when owls have turned up in my life.  Owls heralded a massive leap in my psychic abilities when I was living in the Kimberley.  The night after my grandmother (my mother’s mother) died, an owl arrived in the tree outside my window and stayed there watching me for three days.

A year ago I found an owl feather and wove it into a Dream Catcher to place above my bed. And shortly after that the Orchard Man showed up.

At first I saw him from a distance, in broad daylight, standing on a ladder trimming the fruit trees in our orchard.  When I went to investigate there was no-one there.

Another time he walked past me holding a galvanised bucket and heading in the direction of our old dairy bales.  The dogs saw him too. But by now I had realised that he wasn’t ‘real’.  I wondered if he was a ghost, or a soul caught between dimensions.  I wasn’t really sure, and I never seemed to be able to get close enough to ask him.

Then, on this April night the Orchard Man was back, swinging his lantern around in the cold. Once again he headed up to the Orchard, and I lost sight of him amidst the trees.

I found it hard to sleep that night.  I was herxing badly from my lyme drugs – all achy and itchy and out of sorts. I lay in bed, tossing and turning, long after my husband had surrendered to sleep. At some stage I must have dozed off and when I woke again the bedroom was filled with a strange silvery-blue light.  A lady stood at the foot of my bed.  I instantly recognised her.  She was the spirit lady who’d visited and comforted my little sister when Simone was so ill as a child.

Image from

Image from

Her name is Alice, and she’s from my ancestral line on my mother’s side. She’s come into my life because it’s time.  Time for me to keep a promise I made many lifetimes ago. A promise tied up with owls and fairies and family. A promise that has run through generation after generation of bloodlines.

So who is the Orchard Man? He isn’t here for me.  He’s here for Alice. He loved her once, and lost her, before they could be married. Ever since that life he’s been looking for her, waiting to meet up with her again.

He found her through the owls.  He found her through me.  He knew she’d come to find me, and so he waited for her in the orchard.  He’s looked for her, waited for her, through time and space. Now, after patient toiling, that April night he found her, as he knew he would. He saw her. She felt him. But she came for me.

Image by Jeff Carter

Image by Jeff Carter

I know that they will meet again.  I know that while I am here at this farm I have given them a window where they can be together.

Me? I feel the energy of my family stretching out across the generations and wrapping me in its love. I feel the weight of a great responsibility.  I feel the sparkle of a profound magic.

I see the owls.

There are so many stories in me.  And now is the time for them to be told…

Meditation Messages of Love, Hope and Wonder

My beautiful drusy Cobalto Calcite Crystal

My beautiful drusy Cobalto Calcite Crystal

“Love is a force that connects us to every strand of the universe, an unconditional state that characterizes human nature, a form of knowledge that is always there for us if only we can open ourselves to it.” ~ Emily H. Sell

I sat down to do a meditation yesterday afternoon using a crystal that’s recently been given to me by a friend (thanks, Lachlan!).  It’s a drusy Cobalto Calcite with an extra little  dusting of drusy Malachite on the reverse – a pretty thing, and comforting to hold.  This stone is excellent for all heart-related work, including work with physical ailments of the heart, emotional healing, love and relationships.

Settling down on my Kundalini Beanie (a fantastic meditation chair created by another beautiful friend, Angela Toohey), and holding my rock, I quickly moved into a deep state of relaxation and then meditation.  I was in that lovely heart space of connection for about twenty minutes when I heard a very clear, sweet soft voice.

“Please help us.”

Was I imagining it? I sat in meditation.  Nothing.  I opened my eyes and looked around the room.  Nothing.

Back I went into meditation.

“Please, please help us.”

Okay. I wasn’t imaging it. I couldn’t see anything, but I started to get a lovely warm feeling like I was floating in a golden ocean.

“Janie Edwards,” the voice said. “Can you help her?”

I have a client named *Janie Edwards. *Note – I’ve changed the names here to protect the privacy of the people involved.

No more words followed.  Instead I was filled with understanding. Somehow Janie was pregnant and losing her baby.  In fact, I sensed that the baby had already died.

“I’ll stay here to help the other,” the voice said. “Tell her we’ve been together so many times before. I love them all.  Thank you.”

Abruptly I came out of meditation still clutching the crystal which was now hot in my hands.

