A Big Green #Lyme Anniversary!

Image from The Cake Trail

Image from The Cake Trail

“We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.”W. Somerset Maugham

I was talking with my sister yesterday, and she said to me, “Hey, are you planning anything special for your thirty year anniversary tomorrow?”

“Huh?” I replied.

“You know, this Saturday is the same weekend  thirty years ago when you were bitten by the tick that gave you Lyme disease. Ekka weekend. That anniversary!”

Simone remembered because I glued the tick into her school diary, which, weirdly, she kept for all those years! Thanks, Sissy 🙂

tickindiary5 (1)

Wow. Thirty years. That’s such a long time.

It made me sad at first, to think of how much of my life has been claimed by this disease, and then I decided that enough of my life has been given over to sadness. I thought long and hard about how Lyme has changed me.

This is what I came up with.

If I hadn’t been bitten by the tick I would have gone on to become a lawyer, and my ambitions would have taken me far, far from here. I would have never married my first husband. I would not have gone to the Kimberley for my life changing connection with the Aboriginal Aunties. I would have continued to ignore or hide my psychic gift. I would have shunned this thing that I am, in favour of something more conventional.

Lyme has stripped almost everything away from me. My ability to have kids, to study, to live a normal life, to work in a normal job.

But it left me two things. My ability to love, and my ability to live and work within the metaphysical planes of existence. I had always seen that as a diminishment, and now I see that Lyme distilled me down to my essence, and forced me to live as a psychic. It was the only thing left that I could do.

That’s actually a beautiful thing, hard a journey as it’s been.

Now, as my health slowly returns, as I walk this hard journey of healing, things are being added back in to my life. My ability to think, to write – these two things have become such precious, precious gifts. When I was young I took it all for granted.

No more.

Tomorrow I shall celebrate my essence. The gifts of love, compassion, psychic connection, perseverance, moral courage, gratitude and hope, and the return of words, imagination and the ability to write again.

That’s worth a good cake, don’t you think?

The owl in the tree outside my window agrees!

barn_owl

Up all night, talking to Ghosts

Image from Soul Service

Image from Soul Service

“Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that’s what.” 
Salman RushdieThe Satanic Verses

 

I’m late blogging today, but I have an excuse. I was up all night, talking to ghosts. Well, one ghost actually.

This morning I was shaken, fragile and exhausted.

And then his mother rang me…

I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.  Right now I need to ground myself in this world, and in the comfort of hugs, mugs of tea, and playtime with my dogs. I need a quiet moment to let this all settle.

Much love to you, Nicole xx

Little Bird

“I am not a teacher, but an awakener.” 
~ Robert Frost

The next installment of my Kimberley Story

Auntie, the old barefoot Aboriginal Elder in her faded pink dress, had turned up in my dream before she ever turned up in my waking hours.

And when we finally met she promised me that she would take me flying again. In turn I had promised her that I would visit her in her country – the land to the north of us.

But I never went.

And she never came back to my dreams. Instead she sent others to the Station to check on my progress. Little Auntie and Grandmother, two other Aboriginal Elders came to visit me. I fed them sweet tea and cake. They helped me to feel the connection to my ancestors, and they awakened the energy in my hands.

Which was fine. But they went home, life went on, and I was still stuck in this agonising limbo of spiritual awakening where I felt less like my old self each day, and more and more a stranger in my own skin. I had not a single soul with whom to share my journey. No benchmarks for what was normal, no-one to ask for help or to help me understand what was going on as my psychic skills lurched from one level to another.

Image from www.pbase.com

Image from www.pbase.com

I was struggling, out there on my million acre cattle property in the remote Australian Outback. I was desolate with loneliness, and the strangest sadness. No matter how hard I worked, no matter how I filled my days, there was an emptiness inside me that nothing seemed to fill.

My nights were crowded with crazy dreams, snippets of things I knew I should understand, things I DID understand in the dream state, but that left me bereft and confused each time I woke.

I began to withdraw from the handful of people I lived and worked with, and spent my spare time gazing out over the river or the flats. Each night I watched the fire, went for walks to count shooting stars, and waited for my owls to visit.

