At the end of the programme, Marianne came up to me and introduced herself by her spiritual name: Maharani. I also introduced myself to her by my initiated spiritual name at the time: Lalita. Maharani had been part of the Hare Krishna movement, and had since joined up with a splinter group, which had many western devotees, headed by another Indian guru. My guru had very few western disciples at that time, having spent most of his life’s work preaching throughout India, and this was his first visit to England.

I cannot remember much about what she and I spoke about that day, except the fact that we were both musicians. We exchanged contact information quickly, because I had to dash off and escort our guests back to the cars to take them back to their UK host’s home.

Maharani called me, and over time we became friends. That autumn, I was going through a rough time in my life, and a few months later my marriage of 22 years, which had been tumultuous for a long time, ended. Like Maharani, my former husband had been a member of the Hare Krishna society. After my husband and I split, I found it very difficult to be around anyone from those circles, and I kept my distance. Because of this, I asked we could call each other our western names—Marianne and Lynn—rather than our spiritual names. This was fine with her.

One day Marianne came to visit me at my work. I was working as a music technology teacher in Tottenham, a notoriously rough area of North London, where the infamous riots were to break out in 2011. We spoke about our experiences in the music industry. It was only then I found out she was actually a well-known punk singer, who went by the name of Poly Styrene from the band X-Ray Spex. I had never heard of the band, having been in Texas and not into punk at the time of their heyday in the mid 1970s. I had no idea how famous she was; nor did I have any idea of what her music sounded like. To be honest, while I found her past fascinating, I was really only interested in who she was in that moment, and I was happy to have found a new friend.

After my marriage ended, Marianne was very kind in listening to my grief as I struggled with the many inner and outer changes I was dealing with during the first year of my divorce. In 2003, when I finally got the courage to write to my guru to tell him why I had divorced—that I had been a battered wife for more than two decades—I never received a reply from him or from anyone else at the temple. Marianne was one of the few people with whom I could speak about this heartache, because she understood the temple culture without me having to explain. She gave me space to express both my anger and my pain. I remember one day when I was particularly upset, she led me through a visualisation over the phone. She wanted to help me let go of the past with love and grace, so she had me visualise my ex-husband enveloped in a beautiful, sparkling pink bubble. Then, we floated it in the air and we let him go, as we said together,

“Love and Light! Love and Light!”

I must admit I resisted this, as I was still full of blame and hurt in my heart. Nonetheless, I can still see that beautiful pink bubble and I remember Marianne’s soft voice as she guided me with love and affection.

Over the coming year, just as my life started to settle down a bit, Marianne’s life seemed to become more shaken up. I went to visit her in East Dulwich, where she was living at the time, and we went out to a café and had a long chat. She shared many heart-rending stories of different traumas and hardships she had endured in her youth. She also told me she had bipolar disorder, but to be honest, at that time I really didn’t know what that meant (a few years later, my own daughter was diagnosed with it, and I have come to understand it better). She really opened up to me and I could feel we had become good friends.

One time, Marianne and I were riding on the London Underground, and a woman beggar came up to us. Without hesitation, Marianne handed her a £2 coin. She told me that she always gave money to beggars, especially women. She said she didn’t care whether or not they were “real” beggars or fakes. “I give them the benefit of the doubt,” she said. She told me she herself had once been homeless, living rough on the streets when she was young. She said there was a time she had been so poor she had no shoes. The cold and exposure to the elements were so servere that her toenails fell off. She said, “I often thought if someone, just someone, would come along and help me, I could get out of this horrible situation. But most people just looked at me like I was dirt and walked away. I decided I would never treat people that way.” Since those experiences, she always gave money to women beggars.

Over the following months, I began to see the implications of Marianne’s bipolar disorder. She called me serveral times in the middle of the night during her “manic” phases. One time she called me at 2AM from a phone booth in Glastonbury, hundreds of miles from London where we both lived. She said she was confused and couldn’t figure out how she had gotten there. Then, she suddenly got agitated and she had to go find a church because the angels had told her if she didn’t, her daughter (who was in Australia) would be in grave danger. She sounded full of panic and very upset. Abruptly, before I could find out where she was, she hung up the phone. I was worried because I didn’t know how to find her or how I could help her. Later she told me that some “very nice police officers” found her and brought her to a nearby hospital. Apparently, she had run out of medication, which caused her mania to flare up.

