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Miss Nguyen’s Heart Warming Update – Guest Blog for Lifestart Foundation.

With Nguyen and the first family of JadeMosnters.

Miss Nguyen is one amazing woman and I feel most privileged to have been able to work with her.  If your day needs a bit of a lift, or you’re needing some motivation to get on with those new year resolutions, please have a flick through the following stories.  I hope Nguyen gives you the strength of heart she gives me.

Over the past few months I have had the pleasure of working with Miss Nguyen, a talented crafts woman working at the Lifestart Foundation Workshop.  Together we created the JadeMonster plush toy – the first in my new range of merchandise available from my website.

Nguyen’s Early Story - by Karen Leonard

Meeting Barry III, Nguyen and creating the JadeMonster – by Jade Leonard

Miss Nguyen’s Heart Warming Update – by Jade Leonard

JadeMonster logo!

If you have purchased one of Nguyen’s sock creatures, or a JadeMonster plush toy, please leave us a comment and give us an update on your new family member!

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Meeting Barry, Nguyen and creating JadeMonster.

Sock creatures galore!

One day I was introduced to Barry III, a floppy lovable little creature made from striped socks.  Out of the bag, Barry was followed by half a dozen equally strange and adorable friends.  I wanted all of them, but I couldn’t have them – they were already adopted and heading for new homes many miles away from where they came.

At the Workshop.

Barry and his brethren are made by Nguyen (pronounced ‘Nwin’), a wonderful young woman who has been making and selling sock creatures for the past seven months at the Lifestart Foundation Workshop in Hoi An, Vietnam.  My mum, Karen Leonard, is the founder and director of Lifestart so I often check out the new stock as it is released.

I spent yesterday afternoon with Nguyen, her mother and sister-in-law at their home 10km out of Hoi An, Vietnam.  We were greeted with a table of fresh fruit and tasty custard buns – she knows me well!  I have spent the past few weeks working with Nguyen creating the JadeMonster, my very own range of sock creatures, so it was lovely to spend some time with her away from the workshop.

Nguyen and her mum at home.

Before Barry and the JadeMonster, life for Nguyen was a little different.  She lives with an inoperable condition commonly known as ‘a hole in the heart’, which renders her immobile 12 hours each day while she is connected to two large oxygen tanks.  Her condition often leaves her unable to leave her bed for days at a time.  Consequently, holding down a typical full time job in Vietnam (well in excess of the standard 40 hours per week we expect in Australia) has been very difficult for her in the past.

She needed a job that could be flexible in hours but also create enough income to cover her living and medical expenses.  Fortunately, Nguyen was introduced to the  Lifestart Workshop which creates income earning potential for women from disadvantaged backgrounds.

To begin with Nguyen made embroidered cards but her creative talents were soon discovered when a volunteer brought in a prototype for the sock creatures.  At first Nguyen – and all the ladies at the workshop – were very skeptical of the potential popularity of these weird looking dolls made from socks.  Sock creatures did not exist in Hoi An before Nguyen and her initial thoughts were that they were crazy and silly and that they would not sell in the shop!

These reservations were quickly blown out of the water.  Within six months the sock creatures have become the most popular item in the shop, selling as quickly as they are placed on the shelves (literally – I’ve seen her put one on the shelf and it gets adopted immediately!)  Nguyen has now broadened the range of her sock creatures she makes and everyone seems to develop an immediate favourite.

With the first JadeMonsters!

Since starting work with Lifestart, Nguyen has been able to purchase a motorcycle, greatly increasing her mobility and independence and her income has doubled, allowing her to fulfill her immediate goal of providing some simple comforts for her family home.  She can now work flexible hours depending on her health without fear of losing her job.  She takes home 100% of the money she makes from the dolls.  Some of the socks she is using to create the JadeMonsters are donated by a Melbourne based sock manufacturer, which reduces her costs considerably.

Nguyen comments on the improvement in the quality of her life.  She now has a wonderful support network among the other women at the workshop, her English is constantly improving due to English classes and her regular interaction with tourists and she greatly enjoys and appreciates the opportunity to work with and meet so many people.

JadeMonster logo!

To me, Nguyen’s sock creatures spread bundles of happiness all around the world – they each carry a small piece of Nguyen’s resilient spirit inside of them.  I’ve witnessed people from all walks of life break into spontaneous, glowing smiles when they see these creatures.  I am so overjoyed to have the opportunity to work with Nguyen on the JadeMonster.  Should you chose to purchase one, I only hope it brings you as much happiness as creating them does for me!