And then one day a little bird turned up. It was a tiny bird; a type of wren with an upright blue tail, a duff coloured crown and tiny splashes of chestnut around the eyes. I had never seen another bird like it.

It flitted from branch to branch outside the dining room, and when I walked back to my office after lunch it followed me to the door, chirruping and singing and click-click-clicking away.

It was there again in the afternoon. And somehow when I saw that little bird, I felt less alone.

The little bird followed me for two weeks. It even flew into my quarters one morning and sat on the railing at the end of my bed, all bright-eyed energy and curiosity.

That tiny bird came to mean something special to me, and I looked for it every day.

So, of course on the morning that it did not turn up I worried. Where had it gone? Was it okay?

As the day progressed I became more anxious. Perhaps you could even say I felt depressed. And then, in my head, I began to hear wailing.

At first one voice, this high keening sorrowful sound. It was so real that I actually looked to see where it was coming from. But I was all alone in my office, with the hum of the air-conditioner. Outside in the dry heat I could hear the helicopter, braying cattle, a motor bike, the sound of banging in the workshop and of mens’ voices. I could still hear the wailing, but I couldn’t tell you what direction the sound came from.

emma_Activity_Helicopter_Taking_off_from_Homestead_2

I really thought I might be going mad.

By nightfall I could hear more voices, all keening and wailing in the most melancholy of manners. No one else could hear anything.

I was overcome with irrational sadness. So sad that I couldn’t face dinner. So sad that I couldn’t face people. I went down to the river with my dog, and scuttled off to bed as soon as it was dusk. I threw the verandah doors wide to catch the breeze, had a shower and put my nightdress on and hopped into bed, longing for sleep to come quickly and end my day.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But I do remember peeling back from my sleeping form and looking down on myself in the bed, hair fanned out around the pillow, and my long limbs all tangled in the sheets. I felt such love for my other self, lying down there on the bed. I saw my pain and confusion and loneliness as if they were the emotions of someone else, and I understood that it was all transitory, and attached to that life I was immersed in, rather than to my soul. This, THIS was my soul – this joyous free being floating near the ceiling of the room.

I soared out of the bedroom and began flying over the dark Kimberley landscape. I could feel the pulse of the earth. I could feel the flow of the river as she flowed over stones and sand. I could feel the fishes swimming, and the crocodiles sliding from the banks into the water’s murky depths.

As I flew I could hear the breathing of the animals, and the thoughts of the trees. And like I was tuned in to some strange compass I kept flying northwards.

North to Auntie’s country.

I could still hear the wailing, but now it sounded like silver light rippling along the dark face of the earth. I could hear the individual voices, I could hear the ancestors’ voices contained in the voices of their children’s children. It was a song as old as time, a linking song that ties our souls to all that ever was.

It was the saddest lament. It was a song of goodbye, a release of pain. It was a staircase made of sound.

The little sparks of souls illuminated the night. I could see every one, lighting up the darkness like the nightscape of a city.

Orbs of light by sadman2k

Orbs of light by sadman2k

Through the soft air I flew. By myself, but connected to everything.

When I woke up back in my own bed my face was streaked with tears. My hair smelled of fragrant smoke. I hastily packed a bag, and scrawled a note.

It was just on dawn. I crept out of my room and went over to the dining room, bag slung over my shoulder.

The Aboriginal Stockman was squatting on his haunches just outside the door, mug of coffee in his hand, a thin home-made rollie cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You ready?” he grunted.

I nodded.

He flung the reminder of his drink into the garden, and placed the mug on a table.

Wordlessly we walked back to his ute.

He didn’t say it. I didn’t say it.

But we both knew.

Little Auntie was dead. We needed to go home.

Munja Wandjina 1Sister, sister, watch over me. Little Auntie in the night sky…

Another late-night psychic Emergency…

Image from www.natgeotv.com

Image from www.natgeotv.com

“But life inevitably throws us curve balls, unexpected circumstances that remind us to expect the unexpected. I’ve come to understand these curve balls are the beautiful unfolding of both karma and current.” ~ Carre Otis

I’m on ‘Week On’ of my heavy-duty lyme meds til Thursday. So I’ve been in bed early every night. Last night I was asleep by perhaps 7.30pm.