I soon learned that Marianne’s bipolar disorder was usually fine as long as she was on her medication, but if she went off it for any period of time, these kinds of episodes would inevitably recur. One time the police had found her wandering around again, and she was brought to a hospital in East London. She had been there a few days (and back on medication) when I went to visit her one Saturday afternoon. She seemed so normal and happy—like the Marianne I knew.  Throughout the afternoon, I saw many of the other patients coming in and out of the common room. They were obviously seriously ill, and needed continuous care. But Marianne seemed fine, now she was back on her medication. I said to her, “You don’t belong here. You should be home. Why are they keeping you here?” She told me it was a voluntary facility, which meant she could leave any time she wanted. But the problem was, she’d need a doctor’s signature to get released, and as it was the weekend, the doctor wouldn’t be in until Monday or Tuesday. Then, a friend of hers (who owned a car and had driven there) came to visit. Together, we conspired to get Marianne out of the hospital and back home that afternoon. We gathered her clothes in a laundry bag, sneaked her out and drove off, my heart pounding all the way. Marianne seemed so relaxed and happy when she got home, so I really don’t care if our great escape was “against hospital rules”.

Marianne eventually moved out of London into a cottage in the seaside town of St Leonard’s near Hastings. In the summer of 2004, she invited me to stay with her for a few days. I remember how lovely she was when she met me at the train station, saying how much younger and happier I looked now. We had a fabulous time together, walking along the shore and chatting day and night.

Her cottage home was very sweet. In sharp contrast to her “punk hero” public image, her home was always fresh, aesthetically beautiful and full of light. She had a real talent for home decorating and every element of her home looked purposeful and appealing. One evening, after visiting her mom for a little while, Marianne and I went to a pub—the oldest in Hastings. We talked about life, relationships and all the “normal” things friends do. I remember we walked home around midnight, and there was a brilliant silver full moon over the sea. It was a very warm evening and we stood watching the black waves reflect the moonlight for a while. When I got back to London later that week, I wrote about the scene, and some of the descriptions from that vignette found their way into my 2009 book the Garden of the Soul.

The final night, Marianne and I stayed up late talking. She confided in me about unusual auditory events she experienced. I’m pretty sure doctors would probably explain them away as “auditory hallucinations” stemming from her bipolar disorder. But she called them angels. She described the many different angels she heard and occasionally saw. She described their beautiful white feather wings. She described how safe and wonderful she felt around them. I looked around her room, and noticed how her little cottage home seemed to reflect her love for these angels. She trimmed her dressing table with white netting and white feathers. Her curtains were gossamer fabrics in whites and purples.

I have to admit, I felt uncomfortable when she spoke about angels. I didn’t know how to respond to her, or indeed what to think about it. Was the fact I had witnessed her bipolar episodes making me sceptical? Or was my hurt from my past “spiritual” background making me unable to hear about such things? There were so many variables clouding my own perception, so how could I possibly be a judge of what was real or unreal? But most of all, why did I feel the need to judge? What was more important: to find a rational explanation, or to honour my friend’s experience?

I decided our friendship was more important than my own need to find a logical explanation to her angelic experiences. So, I stayed up late that night, listening to all she had to say about it. I asked her what her own feelings and thoughts were about these angels, rather than asserting any of my own. Like she gave beggars “the benefit of the doubt”, I wanted to give Marianne the benefit of the doubt too.

She was my friend.

But the next day, one of Marianne’s female friends from her religious community came over for breakfast. The two of them began to speak in the devotee “jargon” I had heard for so many decades. I realised that the Marianne I knew was not the one she showed to “devotees”, and that she was still very much involved in a world I had left, with great emotional pain, two years earlier. Almost instantly I felt myself shut down and pull away. I was not longer being open, fun, accepting and loving, but rather closed, fearful, judgemental and self-protective.