I didn’t quite understand all I’d been shown, but I immediately went to my computer and found Janie’s contact details. She was someone I hadn’t spoken to for nearly ten years.  Her home phone no longer worked but her mobile did.

I called her and after general niceties, and her shock at my unexpected phone call, I asked if she could be pregnant.

No, she said a little angrily.  She and her husband had been through twelve rounds of IVF, and gave up over a year ago.  At forty five she was in peri-menopause and now too old.

Oh my goodness, I felt bad for her in that moment.

“Are you sure you couldn’t be pregnant?” I asked her again.

“I do have some lower back pain,” she said hestitantly. It turns out she’d had back pain and pelvic cramping for a few days.  It took some convincing, but she promised to call her doctor right away.

I didn’t hear anything back until much later last night.  Janie’s husband *Peter called me. Janie was in hospital and doing fine.  She is nearly six months pregnant with twin girls, conceived naturally, and one had died in utero.  The doctors operated to remove the dead infant and the other little girl is still in the uterus and doing fine. They expect that Janie will now resume a normal pregnancy, although of course, they’ll be keeping a close eye on her.

I explained what had happened that led me to call Janie, and passed on to Peter the message that their unborn child had given me, about having been together before,  loving them all, and staying to look after her sister. It was a very emotional call.

Photo from iStock

Photo from iStock

Love.  It’s an amazing thing, isn’t it?

So, I woke up this morning feeling incredibly calm and happy. I spoke to Janie just a few minutes ago.  She’s sitting up in bed at the hospital having a cup of tea, and saw I was awake too after I posted on facebook. She gave me a call to thank me.  Janie is over the moon to be pregnant, and told me she and Peter have already named both their girls. Angelica Rose for the little girl they lost because for them she is an Angel who Janie stills feels so strongly around her, and they called their surviving daughter Nicole Grace, after me! Of course, I promptly burst into tears at such an honour. 🙂


I am so grateful that I am able to be a messenger for others. It humbles me and awes me both.

If you enjoyed this post you might also be interested in:

The baby who needed to speak

The Power of a Father’s Love

PS – If you’re interested in those nifty meditation chairs I mentioned at the beginning of this post, you can contact Angela directly though her website for more information, and to see the cool video that explains how they work.

Strengthening Intuition Week 4 – Sensing Energy in Places

Rossyln Chapel in Scotland – Image from

“Spirit of place! It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety; and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name.”
~Alice Meynell, “The Spirit of Place”

Every place holds its own energy.  Wild places and nature places contain the wisdom and language of the Earth. Many of them also contain the echoes of history.

Man-made places absorb energy based upon what has unfolded there – the daily patterns of life, the intense emotions of happiness or tragedy, images and information seered into the very fabric of the place itself.

Hands on rocks at Stonehenge – Image from

Today, we are going to tap into the energy of places. We can find out all sorts of things simply by placing our hands upon the stones, or the walls, floors or the earth of a place. With practice you will be able to read energy from modern and ancient places.

What sort of information can you expect?  To start with you may just feel energy; a tingling or electric sensation, warmth or cold.  You may get colours or sounds, or a smell.  You might even get a taste in your mouth.  As you tune in further – with a childlike sense of curiosity – you may get images, emotions, words in your head, or a certain knowing.  Trust what you get.  If you stay open and trusting, suspending any natural doubt or disbelief, you will be far more inclined to receive a flow of energy and information.  Practice will build your ability over time.

To do this we will first need to start by activating our hand chakras.  If you can’t remember how, you can review that process from Week 2 here:

Activating the Hand Chakras

Places usually have quite strong energy, so we will use both hands for this process.  If you are feeling confident, you may also use just your receptive hand.  Here’s a quick review of that process from Week Three:

Sensing the Energy in Objects

Once your hands are nicely activated follow these simple steps to feel that energy of place:

  1. Clear your mind.  Allow yourself to become soft, relaxed and receptive.
  2. Place the palms of your hands against a surface, such as a wall, floor, a stone or the earth.
  3. Close your eyes and concentrate on the chakras in your palms.  What do you feel?
  4. Stay calm and quiet, waiting…
  5. Don’t try to force anything. Stay in contact with the surface for at least two minutes, eyes closed, calm, breathing in a relaxed and comfortable way.  This is the same sort of state you might move into during a meditation.

