Every illness is significant, its trying to communicate our inner soul state via our pain. My husband Howie, for example recently discovered this for himself. Now Howie is not at all spiritual, he's a 'nuts and and bolts' sort of man (actually he manufactures them in eleven states). When he went to bed with a bad cold recently I was right there at his bedside tirelessly quoting my book You Can Worry Yourself to Death. Howie says its the new age Readers Digest Book of Symptoms. Hmmm, I say to Howie a cold means you are not able to communicate. Howie says the damn book is right on the money about that, Ive banned him from calling his doctor.

'Heck Lou' says Howie 'I just Gotta goddam cold, your a pain in the neck...' Now he looks annoyed as I look up neck pain in the book and sticks his fingers in his ears further confirming my diagnosis of lack of receptivity to spiritual truths.

Howie should do his affirmations, theyre spiritual aspirin I tell him, trying to get it over on his level. He should get in touch with his femininity again and I dont mean that lady distributor in Calusa County either. Howie doesn't see it. He thinks finding his inner feminine means fantisising about that cheerleader our son is dating.

Howie has never really got the 'spiritual' and pretty much leaves all that to me. I tried for years to tell him that ok we had problems in our marriage but he had to realise that relationships can only be improved when we understand that our relationships are like mirrors, they reflect back to us our inner urges. Lately weve been on different tracks and I'm determined this cold is a little gift to Howie that might just bring him onto my path.

I nip out for a while and take time to enjoy the present moment. My present moments always take place in designer stores with Howies credit card. Must be careful living in the 'present' can be expensive. Still I can always bless the bills later as they fly on their angel wings into Howies darling arms. Now I call into White Eagles Emporium on Rodeo Drive for a darling pair of matching tee pees and a few healing items for Howie.

That evening Howie looks such a dear. He's got a healing Eagle feather in his hair, a healing feather ring around his neck, a hopi candle in each ear and a cigar (a concession to win the day) in his mouth. As I trip down the stairs to enjoy an alfalfa juice I hear that Howies realised Ive taken away that naughty little tube of ibuprofen from under his pillow I hear his cry, 'Aw Lou.'