My life isn’t about algorithms and TikTok stories, therefore my personal healing story doesn’t fit below 15 – second clips. For readers with short attention spans in particular, I wrote three healing stories The Healing Lamborghini, The Healing Tram #22, and The Healing Ski Story as opposed to just one. Please be brave and read it all the way through. Enjoy!

My Healing Lamborghini

“Martin, why are you rushing if you already know there is no end?”

I own a Lamborghini and it heals me. The phenomenal sound it produces each and every time I start the engine is priceless. The story here is not about how to get a red Lamborghini through manifesting. The story is not about any marketing advice on how to get rich, or a narrative about some tragic accident while driving super fast somewhere on the German Autobahn. My Lamborghini has never been in an accident. In general, my existence is simply split into two parts. Before and after Lamborghini. It is equivalent to what historians refer to as before Christ a.k.a BC and after. So, let’s go back first. Before the Lamborghini Era, I used to be deeply comfortable in my own mind like most people around me. I was avoiding anyone who brought up issues of spirituality, it was just like talking with Jehovah’s Witnesses about Christmas decorations. A complete waste of time. When I first encountered words like chakra my mind didn’t get curious at all. When someone mentioned terms like cosmic blueprints, my mind immediately shut down and continued to happily deny, suppress, or intellectualize everything that could ultimately free me. I behaved, thought, and even felt like the vast majority of Earth’s population. Working hard on my goals and bringing bacon to the table. I was taking everything as normal and I’ve mastered every possible copy mechanism for life on this planet. As a result, in my thoughts, my life was fantastic, even if it was an appearance role I had performed to please my surroundings. Success, goals, and a lot of pleasure from outside sources fueled and powered my life. As I am here confessing all my sins, Mother Theresa would be overjoyed to tears. Back to Lamborghini. The ultimate and devilish desire of mine was to buy a red Lamborghini. It took me more than 15 years to finally purchase that famous brand that always beautifully screams about being a little luckier in life than others. The color of the human skin is irrelevant, but Lamborghini must always be red. For previous versions of me, it is simply a minor problem that my Lamborghini is not red, but it is a major disappointment that it doesn’t drive as fast as I had hoped it would. Lamborghini’s maximum speed should be about 220 mph, or around 350 km per hour, and my drive a little bit slower. My previous self is also quite irritated because I never used my Lambo on any highways, autostradas, or even the German Autobahn. And without a doubt, my Lamborghini is hardly the magnet for golddiggers in my area. Strangely, even though the area where I live isn’t exceptionally wealthy like Beverly Hills and is more of a farming region, there are a quite few Lamborghinis even in my small village. Especially, the vintage ones I personally own from the 1960s. Unbelievably, my Lambo is powered by diesel. This is the part where my previous version of myself is cursing me for eternity and leaving me for good. WTF Martin! And that’s perfectly OK. The man who founded the company originally owned tractor company Lamborghini Trattori. The older models are fairly affordable here. My Lambo is a tractor made by Ferruccio Lamborghini. Ferruccio Lamborghini made a fortune manufacturing tractors.  Perhaps there was a slight misunderstanding in the Garden of Eden where all our wishes may come true, which basically means may or may not. I got a tractor because possibly didn’t give the energy of the Universe all the cookies, data, and information 15 years ago when I was manifesting a Lamborghini after seeing the infamous The Secret movie. Well, I ended up with a Lamborghini tractor instead of a Lamborghini Diablo. No big deal! I am always kind to all my previous versions of myself. The current version of me has a big smile on my face seeing my Lamborgini parked in the stable. And yes, that smile on my face took years of healing and self-exploration. The road to healing without Lamborghini wasn’t simple since I had to confront most of my shadows, and demons, and finally accept that I am just another beautiful mess here who signed up from boredom for a spiritual revolution within. That realization gave me a lot of space for peace. As a result of the entire process I was able to overcome my traumatized childhood marked by violence and abuse, I understood all of my toxic relationships with devastating breakups, and later on gained some clarity on my life after two near-death encounters. I understand now how profound low-frequency energy imprints can be, how terrible panic attacks can get, and how deeply we are wired by childhood traumas or almost any traumatic unprocessed incident in our lives. To make a long story short, I am fully aware now of what it takes to defrost a frozen heart. I believe that we can recover from everything, change perceptions, and solve life situations even the seemingly impossible once we reconnect with our hearts. Even to get the red Lamborghini. And although this might be the ending of my story of healing, it is not.

