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

All the Babies!

Image by serg_dibrova

Image by serg_dibrova

“Seeing your child for the first time is rarest of occasions. You see glimpses of yourself from the past. The potential of a brand new life happening right before your eyes. And most importantly, that life begins again.”
~ J.R. Rim


One of the privileges of being psychic is that I often get to meet souls before they become people! Often the souls are little orbs or colour in their mother’s aura – just waiting for that chance to come through. Sometimes Mum is already pregnant and I get to converse with the soul who is waiting for their time to be born.

Often people send me progress photos of a new soul’s progress and arrival.

Thanks, Vicky!

Thanks, Vicky!

Every so often I am lucky enough to meet a soul in person after our initial connection on the spiritual planes.

Last year I wrote about a little soul who called to me with tinkling bells. It was such a joyful experience. I knew who she’d come to as a mother, and I was comforted by her appearance to me.

Yesterday I met her in person. Isn’t she grand!

It’s a wonderful thing, to know a soul from before they are born and then to meet them as little people beginning their next journey in life.

I find it so affirming for us all, this cycle of growth and life, and death that is never final.

That was you once too. And will be again.

Much love to you all, Nicole xx

Baby Ella!

Baby Ella!

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.


Another late-night psychic Emergency…

Image from

Image from

“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

Royal Baby – Boy, you had some people fooled!


“Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” 
~ Rumi

The world is abuzz right now with news of the Royal Baby. But today I’m not going to join the masses predicting his name, his future or speculating as to the man he may one day become.

I am not even going to boast that I won fifty bucks from my husband because I backed this child to be a son, and hubby was sure it was a daughter…

What I want to discuss is how so many people thought it this baby would be a girl.

I’m not talking about people guessing, or believing the old wives tale that ill-health early in pregnancy signifies a daughter rather than a son.

I’m talking about people who tuned and were SURE it was a girl. How could so many of these people, usually so accurate in judging the gender of an unborn child, get it so wrong?

Take heart. If you thought this baby would be born female, there are some unusual reasons why you may have intuited that…

Image from

Image from

Three interesting things happened in this pregnancy:

  1. Kate Middleton is psychically a very protective mother.  Her own aura is clear, powerful, and very shielding of this tender new life.  Many people simply couldn’t get past Kate’s own energy to accurately sense the energy of the soul she was carrying.
  2. This baby was shielded by Loved Ones who had already crossed over, and who obscured his own energy until he was able to birth into this world. Their energy was feminine, and easily sensed by those with psychic ability.
  3. The Royal Baby is a very old Soul. It’s been a long time between incarnations for this child.That can be quite disorienting. Imagine existing in a place where the world’s population is a fraction of what it is now – a life without electricity or cars, planes, televisions, computers or mobile phones. Part of the reason this baby was so strongly shielded was to allow him time to adjust to these busy, intrusive new energies. And my goodness, hasn’t he signed up for a life of intrusion, busy-ness and public attention!
Press Outside Hospital where the Royal Baby was Born - Business Insider

Press Outside Hospital where the Royal Baby was Born – Business Insider

As souls we may incarnate over and over.  Some souls choose to stay within a soul group or lineage, braiding each life back into the rich family tree of their wider heritage. The son of Prince William and Kate Middleton chose his parents, as we all do, and is strongly tied into this ancient family line he has been birthed into. Old Souls usually do not feel masculine or feminine in their energetic orientation. This child has a very balanced masculine and feminine energy; a heightened emotional sensitivity, keen intelligence, a sense of social justice, courage, a kind and loving nature, openness and gentleness. What better parents to nurture and support this soul?

When Souls first reincarnate we pick up on who they have recently been – we feel that energy and sense that history, character and connection. As the Soul settles into this new life that old connected energy fades and they have the chance to remake themselves and to grow and develop in new ways. Tune in again now to this young child and see what you may notice about him!