Places that are worth exploring include:

  • historical sites
  • homes and buildings
  • places of worship
  • places where people congregate, such as town squares or markets
  • ruins
  • natural places
  • sites of historical events, even if any man-made influences seem long gone

This is a terrific way of energetically opening to and exploring places when you travel.  It can also give greater connection to family and those who have passed over.  Some people even find that it stimulates connection into past life awareness.

Ruins at Delphi – Image from

PS: If you’ve missed the first part of the program, you can catch up here:

Strengthening Intuition – A Program of Exercises

Image credit : Bibliojojo

Your Life is YOURS to Live!

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”  ― Oscar Wilde

Life is a precious gift, and one that can be all too brief. Before you came to this life, you had a deliberate intent to be here.  You chose your parents.  You packed your bag.  You came forth into this world with a plan, or at the very least a sense of adventure and possibility, and a rough checklist of things you thought sounded interesting.

So here you are. This is it – your moment!

How’s that working out for you?

Life really IS for living.  Not for existing. Not for pleasing others. Not for mere surviving.

It doesn’t have to be about riches, winning, and being super-productive. Life is not measured only in achievements or possessions.

Life is about experiences, relationships, following your heart, finding pleasure in the small moments, being satisfied with who you are, where you are, and who you’re with. Or being excited about where life is taking you, and allowing your life to be a glorious work in progress.

I had a client come to me recently where I got a very strong glimpse of a past life – the one immediately before this one.  This man had been a soldier in World War One.  Before that he’d been a teacher.  He hadn’t wanted to go to war, but he went ‘to do the right thing’.  He left his new wife behind to fight in the trenches and absolute misery and hell of the Western Front and then Passchendaele. He survived, only to come home and find his wife and mother dead. He later died from influenza; cold, lonely and miserable.

The Second Battle of Passchendaele – Image from

Why was that relevant to his next lifetime? All he’d thought about, during the war, and in between lives, was about what he wanted for this next life. He wanted a simple life. No great responsibilities; a gentle life of suburban ordinariness with his wife and family.  The chance to grow old. To live in a warm climate, in a dry house, with plenty to eat, and enough to do to keep him busy. That was his dream, and now he’s living it.  He’ll never be famous.  He’ll never be rich.  But already he knows contentment. And contentment for him is enough.

Of course that’s not everyone’s path.  Some people have a flame blazing brightly within them. They have a driving passion to be or do something.

We all walk different paths and have different dreams. All we ever need to do is what’s right for us. We each come to this life for the experience – to learn and grow by making our own choices. And ultimately each of us seeks happiness, fulfillment, love. That is going to look different for every single person because we come from diversity and we exist in diversity.

Are you following your dreams?

Did you put them aside to live someone else’s dream for you? Do you say to yourself, ‘one day I’ll get to it…’  Did you sacrifice your dreams to let someone else achieve theirs? Or are you doing something you don’t want to do because you’re told that ‘this’ is what’s expected of you.  Are you down the bottom of the pile, letting other people stand on top of you to reach theirs through your unrewarded efforts?

Or did you just give up?

You are not here in your skin to live this precious life for others, or to let them live through you. And you’re not here to fix things, or make things right for ‘them’. This is not a duty call.  This is not a dress rehearsal.  This is your one shot to make this life work for YOU.

Life too short to waste it on doing things you don’t want to do, being places you don’t want to be, or being in relationships with people who don’t love you or make you happy.

If you want to explore this further you might find these posts useful:

What makes you come alive?

Using your Internal Compass to navigate life

The Green-Eyed Envy Monster

Telling yourself a better story

Listen with your eyes

Cow-eared Dreams and Hathors

Hathor - Image from

I promised yesterday that I would write about one recurring dream I had as a small child. If I am honest, it was not one dream, dreamt over and over. It was one place, and one particular image, although the happenings in the dream changed – just as life differs from day to day, even in the same house, and with the same cast of characters.

I would often draw an image from those dreams: a really tall lady with cow ears and long hair, who wore a magical geometric necklace. She was much taller than the people around her.  In my dreams somehow this cow woman was me.

The place in my dreams was green and lush, a paradise by a river. The stars at night were glorious. There was almost always music, and sometimes the music came from me. I sang songs that used sound but no words. When I toned those notes they would vibrate through my whole body. It felt sacred, like I was singing to the sun and the stars.  I always awoke from my dreams feeling calm and comforted.