What followed were crazy dreams I found hard to make sense of, and from which I kept waking up. I thought it was the side effects of the drugs. But then I woke up and clearly heard a voice say ‘This is not how I am meant to be born’.

I knew it was a psychic message, but from whom?

Eventually I hauled myself out of bed and into meditation. From there the next bit was easy. A baby, about to be born. The cord positioned so that if the birth proceeded it would wrap around this baby’s tiny neck and cut off the oxygen – possibly creating brain damage, or in the worst case even death. The unborn soul calmly said again to me, ‘This is not how I am meant to be born.’ I’d seen his mother several months ago, before she even knew she was pregnant, and it had been an interesting psychic reading. But what was her name?

I couldn’t for the life of me get a name, so I ended up on the floor in  my office rifling through Client Profile Sheets, looking for the one with the picture of her aura and the little bubble of her baby’s aura out to one side.

Found it!

Hurry, the unborn soul said. There isn’t much time.

So with a lump in my throat (I am always anxious about disturbing people’s privacy, especially late at night) I called the woman’s mobile number. Which was switched off.

Her home phone rang out too, and I sent an email even though that seemed pointless.

Then I remembered – her husband! I didn’t have any contact details for him, so I looked him up on Linked In, and from there found a corporate profile that listed a mobile number. I called him just after midnight.

They were already at the hospital. I hurriedly explained myself. And thankfully the father took note.

Their son was born two hours later by caesarean section – the cord looped around his neck, but no damage done. Hooray!

Their son had never intended to come into this work impaired, and he gets to start life healthy and hearty and raring to go.

So I’m going back to bed to grab a bit more sleep before my proper day begins – a few readings for some longstanding and much loved clients, and then into the truck and home to our farm for some R and R.

And I’m looking forward to meeting this child in person and giving him a hug sometime soon!

I really love my job, but it sure has some unexpected moments.

Much love to you all, ♥ Nicole xx

Alice’s Lifelong Invisible Friend

Image from Meltys

Image from Meltys

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery The Little Prince

Alice is the oldest person to have ever sought out my services as a psychic.  She came to see me late last year, at age 98, driven to my house by her grand-daughter Donna.

After she was settled, and her family had gone off for a drive to give her some privacy, Alice gravely informed me that she needed some spiritual advice before she died. Could I work with someone who had already lived their life and was right at the end of their time here?

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “Let’s just do what I would ordinarily do in one of my sessions, and we’ll see what comes up.”

We sat at the table where I work, and I held Alice’s frail hands in mine, closed my eyes, bowed my head, and offered up a prayer for the Highest Good. Then I sat quietly for a moment

It is wonderful to work with the elderly, and anyone drawing close to the end of their time here on earth.  Their lives stretch out richly before them, and the connection to the spiritual world is always strong and immediate.

Immediately I got a name, ‘Agnes’, and sensed that she was one of Alice’s guides. It was the most powerful and immediate connection, as if Agnes was right here beside us.

When I opened my eyes and looked up at Alice, so that we could begin our session, her soft grey eyes held mine. There was a bright curiosity there.

I explained how I start my session, with the prayer and the connection, and that I then opened myself up to any first impressions.  I told her about Agnes, and how strong her presence was.

Then we sat for over an hour, as I shared information about Alice’s aura, and why she had chosen to come to this life.  We discussed love and family, and I was able to give her clarity about some of the incidents and relationships that she was still trying to come to terms with after nearly a century of life.

Finally, as the session was coming to an end, Alice became quite teary, and told me she had a terrible confession. I couldn’t imagine what it could be – Alice has led a good life, filled with caring for others, kindness and love.

“I have an imaginary friend,” she whispered through her tears. “She’s been my friend since I was little. I’m always talking to her, and sometimes at night in my room, after everyone else is asleep, she comes to visit me, and she sits on my bed.”

oh baby3clearlyvintage

I didn’t say anything, just reached across so I could hold her hand.

She laughed. “I must be a bit funny in the head,” she said. “And there’s one other thing… My whole life I have felt lonely on the inside, like something precious is missing. I have no right to feel like this.  My parents were very loving, and I had tremendous brothers. I had a happy marriage and my own two girls and their families have been very good to me. And I had plenty of friends, although, of course, they are all gone now.”