Then, Marianne’s friend asked me to join them for a “women only” spiritual event coming up. I knew she was being friendly, but as I was going through my own “clearing” process after my split from the temple, I couldn’t respond with anything but discomfort. They seemed baffled as to why I refused their invitation, but I couldn’t say anything. I felt like the delightfulness of the past three days had suddenly collapsed and washed away like a sand castle.

It was time to go back home. Marianne and her friend walked me to the station to catch my train back to London. We were all friendly, and hugged each other goodbye. But inwardly I knew I was acting different—sort of phoney and defensive. I wasn’t being myself. I couldn’t seem to snap out of it.

In 2005, I took a job in Bedford and moved out of London. One day after I left, Marianne called my house while my daughter was still living there. My daughter told her I had moved out. Marianne said, “Please tell her I called.”

But I didn’t call Marianne back. It was not due to anything she had done. I simply couldn’t be around anything that reminded me of my former spiritual community. But I couldn’t express this to her. In those days, the only way I knew how to deal with uncomfortable emotions was avoidance. The very sad truth is that I stayed away from Marianne because I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable around the Hare Krishna culture.

How ironic that the very thing that had first brought us together ultimately sent us on different paths.

Turn the clock ahead to today: March 3rd, 2012. Since 2005, my life has changed in so many ways. I am happy, stable and have found my own peace with the past, love for the present, and trust in the future. And for some reason, I really don’t know why, today I decided to try to find Marianne on Facebook.

After several searches and alternate spellings, I couldn’t find her under her name. So then, I tried Googling her stage name “Poly Styrene” to see if I could get a current email address. It was then I saw a long list of eulogies from every major newspaper and television station saying Marianne Elliot-Said, aka Poly Styrene, had died from a very aggressive form of breast cancer 10 months ago, on 25th April 2011. From the reports, it sounds like it all happened very fast, as she died only two months after she was diagnosed. The cancer had spread rapidly into her spine and lungs.

It was then I finally saw her music videos from the 70s, and even her most recent gigs. I read all about how influential she had been as one of the few female punk artists of her day. They made a big deal about the fact that she was mixed race. She used to tell me how she had struggled with being mixed race, but for some reason I never “saw” it, if you know what I mean. She was just Marianne. But now, in the press, it was made to be a really big deal. All kinds of famous people were talking about her as their friend. The person I saw presented by reporters was an entirely different person from the woman I knew.

It was really weird. I felt like she “belonged” to the world. My friendship with her seemed very insignificant.

I wondered if she had ever thought about me. I wondered if she remembered me with fondness at all, or if I had hurt her. Now, I would never be able to ask her these things.

You might wonder how I had not heard about this at the time she died. Admittedly, I don’t own a TV and I don’t read newspapers. And in spite of being very active on the social networks, for some reason I hadn’t noticed the news on Twitter or Facebook.

Even if I had caught the news of her death at the time, it wouldn’t have felt much different from how I feel today. Marianne had been my friend, but because I was going through my own “stuff” back then, I allowed us to lose track of each other. Now she’s gone. She was only 53. I could never have imagined she’d leave the world so young. I took her presence for granted, thinking I had time to rekindle our friendship someday, when I felt more relaxed around that past.

But time ran out.

My heart ached and I broke into tears.

I needed to get out of the house, so I went for a walk along the River Great Ouse here in Bedford, which usually helps to clear my head. I looked at the trees, just starting to bud with the first signs of spring. I looked at the black waters, always flowing downstream. I thought,

Life is endless. We come into the world and leave it. We cross each other’s paths, leave our imprint upon each other and then take our leave. Perhaps we remain together throughout our lives; perhaps we come in contact for only a few moments. No matter which, we inevitably will take leave of each other’s company on this physical plane.

But while those we may have loved might appear to come and go, what connects us all is this endless flow we call Life. Within that flow, nothing ever leaves us; their imprint upon us continues forever. It flows from us, to another and another, just as the river flows continuously to the sea, back to the Source, and back again to the river.

Taking some solace from these thoughts, I left the river and walked through a little patch of wooded area nearby. The Daffodils were starting to sprout, and the cool Earth was damp and slightly muddy. The sound of birds in the late afternoon surrounded me.

I found myself saying aloud,

“Marianne, did I hurt you?”