No matter what has gone before, the our youngest Royal Prince is a sensitive soul who has an unwritten future ahead of him, a mother and father who love and cherish him, and a world of possibilities to explore.

Let’s gift him and his parents some privacy, some time to rest and come together as a family, while we wish only the best for them.

May this young boy grow up to be healthy, well loved, kind, compassionate, with a grounded sense of self, good humour, self-worth, strong values and integrity.

Who do you tell?

“That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.” 
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

It’s taken me a long time to begin to share my story…

For the longest while I never even thought I would.

But then I remembered what it was like. To be a small girl whom no-one believed. To be the girl who never fitted in, although she so desperately wanted to be like everyone else.

I remember how lonely I felt at school.

I remember how it felt as I tried to deny this great big part of me that seemed to only exist in fairytales and fantasies for other people.

I mean, really, who can you tell? Who will believe you?

Who do you tell when ladies in old-fashioned dresses appear in your bedroom in the dark of night, comforting your ill baby sister and speaking with her in French?

Who do you tell, when at any minute you expect someone will come for you and you’ll return back to the house you’re supposed to be living in – a big old house made of smartly cut stone, with fireplaces and a round driveway for the carriages?

Who do you tell when you find that you know things about people, but you can’t say how you know?

Who do you tell when you feel like someone watches you as you sleep?

Who do you tell when your dreams are filled with places and people you are sure are from your ‘other life’?

What happens when these things don’t fade away as you get older, and that sense of ‘strangeness’ lingers?

Who do you tell?

Who do you tell when you ‘dream’ you see a college friend suicide, and you know the thoughts in his head before, during and after he has died?  And then you get the phone call from hundreds of miles away later that week, and find your dream was real?

Who do you tell when an old Aboriginal woman you’ve never met takes you flying in your dreams and then turns up in person the next afternoon?

What does it mean when owls follow you as you go for moonlit walks?

What happens when you see one owl sitting in the tree behind the lights of the campfire on a remote Outback property?

What happens when there are five owls?

What happens when there are seven?

Who do you tell when the trees whisper to you?

Who do you tell when you see strange lights in the sky at night?

Who do you tell when your life is turning upside down, and everything you thought you understood about the world, and about yourself, is suddenly not quite right anymore?

Who do you tell? Who will believe you?

What happens when you scarcely can believe it yourself?

Image from

Image from

That’s been my battle. And it’s why I’m finally writing now.

Because what if you are like me, and you thought you were the only person going through this? I’ve been in that place where you question your sanity, and you feel that there is no-one you can confide in. It’s the loneliest, most isolating feeling in the world….

I couldn’t do that to you. And anyway, it’s the strangeness and the difficult lonely road that has made my life worthwhile – that has made me who I am.

And now I understand – writing what is real for me also makes it real for you.

Bless ♥ Nicole xx

Uncanny Harry!

2013-05-06 15.24.27

Young Harry, a fine pup!

“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” 
~ Rumi


Harry, our young pup, continues to astound and delight us. For those of you who’ve been following his journey, you’ll know that Harry joined our family late last year, after the death of Charlie, our much loved old cattledog.

Right from the first moment, Harry seemed to know who I was.  When I brought him home as a six week old pup (Harry came from the same breeder and the same bloodlines of Charlie dog) he knew his way around the house – where the water bowl was, the bed, the place outside where Charlie used to favour for his toiletries.

There have been many more similarities over the past six months.  But two stand out for me.

An old friend came round recently.  Marlene had known our old dog Charlie very well, and they’d had a special connection.  She would sometimes look after him when we were away, and take him running with her. When Charlie died she rang us in tears.

Our beautiful Charlie Dog

Our beautiful Charlie Dog

Marlene lives interstate right now, and we haven’t seen her for months, but she came to visit last week.