To have your very own JadeMonster, please visit http://www.jademonster.net.

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The New Way to Work – elance.com.

Working 40 hours per week isn’t pleasant.  Working 60+ hours, even less so.  So I quit my music teaching job.  I left the family business.  Mum wonders who she can blame for my rebellion.  I told her Tim Ferris and his first edition of The 4-Hour Work Week.  She’s reading it as I write this.

I’ve read a lot of ‘wealth creation’ books.  I was part owner in seven properties, on my way to the dream of early retirement. I played gigs on the weekends.  I was working so many hours I would wake up with such little sleep some mornings, my day would start in tears.  Something had to give.

Fiona, rang me from work one day, telling me she’d bought The 4-Hour Work Week with a discount Borders voucher that had landed in her inbox.  She said it sounded interesting.  Once at home, I read it from cover to cover – three times.  I engaged the expertise of a lifestyle coach.  Then I quit my job and sold my share in the properties.  Finally, I felt like I had the right information, I felt empowered.  My dream felt possible.

Playing at Secret Garden, Vietnam.

For the past twelve months I have dedicated myself to my true passion – performing and writing music.  I have played in Australia, India and now Vietnam.  Next will be the Philippines.  I have released five of my original songs online, with five more to come.

Playing for the children at the local orphanage.

At the same time as quitting my ‘real job’ as a singing teacher, I employed a Virtual Assistant through elance.com.  Vipul is based in India and is worth his weight in gold.  While I perform in Vietnam, he is looking for my next gig in the Philippines.  While I develop a new line of merchandise for my website, he is sourcing distributors.  Brilliant.  I really can be in two places at once.

Playing at Kyra, India.

So now, I wake up every morning, well rested and energized for the day ahead.  All day every day I am creating.  Making music, making JadeMonster plush toys, bags, tees.  I can go to the beach any time I want.

Beach view, Kovalam.

Living currently in Hoi An, Vietnam, my weekly cost of living is reduced to $80 per week .  Yes, I live in a hotel (no cleaning or bed making), eat at vegan restaurants (no cooking) and ride my rented bike (no maintenance costs) for $80 per week.  As long as I earn $80 per week, I can sleep, eat and get around.  Any more than that and I’m saving, traveling, shopping or re-investing back into my music and merchandise products.

Sunday. Vietnamese coffee. Beach.

My New Way to Work is now far less complicated, almost entirely stress-free and 100% enjoyable.

Come and join me!

jade@jadeleonard.com

www.jadeleonard.com

www.jademonster.net

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Where did I come from?

When mum decided to voluntarily give me the answer to this question, I was about twelve years old and she walked me through the standard text “Where did I Come From?” by Peter Mayle.  There wasn’t much more to the story than biology.  I share the same chromosomes and culture as my mum and nan.  I knew the house my mum lived in as a kid and where my nan was married and where my extended family resided.  I already knew my immediate ancestry came from Essendon.

Throughout my life I have often contemplated adoption.  I can remember, as early as the time I read the aforementioned book, envisaging my future family including children who I innately knew were not genetically connected to me.

I now find myself a short distance away from the possibility of being able to adopt – an exciting prospect for someone who has researched sperm donors, haploidisation and other ways of creating an ‘alternative’ family – whatever that is in relation to your perception of a ‘normal’ family.

Independent of my underlying interest in adoption, last week I was asked by a volunteer to perform for the children at a local orphanage.  I was delighted to be asked and looked forward to meeting the children.

The orphanage is home for 80+ children, both disabled and able-bodied. The disabled children attend school on-site while the other children attend the local government school.  Though government run, an independent charity provides additional assistance to ensure all of the children have a quality of life, are given an opportunity to be educated and have regular health care.

I performed for around 20 children with varying disabilities including cerebral palsy, downs syndrome and hydrocephalus.  Their enthusiasm and joyousness were entirely contagious – not only did I perform some of Vietnam’s favourite English pop songs, but the children also performed for me, songs in English, Vietnamese and French!  What a treat!

Trying to sleep that night became difficult as two scenes from the day’s events played over in my mind.