“And your sister,” I prompted. “You must have been very close to your sister.”

Alice looked at me strangely, and the energy between us suddenly became very uncomfortable. “I never had a sister,” she said crankily. “You’re very much mistaken.”

We moved back to safer ground, and I answered the last of her questions, and then her grand-daughter arrived back at my house and Alice and I said goodbye.

Alice’s grand-daughter knocked on my door last night, to let me know that the old lady had died peacefully in her sleep on the weekend. Donna had sat with her grandmother for the last few days of her life, and Alice had been conscious and lucid til the last.  Alice was insistent that Donna contact me after her death.

Donna had a large envelope with her, and she took out the contents to show me. In it were photocopies of some old documents. One was the death certificate of Alice’s mother.  It clearly showed that she had given birth to three sons and then after a gap of six years, two twin girls, Alice and Agnes.

My skin prickled with recognition. Agnes… The presence I had felt so strongly in the room with us that day.

There was also a death certificate for Agnes, who had died at age four from scarlet fever.  The family had lived in a small town in Outback Queensland. Donna had discovered that her great grandmother and Agnes were buried in a family plot in that small town.  She was now planning to go out there to find their graves.

longreach, food, harry etc 107

Alice had told Donna all about her session with me on the drive back to her nursing home, and Donna had then diligently visited the State Archives to see what she could learn of her family history.

She had found the information weeks before her grandmother passed away, and Donna told me it had given her grandmother much peace.

Alice’s family had never spoken of Agnes, and Alice had grown up believing that Agnes truly was imaginary. She had learned from a very early age not to speak of Agnes, but had maintained that love and connection with her twin sister for her whole life.

We both cried, and hugged, and as she left, Donna withdrew another small envelope from her bag. “This is for you, from Gran,” she said.

I opened it after she left. In a spidery hand, Alice had written me a short note. In part, it said Thank you for restoring the missing part of my heart.

Last night I lay in bed and thought of my own beautiful grandparents who have now all passed away, and some dear friends whose lives ended too early.  I felt the weight of all their love. And it made me smile to think of Alice and Agnes, together again, and catching up on a lifetime’s worth of being apart.

Love truly is a force powerful beyond all we can imagine.

 

The Connection Hour – Or, Why do I keep waking up in the middle of the night?

Image from pingminghealth.com

“Sleep is the best meditation.”
~ Dalai Lama

Are you waking up in the middle of the night?  Does it happen on a semi-regular basis?

I don’t think it’s insomnia.  I diagnose this as a psychic connection issue.  If you’re reading this, in fact I’m sure it’s a connection issue. And I know just what to do about it.

For many years (and sometimes even now…) I woke up at around 2am.  It was especially prevalent while I was going through Spiritual Awakening – that whole process of becoming actively more psychically and spiritually connected.

At first it drove me nuts.  I’d wake from a deep sleep, lie in bed uselessly, eyes wide open and fully alert, and by around 4am I’d drift back off to sleep again.

It was my Guides who finally explained to me what was going on…

Somewhere between 2am and 4am, when we’ve had some sleep and are rested and relaxed, is the easiest time for spiritual Guides and other energetic BEings to connect with us psychically.

At 2am we are free of mental clutter.  At 2am there is much less ‘noise’ from other people’s thoughts, from electromagnetic energy or from life in general.  It’s a little like driving your car down an empty freeway in the middle of the night – it’s a safe, fast trip, with no interruptions.

When we are first connecting energetically, it’s always easier to do this in the early hours.  After the connection is made, and we become practiced at it, we’ll find that we are no longer woken up, and that psychic or spiritual knowing and energy become a natural part of our waking hours.

Image from 1000awesomethings.com

So, what can YOU do if you wake at 2am?

