Category Archives: Pregnancy and Loss

In my love

Recently as a family we have been consciously and unconsciously honouring the constellation that has been emerging for us / around us, and ‘welcoming’ the next little one into our family in so many ways….

My little girl has been regularly holding, kissing and touching my belly saying ‘baby’ and laughing.  I asked my son again if he thought there was a baby coming to our family. He seems unfaltering in his knowing of this. We got to chatting about it and he seemed to have an assuredness in every answer and comment. I asked him where he thought the little one is now.

He said “He is in my love”


I was blown away. He verbalised what we had been doing as a family, holding the awareness and hope for the little one in our hearts. What a beautiful place to be, to be held, to exist. In his love. In our love.

It can be easy for me to sink back into the physicality of it all.  It can be easy to revert to the familiar of coming from a place of lack. The waiting, the impatience and the longing to be pregnant and hold the embodied little one inside of me – feeling the growth and the presence. And then the longing to hold the baby in my arms – seeing the growth, smelling and nuzzling into the gorgeousness. It can be easy to revert to despair when months come and go without either the joy of holding the positive test stick in your hand, or the excitement of a closer meeting in your heart.

But, within this movement of time between hope and despair there seems a greater preparation. Within this growing awareness of our little one coming – and the beauty that lies within that – there seems to have been some kind of ethereal conception, an energetic implantation to the family body and very obviously, the pregnant holding of the vibration of / the idea of / the essence of our little soul ‘in our love’.

How vast that sense of ‘holding’ is and how beautiful it is to have an umbilical exchange of giving and receiving from this place.


I feel the gifts coming from the little one,  the gift of this time to perceive things differently, the gift of developing perceptions in my body and in our family body. The gift of listening to this little one and how this compels me to listen more deeply to my children here and within my work. The gift of connection within this family, the greater family and throughout community.

There is receiving of him/her by us and the greater global body. There is receiving of ourselves in the remembrance of what our potential was and continues to be. There is receiving the awe and the unknown and the love.

How juicy it is to listen to the wisdom of the little ones who remind us what is held in our love. What a privilege.

Simple and profound.




The currency of connection

We met again, the ‘sisters’ of the Global Unified Field.  Across the globe, across time zones, a meeting that usually works for everyone somehow. Today, there were some missing, whom we held in our hearts and our listening. There were electrical charge issues across the timezones too. In the middle of the call, the electricity went out in my home.

Just like that.

Cut off from it all. Cut off seemingly from connection. Cut off from our habituated senses and many of the senses that connect us in this day and age. The internet, the TV, the wider world.

There was an initial nervousness to it all. My husband and I both spinning, finding our feet in the darkness. Tripping over toys… lego…ouch. Jumbo lego…oucher. Bumping in to restless dogs who weren’t used to it all either. We reached outward, to each other at first. Then to our children, upstairs and no-longer connected through rooms by the monitors.

We really had to listen.

We reached out to the neighbours and family. “Have you been cut off too????”

‘No’ they said. They were in the full presence of the light. They were illuminated and connected by wires. They could see and hear.

And then as we settled in the seemingly sudden darkness, with the thought that we may be ‘unconnected’ for a while, things dropped.

I looked out the windows which are usually black as night, we four all used to looking outside from a lit window. Interestingly, my son had earlier asked if he could look at the darkness.. he is so intrigued by it.

Even on this stormy night there was a beautiful light in the sky. It lit the shadows of the trees around us, twisty dark against the new light-night sky that I saw. There was a settling sense of the rods and cones adjusting and seeing things differently in the dark.

I began to hear the music of the silence, the wind whistling through the chimney, softness of dogs pottering, the calmness all around, even in the wind. No more buzzing currents crossing paths and confusing things.

I could feel the ground beneath me more. The sense of finding feet. The temperature of the floor came in. Connection to ground.  Mindful walking.

And we listened. I could hear my husband breathing, the dogs moving. We heard each other. The content of communication was there. Hearing was undistracted by other attention-sucking devices.

I was always afraid of the dark. That speaks volumes to me now. I was always afraid of the unknown, of not being able to see.

I was always afraid of the dark times in life. The ‘what will become of me?’ sense. The grief of things I knew to be an important experience, but the fear of the unknown was powerful.

And in this natural darkness now, I am not afraid. I feel the heart of listening in me. This little one who speaks through the darkness, who lights the way, who connects me to myself and then to the darkness, the earth, the wind, the sky and to the world. Total trust and connection in the unknown.

Connection that is much more powerful than the fastest broadband and wider than the world-wide web.

This illumination that comes from the heart – so bright in the still night of the soul – is far-reaching.

And it says that each path is lit, the fuses ignited, and the charge of the currency is clarifying into the trickles from the blast as it needs to, connecting and uniting.

It says trust in the darkness. Don’t be afraid.

We can sit in the light and not see.

We can place ourselves in the surround of sound and not hear.


we can bask quietly in the darkness and allow the beauty to emerge.


Living in the Beam

tumblr_miv39gxOEW1r3a6jho1_500I started this website with a tenuous but very present connection to the soul of the baby I wait for. I started it to give voice to, and share some personal pre-conception, pre-natal awareness, and to invite others to share in that too.  The name of the website came as a jumble of words that my husband and I merged together. It just sounded right and gave the right imagery to things and resonated with me somehow.

The day after I wrote  The lonely end of the rainbow, and still during my miscarriage, I had another session with beautiful Shelley. The session was deeply meaningful and personal and very, very  awesome. There was so much to take in and to rest in, but one piece I feel is nice to share, is how my mish-mashing of words for the website came to be validated.