As we left the orphanage, our host was kind enough to give us a quick tour of the grounds and we were able to say good-night to some of the children who were going to bed.  In one room however, the children were out numbered by Konica Minolta wielding tourists crouching awkwardly by the children’s beds, smiling for their Facebook friends.  I couldn’t believe it.  As we left the bedroom, in shock, we were faced with another two tourists in their early twenties – camera in hand – asking where all the children were.  Unable to assure my own diplomacy, I kept my mouth shut.

Through no fault of the independent charity, the government officials who run this orphanage have turned it into somewhat of a tourist destination in an effort to derive donations – which the administration undoubtedly receive.  How much of these donations actually reach the children directly is unknown, but in my opinion fairly self-evident.

What I just can’t get over is that there are people who, whilst on holiday, actually want to go and take a tour of an orphanage and have their photograph taken alongside an abandoned, disabled child.  Why?  I’d really like that question answered because I just don’t get why you would want to invade the privacy and dignity of these children for even five minutes – for the sake of what?  A happy snap to post on Facebook to create the illusion that they’re so caring they took time-out of their holiday to visit the disabled children’s zoo?  Maybe I’ve spent too long in a tourist town, but the ignorance displayed by so many tourists is simply embarrassing.

My rant aside (I feel much better for getting that off my chest – thanks for reading), I was more personally stuck by comments made by another volunteer, on our walk home.  I inevitably broached the orphanage-as-tourist-destination question with her and this lead to a discussion about adoption of the children.

She passionately put forth the argument against international adoption for several reasons.  Many of the children of middle primary school age and above have developed extremely strong connections to their friends and carers, who are now essentially their family.  At the orphanage they have a sense of community, of culture.  They belong.  Children have been adopted from the orphanage, leaving siblings behind, breaking apart families, displacing identities.

When these children ask where they came from, though their biological parents may not be present, they are surrounded by their culture, the heritage of their country and their people dating back more than 4000 years.  Yes, four THOUSAND years.  As a resident of a country with a cultural heritage I do not belong to, I could never possibly fathom the impact of being removed from a life that runs so old through the veins of every inhabitant.

Is my desire to adopt altogether altruistic or am I pandering to my ego?  If I were to adopt, could I ever truly answer the question “Mummy, where did I come from?”.  What is ‘a better life’, what are ‘better opportunities’?

My Konica Minolta “we-just-came-to-check-out-the-orphanage” contemporaries probably gawk at the simple life so many millions of people lead here in Vietnam.  But the question needs to be asked, are they unhappy or discontented with their own lives?  In the case of orphans, to whose perceived benefit is it to remove a child from their family, their culture, their country?

These are questions I need to answer.

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What’s in the Mirror?

As a Western woman I have always had a concern for my appearance for one reason or another.  Weight, skin, hair, nails, clothes, shoes.  Not in a Sex and the City I-am-all-consumed-by-consumerism sort of way, but in the way that external self-analysis is almost impossible to be entirely rid of.

I have always wanted to be thin, but very rarely been.  As a teenager I thought that I would be more popular the thinner I was.  In my early twenties I felt that my physical size was an outward expression of my level of self-control.

My genetics blessed me with good skin.  I stopped biting my nails when I fell in love with Barbra Streisand (make what facial expressions you will…).  I’m still searching for a sense of personal style and when ever possible I wear shoes with sparkles – currently Slim Crystal Havaianas imbedded with Swarovski crystals (in all seriousness, I have trudged around India and Vietnam for the past five months and these thongs have very rarely been off my feet for more than an hour at a time – highly recommended foot wear for travelling, and much funkier than Tevas).

Now when I look in the mirror, I am still struck by my body size, considering I eat only two fresh vegetarian meals a day and am constantly zipping around Hoi An on my rented bicycle.  I rarely get close enough to the mirror to examine my skin, but I do notice the distinct colour difference growing between my upper and lower arm.  Having spent so little time in the sun in Australia, I have now developed a serious case of tan line, and not the bikini clad back-packer kind!

Yesterday I bravely went for a hair cut, manicure and pedicure, servicing my vain concern that my re-growth and nail polish were both at a point of being offensive.  I was struck by several moments.

My manicurist commented on the shade of the skin on my forearms, ‘so lovely, so white’ she said holding her arms against mine.  I’ve been paranoid about skin cancer and have always slip-slop-slapped in the harsh Australian sun, but I have never thought of my fair skin as any sort of asset.  Half an hour in the sun and I burn to the colour of a lobster. Consequently, I cover up.  In Asia my fair skin is seen as a testament to an assumed high-class upbringing, of one who has not had to work outdoors in the sun as a labourer but has had the luxury of staying indoors.  With fair skin, I must be wealthy and my life must be luxurious.

