CHAPTER 1 - A Tale of Practical Reality Transurfing By Renee Garcia & Lucy Cultrera

Hello, hello, hello, Transurfer! And the Transurfing curious! My name is Renee Garcia, and this is A Tale of Practical Reality Transurfing. This book does not follow convention, because the genesis of my life has been far from conventional. Get ready for a wild literary ride. At times you may feel unsure which way is up and which way is down, whether you're experiencing the past, present, or future. But as is true in life, you can choose to perceive the data to come as overwhelming or fun. Your move. I am just a person who has learned through trial and error, pain and pivoting, how to command her own reality. In the following pages, I will tell you my life story to the very best of my ability. I will reflect on everything I've materialized into my world through the lens of Reality Transurfing, as I understand it. With the proper tools, you too can materialize all that you most desire. Now. Say it with me: My world is taking care of me. Everything is going according to plan. Things are working out beautifully and will continue to do so with ease. Let's begin. The Alternative Space. Dragging myself to the gas station payphone behind my apartment, I rehearsed what I would say to my parents when they asked why I was calling collect. At 24 years old, I was pregnant and penniless, battered by life and the unfortunate company I'd kept. I found myself alone, lacking the most basic survival skills, addicted to pills and alcohol, uneducated, drowning in debt, and without a car, cell phone, or bank account. Rent was due and I was terrified. "What are you going to do?" my mother asked. "I'm not sure yet." "You don't have a phone anymore. Why don't you come home to Modesto?" she interjected before I could finish presenting my bumbling, not-so-well-thought-out plan for the future. Now, I am going to ask you to prepare yourself, dear reader. What to come is a fantastic, far-fetched, metaphysical adventure, but it all happened, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Together, we'll weave our way through everything it has taken for me to arrive at my current position in the Alternative Space. 3, 2, 1. This spaceship is ready for blast-off! I couldn't go home. Every version of reality I'd experienced up to that point had been a poor fit, so there was no returning home for me. Even living in Los Angeles, a safe 300 miles from my childhood, I had recreated conditions resembling those that raised me: marginalization, dependence on harmful people, shame for having depended on those harmful people, and an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness about ever being able to change my circumstances. I had pieced together a new cast of characters and hung some new stage decorations, but was acting out the same old script. I had retreated once again to the outskirts of my environment, lacking the skills to hold down even a minimum wage paying job. I'd resigned myself to staying in an abusive marriage with a machismo piece of excrement husband, we'll call him Joe. Now, for a little bit of theory. The Alternative Space is a fancy way of saying the universe. It refers to anything that ever was, is, or will be. It is a massive structure of variables, people, places, and things, aka variations and alternate scenarios, aka your own personal treasure chest. To harness the power of the Alternative Space and materialize your ideal reality, you must do 4 things: things, establish a theory to support the existence of that reality, and then align your thoughts, frequency, and actions to it. Most of us lose sight of, or disconnect from, the most fundamental fact of life at a very young age, which is that we can create our own individual destiny. This forgetting happens when external environmental data and programming begin to override our sovereignty as creators. Creating is our birthright. The fact is, everything you need to create your own reality already exists inside of you. External knowledge may help you remember and rekindle these powers, but you came into the world fully equipped. Sometimes we just need a green light and a little spark of insight to ignite what we already know, and what our higher selves know is intended for us. Why do you think you feel that subtle stirring inside and the impulse to animate when you encounter certain information? Why do you think learning new information sometimes feels like remembering? Every moment spent awake and alive is a moment spent experiencing the unique assemblage of variables you've pulled from the Alternative Space. For the sake of convenience, let us imagine that 10 of those sets of variables are relatively close by. Reality Transurfing calls these Lifetracks. Assuming you meet the basic requirements, you can easily materialize at least 10 Lifetracks right now because of their proximity to you in the Alternative Space. By the end of this chapter, you will have the tools to render your own imagining of the Alternative Space. But for now, feel free to borrow mine. Now would be a good opportunity to take a peek at mine. This is my personal rendition of the different layers of reality as I perceive them. In the top layer of reality, you are absolutely killing it, whatever "killing it" means for you. In the bottom layer of reality, you are absolutely bombing it, Again, whatever that means for you. On your highest Lifetrack, you are benefiting from everything reality has to offer. For example, maybe you've received an unexpected check in the mail, or a promotion at work. Maybe you fall in love, or find yourself on an adventure you've been dreaming up for years. You've ascended to a place of actualized potential, and are having a positive experience of life, getting what you want and realizing a more joyful trajectory. You are achieving success and all the good stuff that comes along with it. On your top Lifetrack, you are nested in with your coziest and most luxurious variables. On your lowest Lifetrack, you may feel bottomed out, depressed, and like the world is swallowing you whole. Symptoms may include an inability to get out of bed, failing health, bad news bombarding you, negative thoughts, feelings of unworthiness, poverty mentality, feeling stuck, hopeless, and/or anxious. You've descended to a place of unrealized potential and are having a negative experience of life. Getting exactly what you don't want and realizing a joyless trajectory. On your lowest Lifetrack, you are sharing a twin bed with your least desirable variables. And then there are all the Lifetracks in between. In a nutshell, the Alternative Space is a big infinity of variables, and your current Lifetrack is made up of whichever of those you're closely associating with right now. The Reality Transurfing modality says that you choose the variables that make up your existence, always. This means you have the power now, and