Instead of there being a sense that these were words we plucked randomly from somewhere, I am now fully aware of the beam I rest in, connected so intricately and immaculately to my baby’s soul. It is a beautiful place to be. It is vast and kind and comfortable and joyous, and I feel it now as clearly as I feel wind against my skin or ground against my feet.

It is like we had been guided to put these words together before the truth of them could be known.

So, while my body and ‘feeble’ mind continues to come to terms with the absence of my baby’s body, the absence of pregnancy……. I rested briefly in the beamy light and this is what emerged:


Living in the Beam

Taking time to listen, hear, open, believe.

Allowing the body to truly receive,

In a place where tiredness is.

In a place where my womb is emptying.

Where my bodymind readjusts to the loss of you

and rejoices in the finding of you again.

And They say how to manage,

and They say what to do

But I feel the connection, the love, the You.

So I ride in the troughs of grief and

dance on the frothy white crests of hope

And when I really hear You,

You say “Less fear please, I’ve got this one.

Watch, settle, wait, receive. There is time.

There is magic happening. Quiet, stunning, magic”.

Challenging to fully surrender to this,

But I know I can


Before, I conceived of You, as only in a dream

Now, You show me, You live me, Baby Soul Beam


© October 19 2015

The lonely end of the rainbow

Today, on ‘Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness day’ and a couple of days after I wrote ‘Trusting the baby in the tweed jacket’  I lost my baby.

I should say, we lost him 5 months ago too, and were so happy when I became pregnant again, feeling that this was his chance to come in as he needed to.

I say ‘lost’, because that is my sense of it. He is lost to me physically, and yet there is the hope that I will find him again physically. I felt the energy of him about me through the whole process, and I do yet. But I had been confused about the Trust in the last post because of the feeling / not feeling sense of where my baby was at.

This morning, before we went to the hospital, as I felt my womb become less-pregnant, I asked for a sign that my little one was OK. I felt him all around me, and then from the playroom, one of those weird talky-toys left in a corner under a heap of teddies randomly said ‘Hello!’… OOOOeeeeeooooo

At the hospital they did a scan. This tiny, tiny dot on the screen that had stopped growing was our baby. The doctors hedged their bets as they said he may continue to grow, but I knew this part of the story was over. And yet, as we floated through the daze of bumps and heartbeats that were not ours, I felt him around me still. A vast presence wrapped around my belly.

In the car, we talked about our oldest child, who – at 3 years old- shortly after we found out we were expecting again had said “Mam, its time for there to be a baby swimming in your belly now”. And our 20 month old, who had randomly started kissing my belly every night. How just recently my older child said ‘There’s a baby in that belly now mammy”.  We agreed that, if they asked, we would tell our babies that this little one had just gone on holiday and will be back in my belly soon again.

When I got home, I felt as though we needed to let our baby go back to the stars and sat outside in the autumn sun, with our dogs, my husband pottering around, coming to hold me, and we asked the ancestors to guide him and be with him. I came in to rest, and here, I felt him again, around me as he has been for so long.

I was confused again. Its like he’s an energetic boomerang. And while it made me happy, I was so confused. Here is my womb weeping and expelling the physical body of my baby, cramping, telling me this pregnancy is gone from us. And between the cramps, I feel something like renewal, and the presence that is unwavering and faithful to the end. The heart energy that I feel so much in my work is there, the orbs of connection that are beyond boundary are strong.

My brain shouts ‘SHUT UP! This can’t be!’ The old me who resides a lot in her head. There is the vibrant redness that symbolises life-ending and life-sustinance all together. The end to the nervous knicker-watching of the past few days, and what really shouldn’t feel like a new beginning. It’s all just odd.

And then there is the grief. The sadness for the face I have seen so often when I close my eyes. The sadness for my husband’s sadness. The sadness of the giddy excited-ness of meeting my baby and it being kissed and slobbered on by parents, siblings, relations and dogs alike. The sadness of that feeling of not-being-pregnant anymore. Just me. Alone again. Being one.

And in the grief, Boomerang Boy pops up. Like a horizontal disc, or plane of awareness around my belly. So I sleep and hope the process goes quickly.

In the evening I heard from Shelley. She is wonderful. She has guided me through all of my pregnancies and the previous miscarriage. Together over the past few months we have shared our similar impressions of this little soul. She has been unwavering in her trust of this being. I am too weary to speak but she sits with our story herself and sends me a recording of her impressions. They resonate so much with me and help me find the trust again. She feels how much this little one is turning my understanding of what is ‘normal’ inside out. This is the reason I am able to write in this sleeplessness.

This is the reason I am able to write the following:

Microsoft Word - Sombrero Galaxie im Sternbild Jungfrau.doc

Trust in(side )Sadness

My little lost love,

You wear me as a tutu of energy all around me

Twinkly, full of vibrancy, full of the dance.

My body is unsure and my brain is old-school – thinking too much.

And you twirl around me, making my understanding dizzy

And you spin a torus to the stars,

sparkling this way and that.

Your tiny earthly body leaving now

My body mourns your absence.

Tweedy Tiny Teacher, wise as wideness.

I still don’t understand why, but you say ‘Trust!’

And I try to park my grief, and follow your lead

Breathe. Release. Like the tides,

the current of the unknown will bring me back to you in time.

Healthy, strong, creative and full of love.

Your Mamma is waiting.



© October15 2015