She grabs hold of my upper arm, almost unable to stop herself from massaging my bicep.  ‘Strong’ she says, ‘very healthy’.  I look at her slender arm, the same diameter from wrist to shoulder.  I think of all the clothes I could wear with skinny arms like that.  My ample body mass is seen as a sign of prosperity, my family having enough food to create additional muscle and fat on our bodies.  Apparently, it brings good luck to her family if she touches me.

While she enthusiastically cuts my cuticles, I try not to concern myself with thoughts of un-sanitised equipment and hepatitis contraction while also pondering how much this woman and I fantasise about trading bodies.  I would finally be able to buy clothes off the rack and have zero body fat.  She would be wealthy and prosperous, living in luxury.  The Vietnamese are such lithe people, their bone structure so much smaller than most Westerners.  For many of my friends I know this is both a mix of genetics and the struggle for most Vietnamese families to have enough money to buy enough food to eat every day, to find enough of a variety to provide all the essential nutrients for a growing body.

Andrew X. Pham in his book ‘Catfish and Mandala’ (a really wonderful and inspiring read) talks of his trip to the Cu Chi tunnels.  Having crawled through the purposely widened tunnels, for large Western bodies last week, this scene made me chuckle:

After half an hour tunnelling on our hands and knees, we escaped to the surface, gasping.  Another group headed down.  A well-fed British woman in her fifties was desperately wiggling into the opening.  Her male companion and a Vietnamese tour guide struggled to help her into the passage.  One tried to keep her from getting stuck, the other tried to keep the woman from falling through.  Standing next to us, two Vietnamese soldiers watched with amazement plain on their faces.  They were both about five feet tall and a hundred pounds – roughly the size of the Vietnamese Rat People who built the Cu Chi tunnels.
“How do Westerners get so fat?” one soldier asked another.
After due reflection, the man replied, “Eggs and butter.”  His companion nodded in deep agreement, both of them mentally calculating – the wealth – how many dozen eggs and pounds of butter it took to amass a three-hundred-pound body.

We envy each other for very different reasons.

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Out of the Arms of India.

Now I see why people have written so many songs expressing gratitude for India. Alanis Morissette’s “Thank U” comes to mind instantly.

Thank you India, thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness, thank you clarity
Thank you, thank you silence
The moment I let go of it was the moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was the moment I touched down

On arriving in India, when we were headed for our fateful stay at the ashram, Fiona questioned how anyone could find peace, solace and equilibrium in a place that appears so out of control, off its axis, chaotic.

I pondered this and responded that perhaps this was indeed the very best place to find the stillness we were both searching for.

I feel at home in Asia, strangely. More at home walking the messy sidewalks, dodging motorbikes, autos and poop than I do here in Singapore with the cleanest and neatest sidewalks I have ever seen – certainly rivalling those in Melbourne. Even the alleys and laneways are clean here.

Sure, it’s quiet here – there is a certain Prosaic peacefulness in the air (perhaps Valium in the water?) that allows one to actually notice one’s independent thoughts, but cities such as Singapore and Melbourne present no immediate external or sensual challenges.

To be aware of yourself crossing a road in Singapore is quite different to being aware of yourself crossing a road in India. No emotion is aroused crossing a road in Singapore – you will make it. If you cross the road in India, you are filled with an instant gratefulness to be still experiencing the joy of life.

India had me somewhat hypnotised, and I concerned myself with thoughts of my lack of creative production, not to mention my lack of blog writing. Now that I am out of her grip, I am better able to reflect on the myriad of lessons I learned.

The frenetic external bombardment I experienced in India was almost perfectly balanced by my brain’s ability to create such inner stillness and quiet that I really ceased to be productive. Not necessarily a state I would like to live in perpetually, but interesting to notice.

I would liken my internal state whilst in India to Philip Glass’ “Escape to India” from the Kundun album.

In a city of over five million people, I saw so many faces everyday. I am still naïve to the intricacies in the social tapestry of India. I am reminded of words by Sinead O’Connor:

Perfect Indian

He’s shy and he speaks quietly
He’s gentle and he seems to me
Like the El Farrow
His face worn and harrowed
Is he a daydreamer like me?