Here are some suggestions based on my own experience, and on the advice of my Guides:

  • Drink some water – hydration always enhances connection
  • Ask to be ‘connected’, and then lie back and relax.  Be aware of any images, names, impressions, ideas or information that comes to you.  You may also find that after inviting connection, you are suddenly sleepy again, and return to the sleep state. (you’ll still be connecting, although it will no longer be a conscious act).
  • Write. Many people find that their best ideas come to them in the middle of the night like this – it’s a form of channelling.  These ideas may be aligned to your talents and skills, they may be creative ideas, or it could just be information that’s relevant to your life right now.  You can keep a pen and paper beside the bed, or get up and go sit at a table – but do use pen and paper rather than a keyboard.
  • Move into meditation for a while.  You can do this in bed, or get up and sit somewhere quiet where you are warm and comfortable.  Once again, be open to any messages, images or impressions you might receive.
  • Do some simple hands-on healing for yourself by channelling energy through your hands and into your body.

Back in your normal life, adopt some spiritual practices, such as a regular meditation time, or time in spiritual reflection.  Yoga, tai chi, exercise and other forms of moving meditation are also good.  So are creative hobbies, and hanging out with like-minded people.

Image from wellbeing.com.au

There is an increase in consciousness right now, and enhanced opportunities for conscious connection.  So if you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night for no obvious reason, maybe it’s the Universe, tapping you on the shoulder, and reminding you that it’s time.

You’re here for a reason! Trust in Divine Timing, and in your own ability to connect. Who knows what wonderful energies and ideas you might bring forth…

Much love to you. Bless ♥ xx

The Woman I Turned Away…

Evil Woman by SalaBoli: flickriver.com

When I do psychic readings for people, I have a few procedures that I follow to ready myself for our session.  Firstly I close my eyes, centre myself and offer up a prayer for the Highest Good, and then I allow myself to move into a channelling space.  When I am firmly anchored in this energy I open my eyes and connect into the ‘seeker’ – the person I am going to read for.

If I am doing a reading by distance (ie by skype, phone or from a photograph) I do this energetically.  But if the person is sitting right in front of me I like to hold their hands to make that connection.

Image from mywedding.com

Once again I close my eyes, and then I psychically ask permission to work with that person.  When permission is obtained I open myself to any first impressions, and then I open my eyes and begin the session.

In the thousands of people that I have worked with I have only been refused twice.

The first time, I got a clear ‘no’.  I was surprised, as that had never happened before.  And the explanation? It was not ‘Right Timing’.  I apologised, and ended the session.  A few months later the person came back and the session proceeded beautifully – at a time that was perfect, given the sudden changes in that person’s life.

That taught me something valuable – the need to always honour Universal Wisdom.

But it certainly didn’t prepare me for the second person I turned away.

I awoke agitated on that day, with an annoying headache that wouldn’t budge.  Before I’d even begun work my last two appointments rang to reschedule – something that rarely happens.  Trusting in Right Timing, I got ready for my only other appointment that day.  As the time grew closer I felt more and more ill, and my head throbbed as if it might explode.  I wondered if I was getting a migraine, although I’d never had one before.

Finally my appointment showed up, ten minutes late.  I ushered her in, sat her down and began.

My own connection took much longer than normal.  I sat patiently, and when I was finally ready it felt as if I had been surrounded by a heavenly host of Angels, an energy I don’t usually work with.  I felt very safe, very calm and very loved.

Image from poemsbycc.com

And then I took hold of this woman’s hands.

Whoosh.  It was as if I had been sucked over the edge of a deep abyss.  There was nothing. Nothing but darkness.  But the darkness wasn’t empty.  And it certainly wasn’t friendly.

My eyes snapped open in shock, and I saw her watching me.

“Sorry,” I apologised.  Then shutting my eyes, I tried again.

All I felt was fear – my fear – and a deep sense of unrest.  No matter how I tried, I just couldn’t connect. It was as if she was behind a wall I couldn’t penetrate.

I let go of her hands and opened my eyes.  “I’m sorry,” I said to her.  “I’m feeling unwell.  I just can’t work with you today.”  My skin was goosebumped, and I sensed shadow all around us.  All I wanted to do was get her out of my home as quickly as I could.

Image from miserablesongs.blogspot.com

When she was gone I cleansed my house, did a healing meditation, and put myself to bed, completely drained.  It took two days to come back to a place of feeling my normal, optimistic self.

That session really disturbed me, but I was never able to access any more information, and eventually I put it behind me. Two years later an older man turned up for a session with me.  He came through my door very unwell and weak, with a great weight of sadness.  My first instinct was to greet him with a hug.

