Tag Archives: faith

A Great Story

Blessed are those who see their Self reflected in the eyes of another. Even more blessed are those who truly see each other.

– T.


Cusco, Peru 2017. Photo © of T.Nikic


She doesn’t go to bars and she’s never been to this one. The bar she has entered is filled with magic. She’s failed to connect with the acquaintance she’s spending the evening with, so she orders a magic potion to drink. No sugar added.

He had been at a party with his best friend who was visiting him. He doesn’t remember how it happened, but he ended up sitting on a stool at the bar next to her. Neither of them knew how long they’d been there when he turned to her and asked, “Have you read about this magic?” At that exact moment they entered into a creative space of infinite possibilities where they could go anywhere that night together.

When she walked away from him she wondered if she met HIM. The next day when he asked to see her again, she wanted to tell him that she wasn’t ready, that she that it was too soon. But she didn’t. “How could I not be ready?” she wondered, “I’ve been waiting to meet someone like him my entire life”. Instead, she continued the dance of texting and late night phone calls, and pushed him away, slowly at first, but it turned into a cruel ordeal soon thereafter.


Fast-forward about six months. They’ve not spoken nor seen each other. Perhaps they remained curious, but no contact was made. She travels to a far away land to heal, for she thinks that the reason she pushed him away is deep, and she needs help to do so. She drinks a healing potion three times. The first time she drinks it, she releases all that has been holding her back her entire life. The second time she drinks it, he comes to her, joyful and smiling, wanting to be with her. Happily, they embrace for a long time. She tells him she has to finish her work but that she will return to him. Reluctantly, he leaves her. The third time she drinks the potion, she becomes a bird and flies to the mountain peak. It becomes official then – she has healed and is ready for the next elevation.


When she returns home, she reaches out to him. His reply suggests that he is unsure or uninterested. She doesn’t push. He visits her in a dream a few weeks later. They are together but there are many people watching them. One of the walls of the room of their bedroom is actually a stage. There is a play going on and he seems interested in watching it. She feels love because they are doing something together. She wakes up feeling hopeful.


It’s been over five months since her healed self returned home and reached out to him. No contact and yet he visits her in yet another dream. In this dream, they are sitting around a dining room table, outside in a green garden with many flowers on a warm, sunny day. It feels like late spring. The people sitting around the table feel like her family, and he is sitting with her and laughing with them. He serves her breakfast – farmer’s market butter and honey spread lovingly on a piece of bread made with love. She never told him that was her favourite breakfast growing up. She is moved to tears. He smiles at her and she wakes up. Oh, the grace, blessings, love, she feels on a soul level when she opens her eyes that morning – he said goodbye to her so lovingly. She sends a sincere prayer of gratitude to him.


His presence in her physical life was very short, yet he graced her with love that transcended the senses and reached her soul. He inspired her to heal. She learned that life is about allowing, not holding on. She is now flying.

The meeting of their souls was planned long before they saw each other, but their meeting started a new chapter in her life. A life of conscious commitment, to her Self, to honour her soul on every level, in every way, each and every moment, for the rest of her life.

The fairytale is over.


A funeral, a workout, and 101 Dalmatians

A vivid memory from my last visit with my baka (grandmother) in Bosnia a few years back:

I was sitting with my baka and her sister, and they were talking about their ascensions. The selection of clothes for their burial was complete long ago, and the clothes were pressed and ready. The selection of their bodies’ resting places at the cemetery were already chosen, bought and paid for, complete with the incomplete story that comes after the “-” on their, you guessed it, chosen, bought and completely paid-for, tombstones. Even their funerals will be of no real financial burden to their families as they have already been paid for in advance.

I sat there taken-aback, listening to them speak so matter-of-factly about their future bodily farewell. The acceptance of, preparedness for, and the peace made with, their eventual deaths did not make me feel morbid or depressed. I mean, yes, there was a moment or two when I felt that they’ve put themselves on a countdown of sorts, but if anything, they made me love life and living, even more. Is it not incredible that in living one has accepted the fact that death is a part of it?

The way we ‘go’ affects those whom we leave behind more. The age at which we ‘leave’ makes a difference too. The age and state of those who remain ‘after’ adds to the light and the tragedy of our ‘departure’. And what does it all truly mean to me?