always, to create your own heaven or your own hell. The Alternative Space is one hell of a place for a baby Reality Transurfer, who has yet to hone their craft left. After leaving my nightmare of a marriage, I spent another paradigm-shattering decade in Los Angeles, oscillating between extraordinarily high highs and devastatingly low lows. By that point, and mostly unbeknownst to me, I was really Transurfing, rapidly shifting Lifetracks, tapping into extreme and disparate sectors of reality, leading double lives and splitting my time between them. But we'll save those stories for later. For now, all you need to know is that only 3 months after the most catastrophic event of my life— another story I'll hold off on telling until we're thoroughly greased up and zooming— I was living in the lap of luxury, debt-free, with an abundance of adventure to be had and a myriad of new life tracks laid out before me. I'm not here to convince anyone of anything. I am here to offer up an alternative system for navigating reality to those who are open and willing to try something new. This system is built on the notion that your theories about life and what you're capable of accomplishing within it matter. In fact, they matter more than just about anything else. Why? Because your world mirrors back to you an external environment that supports whatever theory you have about yourself. And it does so every moment of every day. Most of us fall into the trap of believing in a fixed reality, in a fixed version of ourselves, saying things, or mindlessly repeating things like, "Life is what it is," or, "This is just who I am." These are just two of the infinite theories available to you. So, why not choose different ones? When I became privy to my personal power, when I decided to choose a new theory, about myself and about life. My world extended a white-gloved hand to help me ascend and transform. Was it a conventional approach to personal evolution? No way! It was even sweeter. It was my world guiding me in a language I could understand. I just had to initiate a dialogue via a siren call expressing my newfound will to have. I present to you a warp and weft of my personal experience, and the knowledge that helped me turn my life around. My hope is that this story will provide you a mirror and the ability to see your current experience with a new clarity and empowerment. It's time to upgrade, y'all! And doing so begins with reforming your theories and repositioning yourself within the Alternative Space. Are you ready? My story begins at a time in my life when I was trudging along my lowest Lifetrack. My disempowering theories, lower energy, dismal thoughts, dysfunctional actions, and maladjusted frequencies mirrored back to me a world made up all the things I did not want to see. Ironically, I see now that I was using the Four Tools of Reality Creation with amazing acuity. I ended up so bottomed out not because I wasn't engaging my tools, because we all are, always, but because I lacked command over them. It can be brutal at first, recognizing your part in having created the things you hate. But there is power in awareness. And after all, if you are powerful enough to create things you don't want, you are certainly powerful enough to create things you do want. Reality is simply mirroring back to us our outward projections. Therefore, those who lack self-awareness and project without intention tend to suffer passively. And those who develop self-awareness and an understanding of how reality actually works tend to operate from a place of empowerment and feel a general sense of eagerness towards life. Becoming aware of what we're projecting out and what we're tuning into helps us to discern actual cause and effect, and then fine-tune our 4 reality-shaping mechanisms, cause, for the purpose of creating the reality we want to experience, effect. The first step of reality creation is adopting a theory that affirms the existence of your ideal reality. Without doing this, you'll simply tread water. Sadly, many are lost to the game before they've even begun playing. Consider the masses of people running around crying that nothing comes easy. A theory like that will materialize for you nothing but failure, dull mediocrity, and contempt for broken dreams. When a theory about who you are or how reality operates is transferred to you via parents, environment, media, etc., and you accept it without question, you will automatically begin absorbing information from your environment that backs it. Ultimately, this will initiate a cycle in which the theory definitely confirms itself. For example, say when you were a child, your mother told you that money is bad, money is awful, money is the root of all evil, and anyone with it cannot be trusted. Now, as an adult, every time you encounter someone using wealth malevolently, you'll unconsciously confirm your mother's theory that yes, in fact, money is bad. Reality absorbs, by the way of your thoughts, actions, and frequencies, your reaction, and basically says, "Okay, I guess you're right. Money is bad." And then it adds, "Here's some more shadiness to support your theory that money is shitty." Negative theory in tow, you'll walk through life affirming it as truth. In turn, everything in your world that corresponds to this theory will become highlighted and begin taking up increasing space in your physical reality. Meanwhile, there is a multitude of positive information, energy, opportunity, and other Lifetracks swirling around you, but you can't see them. You are living with tunnel vision, seeing only what aligns with your negative theory. I spent the first 24 years of my life operating from a place of guilt and shame and gathering evidence to support my theory that I deserved to feel that way. The cycle initiated, and I perpetually, 1, created situations that made me feel guilty and shameful, and then 2, logged those experiences experiences as evidence of my worthlessness. Rinse and repeat. The way I see it, human beings universally strive for two things: survival and being right. It's rare, isn't it, to encounter someone who declares their opinion of the world and then follows it with, "But I could be wrong." Most likely, they will say, "That's just how it is," and defend it to the end of the earth. And they would be right. It is how it is. It is exactly how it is for the one holding the theory. Your theories are never wrong because there is no one ultimate truth. Your conjectures about how the world works are simply a matter of which theories you choose and how vehemently you go about collecting evidence to support and defend them. When you choose to adopt a specific theory, you are automatically bestowed with the power to support it. Once more, for the people in the back, evidence will continue piling up to support your theory indefinitely. Therefore, you always get what you choose. Believe the world is a