And then, I could feel the cool, uplifting sensation of white feather angel wings springing from the back of my shoulders, and pink champagne bubbles sparkling around my face. Like a joyful sorrow, I felt embraced by something unseen.

And I heard Marianne say,

“Love and Light!”

Goodbye, my friend. I am so glad I knew you, even if only for a very short time. Fly with the angels, Poly Styrene.

Lynn Serafinn
3 March 2012

This week I have had the great pleasure of hosting the 3-day telesummit “The Shift. The Message. The Transformation”, which is being sponsored by my client E.Dee Conrad, in celebration of her new book A New Dawn Awaits. The telesummit is an online event with 10 different speakers spread across 3 days. On today’s broadcast, we were talking about “The Message” of these changing times. What is it? What are we being called to do, be or understand?

Our guests were angelic channeler Jeff Fasano, spiritual teacher Tambra Harck, and “House Whisperer” Christian Kyriacou. When I asked them all what “The Message” was, here’s the essence of what each said:

Jeff said, “That we are all connected.”

Tambra said, “That we are Love.”

Christian said, “That we are already Perfect.”

As the conversation unfolded, it became clearer and clearer to me that these three words were simply different “flavours” of the same message: Unity. Unity was the Message. And the messenger? Well, the messengers were all expressing it in diverse ways.

Around midnight tonight I was on Facebook sharing comments with Jeff Fasano about this. He said, “So interesting to to hear the same message and all parts of it in different ways.”

To which my response was, “Indeed, Jeff! It really “landed” with me that “unity” is the message and “diversity” is the messenger. Beautiful.”

These words slipped out of my mouth (or, rather, my fingers… after all, I was typing on Facebook!) tha t I hadn’t even thought about them. But then, when they emerged, I know that these words will probably be attached to me for the rest of my life, because they just “grabbed” hold of me in a very profound way.

I felt SO inspired, I suddenly had an urge to create a video about it. It was like a fever. And in less than 2 hours, I made the images I wanted, found the perfect stock music and put the video together. I’d like to share it with you here:

NOTE: If you are viewing this blog post in your Inbox, you probably cannot see the video on your screen right now. If that’s the case, you can watch it on YouTube at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6borzYRHDEc .

I want this video to go VIRAL. Not for my sake. For the sake of “The Message”. It’s only a minute long. So please take 1 minute to watch it, and then leave your comments (either here or on YouTube). But most of all, SHARE it with a friend. Let the message be spread that our DIVERSITY is what allows us to unfold the same Message in so many beautiful ways.

*  *  *  *  *

A slightly more esoteric angle on this topic:

I have often said, “If Truth is True, it must be True at all times, in all places. Therefore for any “message” to be “True”, there really can only be one “Message.”

However, if such a message is to be True at all times, in all places, it must therefore be unlimitedly variegated as well. It must contain all possible ways of expressing itself. By its very nature, it must be spoken from unlimited mouths in unlimited ways. Diversity is the Messenger.

In Vedic (ancient Indian) spirituality, there is an image of Mahavishnu, the 4-armed Dreamer of Creation, lying on the coils of a cobra called Anantashesha (which basically means, “having no end”). Anantashesha is not just any cobra, mind you. He has unlimited heads (i.e., as he has “no end”, his qualities are unlimited). Of course, because he has unlimited heads, he has unlimited mouths. And what does he do with those mouths? He sings the praises of the great Dreamer of Creation, Mahavishnu, who is the embodiment of Eternal Truth.

In other words, Unity is the Message. Diversity is the Messenger.

And so we too, all of us, are a part of the great Unity wherein there is only One Message: We are all of the same essence; and that essence is Divinity, Perfection and Unconditional Love.

And just like Anantashesha, our unlimited forms and variety serve only to give unlimited flavour and colour to the One Truth.

May all human beings embrace their beautiful diversity and become Messengers for this Message.

Shift the World. SHARE this Video.

Thanks so much.