After adolescence the dreams stopped. I forgot all about them until one day I dropped a friend off at a meditation centre.  Back then I didn’t meditate. I was interested in being normal, invested in being a success in the corporate world.

I walked into a room with a poster on the wall.  This poster…

Hathor poster - image from

My dreams came rushing back to me. I felt my heart constrict. I knew her face, not quite the same but so close I may have been looking at a sister.The face in the poster looked so like the pictures I had drawn, only she wasn’t wearing her necklace. I asked who the image in the poster was.

A Hathor, I was told.  I didn’t know what that meant. I felt uncomfortable to ask. I was far outside my comfort zone.

I stayed up late into the night, searching the web, and reading everything I could on Hathors.  Some sites said that Hathor was an Ancient Egyptian Goddess. But that didn’t feel right to me.  I was sure that Hathors were real.  Some sites said Hathors were beings who visited Earth but did not originate from our planet.

Part of me was horrified. Part of me felt relieved. Part of me felt like I’d come home. It was all so strange. I didn’t know what to make of it, and there was no-one to talk to about it, so in the end I put it aside. Anyway, what would people think?

A while later I plucked up the courage and had a necklace made to match the one I had drawn as a child. I knew its design by heart. It took months after I brought it home before I was brave enough to wear it in public. I never told people how I had come by the design, although many people asked me.

Looking back, I see how significant wearing that necklace was for me.  In fact, I didn’t realise until I was writing this how quickly my psychic gifts developed after that. It was as if I stepped into a contract with myself, or claimed a lost part of me.

I would never want to change who I am, or this ability within me. And while I seem to have so many answers for others, for myself I often have only questions…

I never see the Hathor in my dreams anymore, but at night, sometimes, I still hear her music.

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. ♥

Places that remind you of who you used to be…

The first time I went to Yum Cha was a revelation. It was a crowded barn of a restaurant in Sydney, and my small table were the only Caucasians in a sea of dark hair. They didn’t even have a menu in English. My friend Geoff, who speaks fluent Cantonese, took us there, and did all of the ordering for us. The place was bustling, and small children played happily amidst the tables, dodging the streaming trolleys of food as they creaked around the room.

Of course the food was fantastic.  But it was more than that.  In that chaotic asian soup of sounds, flavours and faces I felt as comfortable as if I’d been born to it. I sat back in the madhouse din, all smiles. My soul felt nurtured, satisfied, home.

Years later, my sister and I often ventured to Sunnybank in Brisbane for an evening meal in one of the small family-run restaurants in that predominantly Asian suburb. The place we favoured had the worst translation of a menu I’ve ever seen, laminated tables, a clacketty old electric fan that pushed heat-wave summer air around in slow circles, and cheap plastic decorations. It had the ambience of a hospital waiting room. The food was home-style but tasty and the owners got to know us so well that after a while they just brought us a soup, a main, some sort of dessert – whatever was going, without us having to order. We loved the place.  It felt like family.

When my husband was working overseas and I was struggling with a farm in drought, miserable with fatigue and acute loneliness, I would allow myself a fortnightly treat of yum cha on my own. Sitting by myself at a small table, with the routine of trolley, crowds, noise and family chatter around me, I always left feeling calm, comforted and reassured. A standard cafe never had the same effect, no matter how kind the staff or how delicious the food.

Why? Why Yum Cha?

It didn’t make much sense to me until I explored China, and then Thailand. These foreign places felt as familiar to me as breathing. The food, the crowds, the smell of the air. The first time I saw a line of bald-headed buddhist monks in their saffron robes, I was brought inexplicably to tears.

I was welcomed into temples, strangers encouraged me to pray and leave offerings at their family or workplace altars, monks sought me out for conversation. I knew some of the chants and meditations, although they were not in my native tongue, and I had not been taught them. I felt as if I had come home.

I’m sure Yum Cha stirs past life memories in me. They must have been good lives, for I find much comfort there.

How about you?  Have you ever felt a crazy kind of connection to an unfamiliar place?  Or known the place on first visit without having ever been there before?  It’s more common that people realise.

Even if you don’t believe in past lives, you can still find places that take you back to a different time in this life, and to interests, dreams and skills you might have forgotten.

Wishing for you a day of reconnection and positive memories. And maybe some Yum Cha. ♥ Nicole xx