scary place? The world will give you reasons to feel afraid. Believe the world is full of beauty? The world will give you beautiful things to behold. Believe all the worst is yet to come? Watch out, rough waters ahead. Believe all the best is headed your way? Breathe easy, you're in for a pleasant ride. Affirm the negative or the positive, and the Alternative Space will agree with you. The flip side is, nothing is ever the universal reality's fault. Sorry! It's yours! And that's just the brass tacks of it. The external world is neutral. A cook follows a recipe, right? Maybe they'll get a little creative here and there, but generally, will use the right proportions of the right ingredients. And so beget the dish. Nothing else matters. No one else cares how it's made. The dish doesn't care who's preparing it. It just produces the result. Back to the 25th hour of my story. I was at war with myself and my reality, and the dish of my choosing was coming right up. I laid on the couch just a few days out from the explosive finale of my marriage and pulling the ripcord on the pregnancy. More on this later. I was completely alone now, not counting my two dogs who were begging for a walk. They'd been cooped up since the previous day, and now the night was once again falling, unrelenting as always. Still, I couldn't move. I had no phone and no connection to the outside world. I was lost in my mind, luxuriating in a bath of victimhood and making a mental list of all the ways I'd been wronged by life. But then something strange happened. There was a crack in my consciousness, and for a very brief moment, new information was allowed to reach me. What ushered in was the thought that just maybe I had created everything I was experiencing. I tried to get up for a glass of water and shake off the idea, but my knees buckled and I collapsed in pain. My dog stared at me nervously, both still eyeing the door. A big sob erupted from within, opening the floodgates to a torrent of self-pity. And shame. That familiar feeling of shame. Arms wrapped around me, I rocked back and forth, getting into a rhythm of swaying between numbness and grief. I laid back down, completely empty, dead staring into a dimly lit living room. Calm swept through the apartment and I laid still, The veil of disempowerment had lifted. What washed over me then was a series of thoughts I hadn't ever thought before. I heard, "I'm free," and then, "I can do anything I want," and then, "What'll it be?" Abruptly, the room grew to be just a little bit bigger. A space appeared and then widened between the darkness and something just a little bit better. All the ideas I had been holding on to for so long seemed to fracture under the severity of my situation. My theory that playing the good wife would keep me safe and provided for had crumbled. Because of this theory, I had accommodated my husband in inappropriate ways. Put up with his violent behavior, and created unhealthy strategies for coping with his near-constant verbal and physical attacks. All to maintain my goodness. I had ignored and denied alternate realities in an attempt to keep mine upright. I was now arriving at the end of the road, and my theory was disintegrating before my eyes in a way that was both unsettling and liberating. Light was filling the crack through which terror had been pouring. I glimpsed something soft peeking in just long enough to grab onto it. This something soft assured me I would be okay. I didn't know how, but I knew I would be okay. I didn't believe in God at the time, but I knew I had heard a guiding voice. At the time, I assumed it was an angel, but I now believe it was the voice of my higher self. Her message to me: I had to change. I had to move because there was no more escaping myself. I laid there and listened for direction. I remained still for the rest of the night and for the next few to follow. Reviewing my options. I could return home. "No, you may not," my Higher Self reminded. I could invite the husband back. "No, you may not!" my body screamed in protest. I had run out of excuses, people, and places to hide. I needed to change. I needed to move myself towards something different, I wasn't clear on how any of that might happen or what it might look like when I got there, but I knew I had to get up off that couch. A mere 24 hours after a rushed recovery, I threw myself into my immediate external environment the only way I knew how. I walked around town in a pair of thrift store high heels, anxiously handing applications to anyone who was hiring. I solicited convenience stores, restaurants, clothing shops, the local library. I didn't return home in the evenings until I was exhausted. I had $47 in cash, 2 dogs waiting for me at home, and rent already a week past due. Until then, I'd been a highly dependent person. My general theory of life had been shaped by generational poverty, learned helplessness, and bottom-of-the-barrel societal programming that was so deeply ingrained, it may as well have been written into my DNA. I had no goals, minimal skills, and no direction. Growing up as the oldest of 4 and the only stepchild, I felt like an inconvenience and a burden, and I carried this concept of myself out into the world, never evolving beyond it. I made moment-to-moment decisions based primarily on coping, getting by, never on thriving. Much of my energy was spent preserving unhealthy coping mechanisms and dulling any pain caused by the external conditions they created. I truly believed I had no purpose. Looking around, I saw others had goals, hobbies, and things they felt passionate about or proud of. Not I. Another one of my theories was that I, Renee, was a mistake and had nothing of interest or value to offer anyone. I thought the only role available to me was to be the good wife in a low-quality marriage. When every cell of my being collectively decided not to live that way anymore, I set the intention upon waking my first morning off the couch to be up and atom. I was going to come up somehow. I had no idea what to do or how to do it, but I knew for a fact that I had nowhere to go but up, and anything would be better than where I had been. Concerned, for the obvious reasons, my parents drove down to Los Angeles. We sat together in my apartment and watched as Joe and the police he'd brought along collected his belongings, which included one of our two dogs. I cried and clutched Caden, the middle-aged cocker spaniel who'd been given to me on our one-year wedding anniversary. He was the very first dog I'd had as an adult, and I started to cry and beg for Joe not to take him. One alpha cop who'd been tasked with leading the miscalculated conquest looked at me. "Is this dog yours?" "He's ours." Tears streamed down my face. "This is community property, sir," the cop said, staring coldly at Joe. This is all community property, so get your toothbrush because that's all you're leaving