My Healing Tram #22 or Welcome to Heaven

I have no intention of projecting my personal stories or my life experiences onto my clients because I understand that every soul experiences life in a different way. I’m not going to go into detail about every experimental healing journey I’ve done myself in the past. There were a lot of them. Some of them worked wonders, while others did nothing for me. However, the story of my tram accident is, in my opinion, the most important healing story. It’s not yet about snow and skiing. I am just getting there. I was crossing the street with my headphones on, listening to My Chemical Romance, and enjoying the lyrics when I was hit by a fast-approaching tram. Just like that. Yes, life changes in seconds. My body ended up rolling beneath the tram’s wheels. I have no idea how my body miraculously squeezed into position to avoid being sliced up into pieces and surviving something beyond comprehension. When I was reading the police report months after the accident, I couldn’t believe I was still alive. I don’t recall anything because I was right away unconscious. The only physical memory I have is of a soft touch at the same time that pulled me out of my body just before I was knocked down by the tram. And then I was somewhere else entirely. It took me years to understand what unfolded there. It was the most fundamental experience I’ve ever had. Being sent back was like a child having a favorite candy stolen right out of their mouth. The last words that I still recall were spoken by a man who resembled some kind of wise man archetype: “Martin, why are you rushing if you already know there is no end?” And he gave me one of the most beautiful smiles I had ever seen in my life. Suddenly, I woke up from a coma, hearing annoying beeping, but I did not have any idea where I was or what I was doing there. I was really disoriented. I have seen some blurry nurses’ faces, doors opening and closing constantly, and rays of light filling up my room. Maybe I was still high from the drugs they injected me with. Those rays of light were playfully warm, I played with them for a while. Strangely, I still did not feel my face or body. Total numbness. After a while, some doctors suddenly approached me and told me what had happened to me, including a list of treatments that had been done to me up to this point, including a five-hour surgery on my face performed by a team of plastic surgeons. In general, they stated there were no broken bones, just deeply open wounds, some major damage to a muscle system, and that relatively everything was OK, except for my serious brain injury, which will have long-term effects on my speech patterns and motor coordination. It was a strange transition from everything being OK to I would never talk and walk normally again. Yes, I could remain silent and not be bothered, but because I used to ski professionally and still wanted to enjoy skiing so much, this was my death sentence. I suddenly sensed that there was nothing wrong with my brain. I immediately felt the prognosis was nonsense and that I needed to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. I requested to be released immediately. All doctors refused to talk to me about it and just rejected my request. Every hour, nurses would remind me if I didn’t stay in the hospital since my condition was so serious, I would die within a few hours without IVs running through my veins, medical support, and monitoring. And that was somehow true, but I couldn’t stay there any longer. They wanted to do a psychological evaluation on me right away. I have declined this. No, I wasn’t crazy or in shock to run away from the hospital. That sense of certainty, which comes only a few times in a lifetime, was right there with me. I signed stubbornly the hospital’s reversal paperwork, they gave me some medications and painkillers and I left the building with the walker waiting for a tram. I lied to the hospital administrator when she asked who would care for me at home. I mentioned my relatives. In fact, I made no communication with anyone and gave the hospital fake emergency contacts. There is no family. I returned home and slept for 48 hours straight, and when I awoke, I felt more than alive. Rather than saying goodbye to my perfectly stored Rossignol ski, I intended to restore my atomic brain system in three days by doing imaginative work and eating a lot of my favorite hazelnut ice cream.