I don’t know if I can believe that if you hand one of these many faces the keys to their emancipation that they will simply throw them back in your face, as Aravind Adiga (author of White Tiger – a fabulous book, well worth the read) suggests. But perhaps centuries of expectation have ingrained an understanding into the psyches of “these people”.

I remember a scene while we purchased pasta and cake from a tea stall in 8th Main Road. A small child came up behind us asking for money, as many did. She was filthy and shoeless as they all are. We had made a decision not to give money to beggars, but given we were at the tea stall we were discussing buying her a samosa to eat. Two young Indian university students, also purchasing lunch from the tea stall, told the stall owner, a gruff older man with a decent paunch, to wrap up a veg puff and give it to the girl behind us. He flatly refused, once he knew the puff was for the child. “No. They will become expectant. You can’t do that with these people. You can’t buy her food”. “But she’s hungry!”. “No”. I looked at the child. Is she just one of them? I was struck by the scene of the stall holder who looked not at the child’s eyes, but at her matted hair and dirty hands, the young women who possibly saw a human element in her hunger and desperation, and us standing in our Havaiana thongs that could pay for a month’s worth of food for her and her family.

I will not be just another tourist who feels terrible about the child and signs up for a monthly donation to a largely administrative charity organization. I want to make real change. I’m not sure how just yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

But for now, it’s farewell and thank you to India for clarity and insight.

Indian Summer - Music by Victor Herbert, lyrics by Al Dubin.

The particular version I listened to was sung by Tony Bennet from his Unplugged album, which consequently has a brilliant duet with k.d. lang.

Summer
You old Indian summer
You’re the tear that comes after June-time’s laughter
You see so many dreams that don’t come true
Dreams we fashioned when summer time was new
You are here to watch over
Some heart that is broken
By a word that somebody left unspoken
You’re the ghost of a romance in June going astray
Fading too soon, that’s why I say
Farewell, to you Indian summer

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The Kindness of Strangers.

Getting from A to B can now no longer be taken for granted. India. Hailing an auto. Full. Full. Full. Empty – wonderful. Vasanth Nagar is home, but however you pronounced that in your mind just then is wrong. Try it slowly. Clear diction. Inexplicably the driver finally understands and replies “Vazzanagar”. Yes, Vasanth Nagar. He shakes his head and just drives off! Maybe second, third or fourth time lucky. It’s the same process every time.

Okay, so not all strangers are kind but I have had an exceeding number of encounters in such a short time that my faith in my fellow human animals is very quickly on the increase. Certainly, multiple daily encounters with questionable auto drivers are far outweighed by these deeper experiences. I’d like to tell you about one of them.

Fiona and I have spent the past three weeks living in a foreign country with someone we had less than half a dozen conversations with two months ago. We met Amrita at the Sivananda Ashram and like us she was there to find some peace and answers to her inner questions. And now I’m sitting on her couch in Bangalore as I write this. So I asked her what in the world came over her when she decided to say “when you come to Bangalore, come and stay at my place” to two Aussie girls she was sharing a drink with at Beatles café in Kovalam.

Amrita has a depth of trust in her own intuition, which I find fascinating and inspiring. In my life, I have not been one to take huge risks, trust strangers easily or make big decisions quickly based only on my gut feelings. I’m slowly learning that there are great experiences to be had if one oscillates to the other side of one’s own cautionary brick wall of life occasionally!

The decision to let two foreigners live with her was based entirely on the vibe Amrita felt when she was around us. In contrast, there were other travelers who would have also benefited culturally from a local home stay, however Amrita is insistent that she would not have extended the same invitation to any other tourists she met at the Ashram. Why? She just felt she wouldn’t gel with their personalities.

I’m not trying to define a special characteristic in my and Fiona’s personalities, but was genuinely interested to know why someone would make such a generous offer to two complete strangers. I feel I have been taught to be so cautious and I wonder, if the roles were reversed, would I invite two newly arrived Indian tourists to live with us indefinitely in our apartment in Australia? It’s an interesting question to ask yourself.

In some ways, Amrita says her invitation was an exercise in self trust. In the past, she has made regretful decisions when she has not followed her own instincts. She wants to make deep and connected friendships with likeminded people and she views meeting us as an opportunity for her to do this.

It seems she didn’t question her own judgment, and didn’t concern herself with worrying about potential problems. Amrita strikes me as a decisive and forthright woman who would have had no qualms in moving us along should we have had disagreeable personalities. I have admired and been inspired by her ability to advocate for herself in an intimidatingly masculine culture.