with. Joe's face turned red, and he assumed the exact posture of the man who'd hit me and choked me countless times over the course of our marriage. Right there for everyone to see, he revealed his true self, and it felt so good to be vindicated in front of the room of people. I took my wedding ring into multiple pawn shops later that day. Each time I was met with a lowball offer, rage swelled up inside of me and threatened to escape my mouth in the form of all the choice words I really wanted to hurl at Joe. I was losing hope of getting a fair price for my once treasured diamond. It was humiliating. The only cherished thing I had left was seemingly worthless. Not yet willing to accept this fate, I decided the unlucky employee of the final pawn shop on my list was going to get a piece of my mind. I was going to get what the ring was worth, whatever it took. So with my mother and my intention in tow, I walked through the bulletproof doors of the Glendale Pawn Shop and straight onto a new life track. What will you give me for this? I asked the man behind the counter, charged up and eager to unleash the force of my intention. He looked over the ring and walked to his desk. What size is the center stone, and do you know the color and clarity? It's a 1.07 HSI 1. I was ready. He pulled out a white laminated chart, punched some numbers into his calculator, and offered me 3 times the highest offer I'd received that day. Just like that. Just like magic. I recognized the kindness in his face and the pressure inside of me released instantaneously. I thanked him and then immediately turned my thoughts to buying groceries, opening a bank account, paying rent, and getting a cell phone. "Whatchi really needs is a job," my mother chimed in. "Is there anything that she can do around here?" The pawn shop manager looked at me for a moment. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the situation, as was I. But despite myself, I had to admit I was grateful for my mother's advocacy. "So, what can you do? Do you know eBay?" he asked, side-eyeing and skeptical. "No, but I'll learn." "Okay," he said, defeated and a little bored. "Come in next Monday and we'll get started." I remembered thinking it was odd that the one shop I'd walked into with low expectations was the one shop to not only offer me a fair deal but also a job. I now understand the connection between importance and outcome. But at the time, huh, was about as far as my observations of reality went, so I just settled into the feeling of gratitude over a happy twist of fate. I showed up Monday morning and realized immediately that I had not at all dressed the part when an older part-time employee evaluated my short skirt and low-cut shirt with a look of absolute disdain. Okay, here is your workspace. Frank gestured to a very small square at an overcrowded desk. Interrupting the I don't belong here thoughts that had begun to creep in, all I could think was, holy smokes, I have my very own desk at my very own job. I'm a full-fledged grown-up now. In the following weeks, I learned to photograph and list jewelry. Initially, I was shocked by the amount Frank would instruct me to post as starting prices on eBay. "$10,000 for this?" I'd ask naively. "It's Cartier!" he would bark back. I watched the goings-on of the pawn shop and observed the various characters who would line up to spin their tales of lack and sorrow, just like I had. Sales started rolling in online, and I quickly became privy to the name of the game. Buy it cheap and flip it for as much as possible. Pretty simple formula and one that stirred something inside of me. It was the first time that having a job felt enjoyable. I had worked odd jobs before, doing things like waitressing, shuttling pets back and forth to the groomer, working retail at a children's clothing store and childcare, but largely I had remained unemployed. I could see that Frank was making significant money, as were the other jewelry dealers coming into the pawn shop to buy, sell, and trade their fancy wares. Gotta make my $1,000 a day, one regular dealer dropped in the middle of negotiating with Frank. I tuned in thinking, geez Louise, $1,000 a day! I couldn't even begin to fathom that sort of cash, but I knew I wanted to. Around the same time, I realized the $10 an hour wage I was earning simply wasn't going to cut it, so I decided to get another gig waitressing. Ideally, I thought, at a high-end restaurant. I looked around my neighborhood for openings because I hadn't yet saved up enough to buy a car, but I struck out. Every restaurant I walked into was unwelcoming, all asking for local references, which I did not have. I tapped back into the old theory I knew so well that fit like a ratty oversized sweatshirt: I was worthless. But just like had happened with the pawn shop, I resolved to try one last place, ready to do whatever I had to do to get hired. "Why do you want to work here? These girls don't make much." The manager of Applebee's looked me up and down. You should check out Houston's up the road. Your look will make you more money there. Houston's was a fine dining restaurant in Pasadena. The dining room had a gorgeous mid-century vibe and a mystifying luster that made it feel like another world. The lighting was soft, cast by giant golden artichoke chandeliers, and chicly dressed servers shuttled around fancy plates of food and interesting-looking cocktails. They were beautiful, fit, and clad in all black. I was intimidated beyond belief, but I took the suggestion to apply very seriously, trying my best to heed any and all direction from my world. Still, I had to figure out a way to get there. Pasadena was the next city over, and I was still short of the money for a car. Within one week, of the encounter at Applebee's, I received a surprise check in the mail from a class action settlement I hadn't even known was underway. I can't logically explain this coincidental blessing. It was just the truth of what happened. The moment I needed money for something real, it appeared. With that and 2 weeks' pay from the pawn shop, I bought myself a 1984 2-door Saab and felt empowered to care for myself for the first time in a long time. The first ride I took was to fill out an application at Houston's, and they practically hired me on the spot. I couldn't believe I would be working there and that I would be one of those sleek ladies I'd admired from a distance. I drove home envisioning the tips I would bring in and daydreaming about my big, bright future. I finished an extensive 1-month training and started on lunch shifts. But almost immediately, that newfound dreaminess began slipping with the onset of significant and debilitating depressive episodes. They would come on right before going in each day, and I decided I hated working there, that the people were rude, that the job was physically demanding, and that these feelings of wanting to