Harry is a naturally friendly pup, but when Marlene came into the house he was beside himself. He wriggled himself into a frenzy.  He jumped up on the couch beside her and wouldn’t leave her alone, licking her and nuzzling her and making ecstatic little squeaks of joy. He had to sit with his paws touching her once he’d finally settled down, all radiant smiles and happiness. We’ve never seen him behave like that for anyone else.  It brought tears to our eyes.

And then last night I was in the kitchen, chopping up pink lady apples to make an apple crumble for dessert. As I finished chopping I felt a paw on my leg.

Pink Lady apples - Charlie's favourite

Pink Lady apples – Charlie’s favourite

“Here you go, Charlie,” I said, handing down the apple core.

It was a ritual we had.  Bert, our other dog, has always loved fruit but Charlie never did.  Except pink lady apple cores. Each time I would cut one up he would sit right at my feet, waiting.  When he couldn’t hear the sound of chopping anymore, he would put his paw on my leg, and I would pass down the core which he would munch on as happily as if it was the finest of bones.

Last night was the first night I’ve used pink ladies last winter. But here was Harry, right beside me, like Charlie always had been, and the moment my knife stopped meeting the cutting board, there was the paw.

It wasn’t Charlie of course, it was young Harry.  And he took the apple core, just like Charlie used to, and went into his ‘cave’ under the table to chomp it up.

There’s a wisdom and an ‘old dog’ energy with Harry.  Everyone comments on it. He’s a real watcher and observer.  Harry’s measured and thoughtful in his actions, as much as he can still run around the yard in play like any demented puppy would.

If ever there was an argument for per reincarnation, Harry is it.

But whatever is happening, or why, we’re just glad he’s part of our family!

And if you’re interested in the topic of reincarnation, you might find this post interesting – it’s not about pets, it’s about people, and it’s quite compelling.

The baby who needed to speak

(this gorgeous image by Michelle Meiklejohn)

(this gorgeous image by Michelle Meiklejohn)

Midnight Visits

Image from

Image from

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
~ Lao Tzu


I’ve been herxing badly the past few days. Herxing is a strong physical reaction to the die-off of pathogens, which release toxins into the body. It’s a good thing – or so I tell myself.  It proves to me that the antibiotics and herbs I am taking for my Lyme disease are working…

But it also means I wake up after a few hours of sleep, bathed in sweat and wracked with pain. I haunt the house at midnight, trying not to wake anyone as I roam around looking for relief from my discomfort. If I am lucky, I find sleep again as the sun is rising.

Last night I found myself crying downstairs in the darkened lounge room. My skin was on fire, the pressure behind my right ear made me believe my head might actually explode, my troublesome left eye felt once again as if someone was stabbing it with a fork and roasting it over hot coals.

My legs ached with a pain deep in the bones. I spasmed and twitched. I ran hot and cold by turn. I was not having fun.

I tried to meditate. I tried prayer.  Nothing much was working. It was hard to keep a lid on my distress. In my exhaustion and discomfort I felt quite alone.

I lay down on the lounge and focused on my breath. As I consciously drew each breath in and then slowly exhaled I began, finally, to relax. The pain was still there, the skin on fire, the eye, the ear – but the tight sense of panic let go.

After an hour or so the deep perfume of flowers filled the room; roses, gardenias, jasmine, lavender and soft floral notes. A sense of presence and love seeped into my soul. I was no longer alone.  I felt a tangible connection to my grandmothers, my great aunts, and women from my family lines I’ve never known. I felt the divine energy supporting and underpinning this experience. I understood how much I am loved, and how that love reaches its hands across time and space to bring comfort.

Image from

Image from

This morning I am still wretched; fatigued, nauseous and herxing badly. But oh how my soul sings.  How uplifted I feel. If this is the gift of my disease – to realise the foreverness of family and that enduring heart connection – well I can honestly say that this suffering is worth it.

No matter what happens in this lifetime, I know with every cell of my body that I am okay, that you are okay, that love surrounds us and holds us, and that we too will one day stand on the other side and send that same love and comfort to others.

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.