Lynn

P.S.: If you’d like to hear the playback of “The Shift. The Message. The Transformation,” go to http://virtualspiritualevents.com

About Lynn Serafinn

Lynn Serafinn is a an award-winning transformation coach, book promotion coach, radio host and bestselling author of the book The Garden of the Soul: lessons from four flowers that unearth the Self. She also works as a campaign manager for mind-body-spirit authors and has produced two #1-selling book campaigns, and another #2-selling campaign, in just the past few months. She is also the creator of Spirit Authors, which offers training, coaching, business-building and inspiration for mind-body-spirit authors, whether established or aspiring. To contact Lynn for coaching, campaign management or media appearances, please fill in the form at http://spiritauthors.com/contact.

[mlb/]

Apart from being the one day of the year where parents surrender all attempts to keep their children on a healthy diet, Halloween is also the day where we, both children and adults, get to dress up and make believe we are someone or something else for a day. What we choose could be our alter ego, our wildest fantasy or our scariest nightmare. I believe we can often learn a lot about ourselves by looking back at what we wanted to be on Halloween when we were children.

What do our Halloween costumes reveal?

I remember the very first Halloween outfit that I selected for myself when I was about 4 years old. My mother took me to the shop to look at costumes. She suggested a very pretty “Fairy Princess” costume, which was a long pastel pink and white dress with lace and ruffles, accessorised with a sparkly crown. While I liked the sparkly crown, the frilliness and the colour of the dress didn’t appeal to me. Instead, I opted for the “Gypsy Princess” costume. The colours were vivid—strips of emerald green, rich magenta, bright gold and deep purple fabric layered atop a flowing black taffeta skirt. The top was a white peasant blouse and instead of a crown, it had a brightly printed headscarf and big dangly “jewellery”. It was not at all “frilly”, and seemed exotic to me. I loved to dance and spin around and around in it, watching the skirt fly in billowy circles around me.

So, fifty years on, what can I understand about myself when I look back at this? I can see that even from a very early age I was showing my natural inclination towards the arty and bohemian side of life. And years later, I indeed would become a musician and a writer, with a tendency to move from place to place every few years (my father always called me a gypsy). While I do consider myself to be extremely feminine, I was never what you would call a “girlie girl”, and to this day I simply cannot wear pastels!

What were some of the Halloween (or other fancy dress) costumes you chose for yourself when you were a child? Don’t worry if they were scary ghosts or monsters. Maybe these characters were helping you express your natural sense of humour and fun, or maybe they were expressions of your inner courage in the face of fear. Maybe your costume expressed a hidden side of you that was not able to express itself any other way. Or maybe, your mom or dad picked out your costume for you and it didn’t express you at all! Even if that was the case, it can tell us a lot about the history of our self-expression.

What can our childhood make-believe tells us about ourselves?

Halloween is not the only time we make believe as children, of course. How many of us had favourite characters we pretended to be when we played either alone or with others? In my book The Garden of the Soul, I share one of my make-believe characters—a talking parrot named Polly who was the navigator of a space ship, taking human beings on journeys through the Milky Way. In other games, we would sometimes play “school” and I would be the teacher. Other times, we played “church” and I would be the priest. So what else can I learn about my natural personality from my childhood make-believe? Looking back, I can see that I was expressing my natural eccentricity (I was a parrot and not a human being!) and my love for exploration. I could see I was becoming the navigator—the one who would lead others to new things. I was revealing my inclination towards being an explorer, a traveller, a teacher and even a spiritual guide. There is so much we can learn about ourselves when we look back at how we played as children.

Take a moment to think back to your own childhood. What “make-believe” characters and personalities did you naturally step into? To what degree were they expressions of who you really were inside, or who you wished (or knew) you would become? What did these characters say about you at your core? What values or qualities did these characters reveal about you? Were you a super hero fighting for justice? A spy who loved risk and intrigue? A time traveller fascinated by the past or the future? A space traveller curious about what makes the Universe tick? A pirate seeking adventure or treasure? A mommy or daddy expressing family values and love?