die were all Houston's fault. Only 2 weeks in, I had to just about drag myself to the restaurant. One afternoon, I drove the 134 freeway to Pasadena, filled with dread, running exceptionally low on energy and fucks to give. I held back tears as I pulled into the parking structure and, letting some slip, admitted to myself for the umpteenth time that I simply did not want to be alive anymore. I turned down my rearview mirror to assess the damage the crying had done and saw two piercing green eyes looking back at me me, exaggerated by a red, mascara-straked face. And then time stopped, just for a quick second, and I caught myself. This remains one of my most vivid memories because it is the first time I can remember feeling aware of myself, my reality, and my trajectory all at once, like I had pulled back to glimpse a macro view, I felt dynamic because I could see the circumstances surrounding me clearly and knew without a doubt that I had the power to influence them. I saw myself and I saw my reality. And then I remembered to use my little trick. When I was in elementary school, around 4th grade, I asked a girlfriend whether she too knew about this special trick I'd learned to make things look different. She didn't. "When you don't like what you're seeing, you can make things look different," I explained. "What do you mean, look different?" "They look different, but still the same. It's really hard to explain." I felt myself contracting as she looked at me totally puzzled. She seemed curious, so I tried again. When you're sad, your bedroom looks sad, right? But if you focus your eyes in a different way, you can make your bedroom not look sad anymore. She clearly had no idea what in the hell I was talking about, so I gave up. Instead, we stuffed dodgeballs under our shirts and ran across the field pretending to be pregnant unicorns ready to give birth. I never tried to explain it to anyone else again. I had been doing this little trick for a few years by the time I tried explaining it to my friend. I first discovered it while I was alone in my bedroom cutting pictures out of a magazine and tacking them to the wall. I had created two piles of images, one good and one bad. I found that just by shifting my eyes between and feeling into the emotion of each pile, I could make the room look either good or bad. That day in Pasadena, I remembered this trick and chose to switch from feeling bad to feeling something better. I stared directly into my own eyes and told myself, "Something good is going to happen for you today, Renee." I pulled out my makeup bag to erase the last 15 minutes from my face. Then I closed my eyes and held an image of myself smiling and holding tip money in my hand. Just go work it, I told myself, still not totally convinced but committed to the new vibe. I walked into the restaurant with a semi-forced smile on my face, feeling like a complete fraud. My stomach was still knotted up and I felt slightly nauseous, but I smiled, stood up straight and arched my back, and walked through the restaurant with a gait reserved for royalty. The manager came up to me while I was tying my apron in the back and leaned in quietly saying, "Hey Renee, I just want to let you know that you're doing great. These people have high standards and you're dealing with them well." During my prior shift, I had made the grave mistake of removing a woman's plate before she was finished eating. She was livid and told my manager that I was an idiot I immediately flushed with embarrassment, convinced she was right. My manager's attention and recognition sent a little surge of energy through my body, boosting my self-esteem. At that moment, his compliment meant the world to me, so I grabbed onto it. I focused my attention on a variable I liked. The staff was buzzing with anticipation over a professional basketball team that was scheduled to come in for lunch. We all lined up to welcome them, and I watched as they all filed in, docking at the doorway. I stood there in amazement. Never in my life had I seen so many tall men in one place. For the first time, I could see the success surrounding me. People were doing well, talking business and eating fancy lunches. It was like a movie, and I tuned into it. As the men found their seats, one met eyes with me and stopped. "Damn, girl, that face!" The same flash of electricity I'd felt earlier pulsed through my body. Whatever I was feeling, I liked it. Something had changed, or something had changed in me, and my reality now looked and felt a whole lot different. My little trick was working. I coasted on this frequency and before my shift was half over felt like I was on top of the world. I hadn't made any mistakes and seemed to be in a flow state for the first time since starting to work at Houston's. I felt confident and relaxed, like the restaurant was a stage and I was there auditioning for the role of leading lady. Toward the end of the day, a man I'd seen once before rolled through the door in his wheelchair. I had been curious about him the first time he came in because of the way people responded to his presence. He was a small and frail-looking man with completely atrophied legs, but he held a huge smile on his face and engaged confidently with everyone in the restaurant. His name was Sam. Sam sat by himself at one of my tables in the back corner of the restaurant. I walked up to him and asked how he was doing and took his order. The restaurant had cleared out. Sam was our last guest, and as we made small talk, my curiosity grew. "I've never seen you in here before. Do you like working here?" he asked, mouth full of food. "Today I do." I winked and we both laughed. He asked if there had been any celebrity sightings lately, and I told him about the guy from Pulp Fiction coming in. You know, the one who robs the diner with his girlfriend, Honey Bunny. I told him how much I'd wanted to ask, "So what'll it be, Honey Bunny?" when I took his order. It felt a little inappropriate sharing my thoughts with Sam, but I did it anyway. Leaning into the flirty fun script of the day, "I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, but could I take you out to dinner sometime?" he asked me when I dropped the check. He was not my type at all, but I had to admit I was intrigued. I'd want to learn more about anyone who could muster such a cheerful countenance while suffering so visibly. I agreed, but made it clear we would be going out as friends. I walked him to the front of the restaurant, and everyone we passed by waved him a warm goodbye. When I closed out Sam's check, I saw he had left me a $50 tip. That day, I went home with nearly $100 in tips, the most I had ever made in a single day. As if the day couldn't have gotten any better, my manager asked me on my way out if I was interested in moving up to tending bar. The bar there was a stunning display of elite drunks, beautiful women, and guys