My connection with him was easy and strong.  And very disturbing.  As I held his hands a bitter taste flooded my mouth and I felt my own body weaken.  My heart rhythm went wonky, and my vision blurred.  A shocking awareness came to me.  I dropped his hands and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘An Old Man’s Winter’s Night’

He batted away a tear. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I’m so tired all the time, and I just can’t seem to come right. I feel like I’m dying.” He took my hand in his.  “I’ve got cancer,  haven’t I?  You can tell me.  I just need to know what’s wrong.”

“No,” I blurted.  “It’s not cancer.  You’re being poisoned. And you’re in grave danger.” The information poured out of me.  His wife.  His wife was poisoning him.  And she had done this before, to previous husbands.

“Her first three husbands did all die,” he said to me, almost unbelieving. “But she loves me. She’s stood by me even when my own family turned against us. She’s been caring for me ever since I got sick.”  He pulled a photo from his wallet and placed it on the table between us.

It was the woman I had turned away.

If you want to read more about my life as a psychic, you might enjoy these posts:

The baby who needed to speak

The power of a Father’s love

The unexpected phone call

In Defence of Fairies

The Forest Fairy – Image by Josephine Wall

Nothing can be truer than fairy wisdom.  It is as true as sunbeams.  ~Douglas Jerrold

Those of you who know me will also know that I believe in fairies.  In fact, you’ll know that I count a fairy as one of my dearest friends.

I found myself in an odd position on the weekend. I’m writing a novel with fairies as some of the main characters. And someone I hold in esteem told me that writing about fairies was not only unimaginative, but that children were no longer interested in such things.

Hmmm, I thought to myself.  I know I’m not a child but I’m interested in fairies.  And many of my friends and clients are too.  In fact, whenever I write about fairies I get flooded with enquiries about them, and how people might get to know one or attract one into their garden.

As this learned person talked to me, I felt myself becoming sadder and sadder.  Not only because they were so disparaging of fairies and all things magical (which is of course, the world I live in, although they did not know that), but because I believe fairies deserve to be known, and appreciated, and dare I say it, loved…

Not that fairies care.  They shall go on happily, regardless of us.  But we, we are the poorer for not knowing of them and the work they do in the natural world.

And if there is no room for magic in our lives, and for the ability to believe in things we cannot understand, if there is no room for wonder, well then, what is the point of life?

Image from paganspace.net

How to become more intuitive…

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.” ~ Albert Einstein

All of us are intuitive but many of us become dominated by our minds, and as I often tell my clients, over-thinking chokes off our natural intuitive wisdom.

For those of us who have become used to living in our minds, connecting into this natural wisdom, and the flow of energy and information all around us can seem like an impossible task. But I promise you, intuition is your birth right – and the ability to be intuitive resides within every living thing.

Simple steps for increasing intuition:

The most important thing we can do in our daily lives to foster the development of our intuition is to make time for connection.  For some people this will be the first step in opening up to psychic abilities as well. It is vital that we get out of our heads and back into our bodies.

  • Drink more water – being hydrated always enhances connection.
  • Turn off the computer and the television and sit in silence.  This can be further improved by taking time to sit in nature.
  • Practice tuning in – by bring your conscious focus to something and then relaxing and stilling your mind, allowing yourself to become open to any impressions or information you might receive. (I know this can be incredibly hard at first for head-dominated people but it will get easier.)
  • Meditate.
  • Eat a diet rich in natural, fresh foods, which are full of vibrant energy and that clean up our own vibration.
  • Get enough sleep.
  • Avoid substances that dull our sensitivity, or that ramp it up in unnatural ways – such as caffeine, sugar, alcohol, recreational drugs – all of these inhibit true intuitive connection.

Guided Meditation to increase your intuitive ability

I’ve recorded a simple guided meditation to help you to soften and open up to your own intuitive connection. All you need to do is set aside ten minutes where you won’t be disturbed, and then close your eyes and listen to my voice.