Some might say Amrita was lucky in her decision as it turns out that Fiona and I are not sadistic murderers, in fact we’re not even messy! We are considerate house guests – although a daily maid makes light work of keeping house for all of us. And the three of us get along famously. My question to myself for the next few weeks will remain – why am I not certain I would take the same risk Amrita did? Why do I perceive it as a risk more so than a wonderful opportunity for connectivity?

So now we are the three musketeers of Bangalore! Our names, painted on rice earlier today, are hanging around our necks symbolising our life long friendship. Osho says, in his book on Intimacy “Trust is possible only if first you trust yourself. Trust has a magic in it. If you trust in yourself, you can trust in me, you can trust in people, you can trust in existence.” Amrita is my realised example of these words. She seems to easily differentiate between trusting her developed instincts and falling into situations naively and with no desire to manipulate the moment.

I hop into the fourth auto I have hailed, once I have agreed on my destination with the driver. He turns to me and says “twenty rupees”, indicating he is now placing a surcharge on top of the metered price for my trip. “No, meter only”, I reply. “Ten rupees, Sunday Ma’am”. “No, meter only” I say as I exit the auto. “Meter, meter okay”. Not knowing the city roads, I can now only trust that my journey will actually end at my current home, Vasanth Nagar. Vasannagar. Vazzanagah. Vahzahnaga……

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Is my life an example of the highest integrity?

Recently I read the book “The Life You Were Born To Live” by Dan Millman and was prompted to answer the question: “Is my life an example of the highest integrity?”.

Finding the answer lead me on the following path. I found some answers to my internal questions in my myriad of dictionaries, thesaurus, encyclopaedia and quotation books. I would like to acknowledge that these are not my words, and at this point I am unable to reference these accurately. I have italicised my own internal questions and my own words.

So, what is integrity?

• Perceived consistency of actions, values, methods, measures, principles.
• Judging the quality of a system to be able to achieve its goals.
• Having a sense of honesty and truthfulness in regard to the motivations for ones actions.
• Hypocrisy in the contrast.
• Internal consistency.
• Basing actions on an internally consistent framework of principles.
• Everything a person does or believes; actions, methods, measures and principles – all derive from the same core group of values.

So then, what are values?

• Having accountability and moral consistency.
• Personal honesty, acting according to ones beliefs and values at all times.
• The wholeness of a moral stance or attitude.
• Wholeness = commitment = authenticity.
• From the Latin ‘integer’ = whole/complete = personal sense of wholeness from honesty and consistency of character.
• The refusal to engage in behaviour that evades responsibility.
• There are three steps:
1. Discerning what is right and wrong.
2. Acting on what you have discerned, even at personal cost.
3. Saying openly that you are acting on your understanding of right from wrong.
• It is not the same as honesty.
• Steadfast adherence to a strict moral code.
• State of being wholesome, complete, pure.
• A relative ethical value.
• Value system = set of consistent values and measures.
• Principle Value: foundation upon which other values and measures of integrity are based.

Then, I need to know what my principle value is. Love, peace, bliss? Maybe this equates to my original state.

But still, what is my principle value?

Peace is a state of being.

I possibly have several critical principle values: experience and consciousness.

experiencing consciousness
and having
conscious experiences

So, the answer to the question ‘Is my life an example of the highest integrity?’ would be – it is becoming more so every day.

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My Answers.

These are my responses to a series of questions I have now misplaced. I thought it might be interesting to post them now, and publicly review them over time.

In my later years I want to be known for my joyousness.

I will develop a wide range of artistic hobbies: dance, painting, photography … I will also enjoy the outdoors as recreation, rejuvenation and relaxation.

My education will continue daily. Life and experience will be my educator.

I could invent a clear and simple technique to obtain bliss.

My community will be diverse, reflective of my personality and full of energy-giving people.

I am ‘married’. I would like children. As many as we can afford to have.

To keep myself healthy I will
• seek therapy when needed
• eat consciously
• exercise willingly
• spend time with the people and doing the things I love

I will develop spirituality through yoga and meditation practice and by continuing to experience life.

I will earn an income through sales of my music and merchandise.

In my old age, the three most important things to me will be:
• People and my relationship to them
• Music and all forms of artistic expression
• Connectedness with all that is around me

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