in suits talking smart. I eagerly accepted the invitation, realizing that would be my last day of waiting tables. I saw you just had Sam at your table. He just left me a $50 tip on a French dip sandwich and a couple of sodas. Yeah, Sam comes in here all the time and everyone loves him. Treat him well and he gives big tips. I was on the fence about telling my manager I'd given Sam my phone number, but I wanted his take on the whole situation. He asked if he could take me to dinner, I said, a little sheepish. That's definitely a dinner invite I would accept. He seemed confident enough. On the way home, I loaded a CD and sang along to Maxing Kwe by Tricky. Feeling satisfied and powerful. The outside air was warm and pink, and a sweet sense of well-being washed over me. I made note of how different I now felt driving home than I had driving to the restaurant. Walking into my tiny apartment, I was greeted by several collection notices and credit card statements that had been shoved under the door by the mail carrier. I was still in trouble, nearly $50,000 in debt trouble, the product of Joe losing his job during the dot-com fallout and us relying on credit taken out in my name for a whole 2 years. I crammed the statements into a hanging wooden bill box that was already stuffed full and wondered how I would pay it all back. The reminder of my past had trashed my energy level a bit, but I did my best to shake it off and hold on to the promise of the day. I put on some music and drew a bath, closing my eyes and daydreaming about a life with no bills, paid rent, and paychecks accumulating in my bank account. I ran the numbers in my head and tried to calculate how long it would take me to square up if I continued to do what I did that day. I resolved to buy a few lottery tickets from the gas station after my bath, I was rich after all. I had $100 in my apron. A couple of days later, I dressed up in bright coral pants, a fitted silk blouse with ruffled cap sleeves, and a pair of hot pink pointed toe heels. My hair was long and blonde at the time, and I parted it down the middle, applying lipstick, mascara, and a spritz of drugstore perfume I rarely wore. Sam pulled up to retrieve me from the curb, and I sat down into his fancy car, trying to carry myself like someone who belonged in a fancy car. It was a model I couldn't name but immediately recognized as expensive. The car had been rigged to accommodate his disability so that he drove entirely from the wheel. "Thanks for letting me take you out," he said with a friendly smile that reminded me why I agreed to go out with him in the first place. "Whatta car is this?" "This, my dear, is a 2004 Rolls-Royce Phantom." "Oh, well, it's really nice," I said, looking around, feigning nonchalance. He laughed. "Yes, it is. Are you hungry?" Of course I was hungry. I had been eating potatoes and canned beans for months. We drove to the Ritz-Carlton, where we were greeted with the same warm welcome that everyone had shown him at Houston's. Seated at a little toutop against the window, we overlooked the epically lush gardens surrounding the historic hotel. I really couldn't believe my life. Things had changed dramatically in just a matter of days. Sam was a curious man. He asked me lots of questions, which I liked. It had been a long time since someone asked me questions about myself. I wanted to ask him questions, mostly about why he seemed so happy all the time. But I figured that might be inappropriate. So instead, I did my best to entertain him with my answers. He asked how I ended up living in Los Angeles, and I told him everything about my abusive husband, the pending divorce, and the debt. "What are you gonna do with your life?" he pressed. I hated questions like that because I never had an answer. Feeling inadequate and slightly insulted, I shot back, Is what I'm doing not enough or something? I couldn't answer his question, but I regretted the way I let "trailer trash Renee" slip out. Sorry, things have just been hard, I recanted. Sensing my unease, he quickly changed the subject. If you could do anything that you wanted, anything in the whole world, what would you do? He was proud of his question. I would travel, I responded confidently. At age 19, I scraped together almost $2,700 and backpacked alone through the Middle East for nearly 3 months after finding a discount flight. It was one of my proudest accomplishments. I remember once telling my husband about the time I'd spent and how he told me it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard of anyone doing. I gave up my aspirations of future travel right then and there. But whenever I wanted to escape in my mind, I would daydream about going to the Los Angeles International Airport and boarding a flight to some exotic location. "Where would you go?" Sam asked, bringing me back from my past. "I would go to Paris." "Why Paris?" "Because I've never been there before, and why not Paris?" "What would you do there?" Talking with Sam sometimes made me feel like a little mouse gently getting batted around by a big goofy-looking cat. I would stay at the Ritz and I would wander around aimlessly every single day. I had no idea where this brilliant fantasy was coming from, but it felt like mine. Sam told me he liked to travel, but that it was difficult to do often given his condition. As dinner was coming to a close, he leaned in with a devilish look on his face and asked if I liked to party. I was a little taken aback because both the question and his tone were so distinct from those of the rest of the night. "I don't really know what you mean." I played dumb, some part of me knowing I should proceed with caution. Really, I knew exactly what he meant and had been anticipating the rub for such a fancy dinner since we sat down. Would you like to come back to my house and party? He goaded with the effect of a naughty little boy who just schemed to burn all his G.I. Joes. As soon as we got into his car, I regretted saying yes. I mean, he was nice enough, but I was very sure I wasn't interested in whatever games this goofy cat had planned. We pulled up to his gated estate and a broad metal door opened automatically. His house sat on a private lake as nice as anything I'd seen in a magazine. We walked and rolled up the drive, and I noticed a giant koi fish swimming lazily around a moat surrounding the sleek architecture. Where in Sam's hell was I? Inside, he fixed us cocktails at a small antique bar, rolled them over to me, and smiled. "I wanna show you something," he said, and my heart sank. While I had enjoyed the company, I was not in the mood. I was just coming out of feeling perpetually overcompromised. I was tired of giving for the sake of entertaining loser dudes. I had just started building up my walls, walls that needed building. I would not be fucked with anymore. I still didn't know how exactly to say no, but the desire