Nicole Cody’ Guided Meditation for Developing Psychic Connection

With practice, you will find that intuition will begin to inform you, and better connect you into life and everything around you. You may also find that your abilities begin to go beyond just intuition, and into the realms of the metaphysical. (And if they do, I have tools and teachings for that too.)  Trust. Know that you are a spiritual BEing, made of pure source energy, living within a human body. All you ever have to do is relax, open and allow.

Much love to you. ♥♥♥

 

The Unexpected Phone Call

Image from gentogenym.com

I’m in Brisbane this week doing psychic readings. I don’t normally take phone calls on my office phone – I let them go to message bank and my wonderful PA, Nicky, deals with them.  But today, as I was sitting at my desk the phone rang, and I picked it up without thinking.

“Hello,” I said automatically, “this is Nicole.”

There was a moment of silence on the line and then someone cleared their throat. “Um, Nicole, could you come downstairs a minute?”

I hadn’t heard the doorbell ring. The dogs hadn’t barked. But I went downstairs anyway and opened the old stained-glass door.

A young man stood there. His mate sat in a car out on the street, the motor running.

“I’m Pete,” he said.

But I knew that already, although we’ve never met.

Both our eyes filled with tears. He is older now, but I recognised him from photos I’d been shown some years ago. We moved towards each other and embraced.

Pete. The son of one of my clients. Judy lives in Melbourne, but she has come to many of my courses, and I’ve know her for years. As mothers do, she’d shown me photographs of her family in some of our consultations.

About six years ago I was eating dinner one night when I got a blinding headache.  I excused myself from the table, and went and sat in the lounge-room, closing my eyes against the glare of the lights. In the darkness a wave of nausea and panic came over me. Huge emotional pain. These aren’t my emotions, I thought to myself.

I felt a familiar feeling that I often get when I am channeling. It’s a feeling of disconnect from me, and connection into something else. My heart began to pound, and the nausea and panic increased. In my mind’s eye I peered down at a pair of hands, (the perspective making it look like they were mine) knotting together a length of rope to make a noose. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate as I deeply connected into the mind of a troubled youth.

Oh my god, I thought. He’s going to kill himself.

Somehow I knew that it was real. As his eyes looked up I saw a noticeboard above a student desk. A photo of a pretty young girl was pinned in the middle, and I knew that this was the reason for this young man’s actions.  His eyes came to rest on a photo tacked in one corner amidst all the other papers. A family photo.  And in that photo I recognised Judy, her husband and children.  In that instant I knew. I was in Pete’s bedroom.  I was in Pete’s mind.

I raced upstairs to the office and yanked open the filing cabinet, desperately searching for Judy’s details, spilling papers everywhere. Then I ran to the phone and called her home number.

She was so surprised to hear from me.  She told me to wait because she was about to take a basket of folding upstairs, and then she could talk to me from the study where we could have a bit of privacy.

Trying to keep my voice steady, I asked her to put the washing basket down and go up to Pete’s room.

“Why?” she asked.

“Just go. Please…”  I urged.

What happened next was awful. Judy kept making small talk as she walked upstairs and then dropped the phone and I heard her screaming. Her husband came running. “Hold his legs,” he yelled. “I’ll cut him down.” As the scene played out I was watching it as if I was floating in a corner of the room. I heard his sister screaming. Then I heard Judy’s husband tell her to call an ambulance.  The phone went dead…

I didn’t know what to do. I burst into tears, and told my concerned husband what had happened. Good man that he is, he gave me a hug, made me a cup of tea and put me to bed.

I didn’t hear from Judy until a few days later. Pete was going to be okay, although he would remain in hospital for many weeks, and under the care of a skilled therapist much longer. My call had saved his life.

And here he was today, six years later, standing on my doorstep.

After the longest, most soulful hug, he pulled away. “Thank you,” he said, gazing into my eyes. “I’m a  teacher now,” he added as he turned to leave. “And I’m getting married in September.”

I couldn’t speak, I was so choked up. I nodded instead. And in an instant he was back in the car, and away down the street.

Living as a psychic is sometimes hard. I cannot turn off from what I am, or from this flow of information, and often it impacts my life in ways I don’t enjoy and can’t control.

But to hold this young man in my arms today, to feel the life-force in him, to know his gratitude for a second chance…    that makes it all worthwhile. ♥