It is always a bit of a strange day when it starts with a funeral. It was set for 10am, my ideal time of awakening on a Saturday. Because it was in Fort Erie, and because I had to meet my parents close to their home, I was up by 6 and out of my house by 7:05am. Dressed in black, because ‘that’s what you’re supposed to wear to a funeral’, it made me even more tired, but who am I to complain? It wasn’t my mother, sister, wife, aunt, daughter, friend, a cancer fighter whose body expired at the age of 47. Yet, I felt tired.

The absence of radio or music during the almost two-hour drive there was fitting, I suppose. There wasn’t the intent of being morbid or sad, as one would expect a mood in such circumstances to be. My parents and I simply talked to each other at times, and at other times drove in silence. Perhaps that’s a sign of true comfort with another – the ability to sit in silence with them. I was fully awake the entire drive there.

The church service, in my perception, was hopeful and light, if that even makes sense, in such circumstances. Her eulogy, delivered by two beautiful women, her nieces, was funny and celebratory of her life. I felt it was lovely that they also read excerpts from Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman poem. Tears were shed but I was fully there. Although the burial itself was private, almost 50 cars saw her off in the funeral procession. Imagine being loved that much.

Perhaps what stayed with me the most was the little reception, after the service and the burial, where those who attended, gathered. There were about five large collages of pictures put together by her family, of different times in her life. And what it reminded us all, is that she lived. I did not cry after that but I did share a few long hugs with others, her family members and relatives. Perhaps the emotional imprint of the morning hit me on the drive home. Without radio or music, I fell asleep.


What is the rational thing to do after a funeral? Probably spend time with your family. And I did…after I went to the gym.

It could have been my need to reenergize or to encourage the movement of blood through my body after a few hour drive, that triumphed my lack of motivation in light of the morning’s events to go to the gym. But I did. A quick, hard workout, and a hot shower, does wonders for cleansing the spirit and the body of emotional buildup. At least for me it does.


I had made some french macarons the day before, to share with my family Saturday afternoon. Made with love, and loved by all – from my 2 and 5-year-old nieces, to my parents – the macarons were served with tea or coffee alongside the animated classic 101 Dalmatians; a story which reminds us of how far those who love us will go in order to fight for us, to protect us, to save us when we are unable to do so for ourselves, it brought things full circle for me.


We rely on our parents to care for us when we are born, until we are old enough to care for ourselves, and eventually they get older and then, we often have to care for them. Not everyone thinks to, or has the means to be prepared for death, the way my baka and her sister have. And that is something that may only come with a certain age, perhaps. However, how we ‘go’, is not something we are able to decide and prepare for ahead of time. Perhaps not all of us will get a chance to say ‘goodbye’ to those we love in the bodies they are in, in this life. Perhaps it will be sudden and we will be unprepared. But if we find our Self in a situation where the loved one who ascends has fought a battle of any sickness, and we were able to say ‘goodbye’, then there is hope. There is hope not that their ‘departure’ will necessarily be lighter, but that our life after they’re ‘gone’, is.

We cannot go back in time and change anything, but in moving forward, a moment at a time, we gain peace with respect to our past, if we so choose to make that effort. Once a body expires, we aren’t able to physically show or express our feelings, thoughts, emotions towards that being. And that knowledge should not hold us, but the memories of the moments we had shared with the being who ‘left’, should lift us. Because they lived, and we shared space and time with them. Because we loved them and they loved us. Because they, nor you, are their/your body. Because energy cannot be created or destroyed, it simply changes forms. Because we still have life and a responsibility to live it and explore, love, share, laugh, dance, travel, write, paint, imagine, cook, listen, taste, breathe, listen to our intuition and follow our dreams. Because our human experience is unique. Because you are free.


I spoke with my baka the following day and we talked about the ‘ascension’ of the human being whose funeral I attended. She told me that she cried too. She said “there are too many young people dying today”. Perhaps she’s right – there are too many young people dying today. But what stayed with me are these words I once heard:

“I guess the main lesson would be to love even when you don’t ‘feel like it'”. ~Lenny Kravitz



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