and resolve were there and they were loud. I followed him into a sitting room filled with antiques, art, and another bar. He went over to a secret hatch that blended in perfectly with the wall. Inside was a giant safe from which he removed what looked to be at least a kilo of cocaine. "So you do like to party?" he asked me again, same devilish look on his face. "What is that?" I asked, still playing dumb. It's coke. Do you not party? He wheeled it over to the coffee table. I had done cocaine only one other time in my life and thought I was gonna have a heart attack. I'm prone to anxiety, so uppers are not my drug of choice. He cut a little off the block and did a line while I stood there watching, drink in hand. He asked if I also wanted to do a line, and I said no. "Come on, a little bit won't hurt." His demeanor had definitely changed. "Okay, just a small one though," I caved, desperate to go home. I tried to act casual about how many lines he did after that by carrying on normal conversation, but Sam just speed talked about his dreams of visiting Germany and driving the Autobahn and so on and so forth until I finally told him I had to work the next day and needed to get back. I think he realized he'd misstepped, taken things a little too far. He drove me home and apologized for the cocaine thing. I hope my partying didn't bother you too much, he said softly. It's fine. I felt cold at that point, and I'm sure it showed. Back at my apartment, I was relieved to be alone again and happy I hadn't done any more than a baby line of his coke. I had my own party to attend: 2 milligrams of Xanax chased by a glass of Charles Shaw Two Buck Chuck. A couple days later, Sam called me up and told me he had a surprise for me. His tone was eerily high-pitched. "What is it?" I asked, nervous and fighting back intrigue. I was weary, but I did know that a surprise from a guy like Sam could mean good news for me. "Well, I'll tell you over another dinner. Do you want to meet me at Nobu tonight?" I agreed. A little commanding, he told me to meet him at 7 and bring the collection of statements I had told him about. I thought maybe he'll offer me some financial advice, helping me strategize. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, but I gathered up my bills, dolled myself up, and drove to meet him in Pasadena anyway. When I got there, he was already seated and had ordered us the most expensive bottle of sake on the menu. "Dude, you bring your bills?" He wasted no time with small talk. "Yep." I patted my purse laid on the chair next to mine. "Let's see 'em then." I handed him a stack of bills about as thick as a phone book, and he cleared the table to lay them out. Sam straightened his posture, obviously meaning business. I've got an offer for you, Renee. Okay, let's hear it then. I sat back and crossed my arms, now decidedly uninterested in taking financial advice from someone so campy. As you know, I've always wanted to travel. I perked up at this, but with my condition, I would need someone able-bodied to help me out. I would later grasp and then become hostage to the severity of Sam's condition. But at that point, I had limited information. During our first dinner together, Sam told me that he'd worked as a blue-collar bro, a commercial electrician, and that one day he had been working on an external electrical box several stories high when an explosion sent the platform elevating him plunging to the ground. After hitting pavement, thousands of pounds of cable coiled on top of him and his partner, who died as a result. Sam was nearly crushed to death. He received the largest personal injury settlement in California history. Sam's health and money and my desire for freedom and travel were getting shaken up into a perfect cocktail ready to pour. I remember thinking, oh fuck yeah, I am getting drunk. My coordinates were changing. I didn't have words for it at the time, but I knew there was a pivot happening and that my life was headed in a very new direction. I was uneasy, and the restaurant started spinning before I could even take my first drink. Would you be willing to accompany me to Europe if I made sure that you were totally set to walk away from what you've got going on here? I was stunned. I'll pay all your bills right now and wipe out your debt. I'll pay your rent for the next year so you'll have a place when we return. I couldn't believe his sincerity, as if there were a world in which I would turn down this good of an offer. "You would do that?" I asked, hiding my excitement. "I will if you say yes." My mind was ping-ponging between thoughts like "What's the catch?" and "Maybe good things just happen sometimes," between "Be careful" and "You deserve this break." We ordered a few hundred dollars worth of sushi and I hammered some sake. Then I accepted his offer on the condition that he did what he was promising. I didn't want to be jerked around. That stack of bills had a shit ton of emotional charge for me, and in the moment I felt almost protective of them. I either wanted him to do what he was saying he'd do and to do it now, or I wanted my bills back. He pulled out his checkbook and began signing. He wrote one to cover every cent of debt I had accrued—credit card bills, a $6,500 therapy bill, bank loans now all majorly delinquent—all of it. When the waiter came back around, Sam asked whether the office might have some postage stamps. Sam sealed each check into an envelope and stamped them all. He then sent me outside to drop the checks into a mailbox at the corner of the block. Opening the mailbox slat, I recalled the day in the bath when I had imagined my bills disappearing. Was this it? What was happening? For the next few days, I played it cool with Sam and waited to see if the checks would clear. I kept calling the credit card companies to check my balances, thinking there was no way they would go through, but they did. And just like that, the weight of my past life and my past mistakes vanished. When Sam followed through on his promise to have a first-class Air France ticket dropped at my apartment, I put in my notice at Houston's and started packing. Before we left, I spent Sam's birthday with him at the Santa Anita racetrack. The track staff and I planned for a cake. Trumpeters and trombonists played "Happy Birthday" between races, and Sam just smiled hugely, beaming streaming the entire day. I could tell he was really enjoying himself, and honestly, I was too. I really liked Sam at the beginning. He was annoying and awkward, but sweet and unassuming given the level of wealth he'd obtained. He had a big crooked nose and a crooked smile too. Imagine a 110-pound Italian Bill Gates, but nerdier and in a wheelchair. And you got Sam. I like the attention we drew as such an odd duo. Sam struck me as harmless, a little broken maybe, but so strangely positive. I was young, broken myself, and determined to experience