My Healing Ski Story

The final ski-related healing story started right here when I was eating the hazelnut ice cream and noticed in the freezer lots of icy snow. To get a feel for it, I closed my eyes and imagined myself skiing again. That’s how the inspiration for healing came about. Simple as that, I was able to think about skiing again after handling the frozen snow from the freezer. So, I started to do this every hour. I imagined the freshness of powder snow and my ski, enjoying the speed and every single move, the smell of pine trees, and the sun on my face while racing down the slopes. And, indeed, I felt every cell in my body gently reawaken. I was having the same imagination over and over again. I imagined myself skiing for thousands of kilometers through the Italian, French, and Austrian Alps, stopping at each ski resort I was familiar with. I visited Taos in New Mexico, and Deer Valley in Utah several times. The greatest powder on the planet as far as I remember. All of those memories as well as positive associations stored in my brain and heart were extremely powerful for me, helping me to rise up. I am sure, that was the best skiing experience on the bed I’ve ever had. After three days, everything shifted, and I began walking again in my apartment, inch by inch, room by room. And yes, in my heavy ski boots wearing a winter jacket, hat, gloves, and ski glasses. I couldn’t get my skis, they were stored in the basement, otherwise, I would use them. The only snow I was able to get was from carrying my hazelnut ice cream in and out of the freezer. My body and bones felt stronger, and I was able to speak without difficulty. On the third day, Jesus rose from the dead. So why shouldn’t I? That day, I bought online an expensive limited edition of brand new skis I couldn’t imagine buying before. But what the hell, the resurrection needs to be celebrated. The most important thing was that my body did not listen to the doctor’s prognosis but listened to my simple dream to ski again. The next few days were filled with a tremendous amount of joy that I had never felt before in my life, and I just did things that made my soul happy. Drinking red wine, eating pizza, and watching Netflix. Simply I just filled my busy life with the laziest life ever with ski boots on. I’ve made a tiny snowy heaven on earth for myself. No emails. No phone calls. Nobody around me. After two weeks, I was still alive, talking and walking better than before and all of my brain scans were completely normal. No damage. They removed over 100 stitches from my body and ran a cascade of checkups. Most likely I was the only one walking through the hospital corridors with a smile on my face. I knew I didn’t belong there. My skeletal, muscular, and neural systems were perfectly in order as if nothing had happened. I have been healed. If I only had known what I know now, I would have eaten more ice cream at the time. That was more than 11 years ago. Simply I just replaced my sad life with the daily joy of being alive, being grateful for what I have here. The big dream of a little boy who just wants to ski again. I slowed down my life, kicked out everyone who didn’t belong, and made my life a billion times simpler. So the answer to the question of why I am rushing if I already know there is no end is simple. Yes, my life was extremely fast-paced the same as my heartbeat. I don’t rush anywhere and do everything with the easiest flow possible. My favorite purpose of life is doing absolutely nothing and mastering the art of La Dolce Far Niente. To cut a long story short. I’m back on the slopes with my skis. And that’s not all. Why did this happen to me? Sometimes there are no answers, no reasons, and no explanations. I ran millions of scenarios where if I was just a few seconds late somewhere else, I wouldn’t get run over by a tram. But that wonderful opportunity for a wake-up call in one of the most brutal ways would be wasted, and my life would be radically different. I wouldn’t be curious about alternative healing, imaginative work, and meditations. I wouldn’t know anything about Akashic Records and many other beautiful places in our psyches. And the Sky & Farm would not exist at all. Yes, I have some little and some big healed scars all over my body. Some visible more and some not. But they’re just a reminder of certain milestones in my life, like beautiful tattoos. That is essentially the lesson in every story. So, congrats to everyone who was able to read through my personal narrative to the end. I must, however, emphasize that this is my personal story and that you should never trust whatever else I write or say. It is not your life story, yet it could work as an inspiration to many. Living in a society that is obsessed with success, red Lamborgini, and Messiah which never comes, deeply ignoring the whispers of the heart, is not always easy unless you pack all your stuff and say to yourself very loudly: “This fucked up shit will not be my story.” Then you leave and live happily ever after. You buy a farm and get some chickens. And all of a sudden, your life feels like you’re living in heaven on Earth. Despite everything. Despite growing up with only a few feelings of joy, and that’s very politely written, the relationships and people I surrounded myself with as a result of my childhood trauma, and for so many years, living as a victim of my life. All that life in pain is suddenly gone. As it came, so it went.