something better. We were each a unique brand of naive, appreciative of one another's attention and companionship. When our departure date finally arrived, I was so excited that I could hardly contain myself. Upon boarding, the flight attendant served us champagne and I felt like a princess. We watched movies and enjoyed the food, dreaming about all the things we would do and see in Europe. It hit me how sensitive Sam's health was on that flight. It seemed to me that the airport and flight staff were overly concerned with his level of comfort I assumed they were being so attentive because he was rich, but I realize now that they had just understood his delicate condition better than I. Catheter and bathroom issues, timed body moves to prevent bedsores, navigating a world not built for wheelchairs. I was in for quite a ride, and so was Sam. That first morning in Paris was surreal. We drove the still and empty streets to Place Vendôme, and by the time we arrived, I was out of body on this new life track. Absolutely nothing, not one sensory detail, looked or felt familiar. We rode up to our rooms in the same elevator I had seen Princess Diana taking in old footage. On God, outside my room hung a Monet painting, and the maids were dressed, I shit you not, in full French maid getups. I was in a standard room that was, by my estimation, far from standard. I imagined foreign royals wrapping themselves in the same linens, relaxing under the same vaulted lighting. There were crown moldings and gilded stationery at the windowside Chippendale desk. The bathroom had a giant marble bathtub held together by pristine gold hardware. The room smelled like French lavender and refinement. My bags were unpacked for me, my clothes neatly arranged in the closet. My bed had been turned down, and I was struck with sheer delight. I had never experienced anything like this. Sam and I were horribly jet-lagged, and we spent the day trying to keep ourselves awake by looking out over our new digs and drinking champagne We were in another era, and I was overcome by the sensation of having stepped out of a black-and-white film into vivid color. Car horns sounded different, the telephones rang differently. I felt like a different person, and I could tell Sam did too. We were royals now, self-proclaimed Claude Hoppen royals. I woke up to pitch black in the middle of that first night perfectly confused. I knew my eyes were open, but I couldn't see anything. It may have been the jet lag, the champagne, or a combination of both, and everything else that had changed so rapidly, but I had no clue where I was. Was I in the trailer park? No. Was I still married, lying next to my husband? Nope. And was I in my apartment? No. So where was I? I turned on the bedside light, sat up, and remembered upon taking in the beautiful room. I got out of bed and poured myself a glass of €100 champagne. I breathed back, lit a cigarette, and tried to orient myself to this new reality. So now that you have the full story, let me break it down. A lot happened in those first few pages, and that is pretty much how it felt to live it, like everything was unfolding in fast-forward. That was the first time I ever shifted Lifetracks so quickly. I've made jumps many times since, but the first time set a precedence, stretching my conception of what was possible. Those early experiences made me aware of my ability to connect to the Alternative Space, a trick I would draw on in major ways down the road. There I was, at the Ritz with zero debt and an epic adventure in front of me, waltzing through a layer of reality several layers higher than the one I'd been trudging two weeks prior. The moment in the car when I'd chosen something different for myself, I jumped onto a new life track and began this journey. Remember the 4 components of creating your reality: thoughts, actions, frequency, and Guiding Theory? I had unknowingly—that means unintentionally—pulled together everything I needed to transfer life tracks. But I was highly unstable in the Alternative Space and would be for another 10+ years. I would move up and down the different layers of reality available to me at an unhealthy pace. This instability taught me the value of going after things that are specifically intended for me, and leaving the rest alone. Life becomes shockingly simple when you learn to sense this distinction. Without understanding it, however, the vortex of chaos swirls unchecked, making it difficult to determine upward motion from downward motion. Creating your own reality with awareness is its own beast. Even good things may not be intended for you. Even good things can connect you to harmful levels of reality. You need to know what you're doing and why. Reality Transurfing is ultimately about finding what is intended for you. Look around you now, at this exact moment. Are you where you should be? Can you say, without a doubt, that you found your ideal location within the Alternative Space? Are you in a place that's fun but not so healthy? Boring but comfortable? Are you saying to yourself, "Well, it's not exactly what I want, but it isn't so bad." During my time with Sam, I learned how to move about the Alternative Space, but not in ways that were aligned with my Soul Fraile. My story is extreme, but in the end, I experienced exactly what I needed to experience aboard a rollercoaster of nightmares and worldly delights to arrive at the place I did when I found Reality Transurfing. Eventually, I learned how to move forward towards my ideal sector of reality, a stable layer filled with meaning creativity, and service to others. But at that juncture, I was still in survival mode and had no idea who I was, what I was doing, or who I was trying to become. Teachers of reality creation, manifestation, and harnessing personal power often dilute the knowledge with promises of obtaining worldly delights: the million bucks, the sports car, the highfalutin lifestyle, My personal belief is that you can be manifesting well and still have it all wrong. Materializing the good life will still leave you feeling lost in the Matrix if all the shiny things you attract aren't ultimately intended for you. I'm just gonna come out and say it: the current Law of Attraction culture is complete bullshit. I have met tons of people throughout my Transurfing career who have obtained material success and are still fucked up. This shouldn't come as a surprise, seeing how every true spiritual teacher since the dawn of time have told us that happiness is an inside job. But we silly little humans still toil for our silly little worldly delights. It's not where it's at, y'all. Don't be fooled. Back in Paris, I was on the gravy train and things were full steam ahead. I was a baby Transurfer who had just caught her first wave. But Pendulums were gunnin' for me with some hard and fast wipeouts to lower levels of reality that were headed my way.