The roles we play as adults

As children, making believe is an important tool to help us discover, explore and express who we are. But unfortunately, when many of us grow up, we continue to take on “costumes” and “masks” in our in our family, social group or work environment that, rather than express who we are, limit our authentic expression and natural personality. We take on “roles” where we “play” a certain part in our daily dramas. Examples of roles might be “the good girl”, “the wounded one”, “the sensible one” or “the peace maker”. And there are so many more besides these. Just like putting on a Halloween costume or making believe, when we step into these roles, we “become” them, and often find ourselves restricted and frustrated as a result. For instance, if you have taken on the role of the “peace maker” in your family or your workplace, you might find yourself without a voice, as you are continually trying to balance the imbalances of others around you. The irony is that you yourself might never feel peaceful, and your efforts might actually create more unrest and lack of connection in your environment. If you take on the role of “the wounded one”, you might find it difficult to become independent because you might come to believe that you need the continual support of other people or things in order to feel safe. The irony of course is that this neediness can in fact end up pushing away the very support you believe you need, only reinforcing your feelings of being “wounded”.

When we put on a Halloween costume or making believe, we know we are “playing”. But unfortunately, many of us are unaware of the roles we play as adults. We intuitively sense that something is not quite right but we cannot put our finger on it. Our roles can be difficult to recognise if we have been stuck in them since childhood and we don’t know any differently. One of the first things I help clients see when they come to me for coaching are these unconscious roles or scripts they might be playing our in their heads, that are making their lives unfulfilling in one way or another. Somewhat playfully, I call these roles and scripts “monsters”, and I teach clients how to recognise and shift the monsters both in one-to-one coaching and in my course “Making Friends with the Monsters Under Your Bed”. The good news is that over time, it is possible to become conscious of the unconscious roles we play; and as we bring them into our awareness, we can move away from feeling trapped by them, and towards being able to choose whether or not we wish to continue wearing these “costumes” if we feel they are not serving our greater good.

Taking off the masks

People sometimes ask what I mean by the term “personal transformation”. Basically it simply means bringing what was once in the darkness (unconscious and unaware) into the light (conscious and aware). When we bring our shadow into the light of awareness, we step into the person we really are, and cease playing roles that do not reflect the light of our inner Self.

While personal transformation is essential for our Self actualisation and ultimate happiness, it does come with a caveat. It is important to understand that if our role is something we tend to “default” to in our family, social or work situations, chances are many other members in that scenario are also playing their own roles, without awareness of the fact they are doing so. And if you suddenly become aware and step out of your “assigned” role, it can really rock the boat! Imagine that everyone in your life is on stage in a play. You have a part to play and you have played it for years. Then suddenly, you start reading the lines of the hero, when you are “supposed” to be playing the villain, or the servant or the milkman. Of course, the whole cast would become confused wondering who they are supposed to “play” now. All hell would break loose on stage!

When you decide to take off your mask in life, a similar scenario might take place if the people around you are not at a similar level of conscious evolution as you are. In other words, your shifting away from your previously unconscious, disempowering roles can frequently confuse and even anger your family, friends and work colleagues. With time, most will adjust, but occasionally people cannot or will not adjust to the new “you” (which is actually the “true you”) and you might actually “lose” people along the way, or at the very least be the recipient of their judgments and criticism. While this is a necessary risk we must take in the name of finding fulfilment, the thought of the ramifications of that risk can sometimes be really scary. For many of us, lack of awareness coupled by the fear of losing money, job, friends or family are the primary reasons why we stay stuck playing the roles we privately hate the most.

Transformation takes self-awareness, courage and self-honesty. But even more, it takes self-love and commitment to your own wellbeing. In order to step out of the costumes that do not reflect who you really are, you must be willing to remain steadfast in your commitment to your own happiness during the process of transition, even if it means risking a period of unsettledness in your relationships or lifestyle. This risk is essential before you can step into your true “costume”—where you are the hero of your own life.

Stepping into your superhero costume

Those of you who follow my work know that it is my firm belief that every human being is born the “hero” of his/her own life. And it is my belief that when you finally step into your Authentic Self, whatever that might be, you become a genuine superhero, and that this “costume” is the only one that is meant for you.

How do you know you have finally stepped into your superhero costume? It has nothing to do with saving the world or leaping over tall buildings. When you feel inwardly empowered, natural and free, you are the superhero. When you genuinely feel seen and heard, you are the superhero. When you feel connected to Self, other and the Universe, you are the superhero. When you are smiling and having FUN, you are the superhero.

In short, when you know you are being YOU, you are the superhero. And as you know, a real superhero is capable of great things.

Every day, I express my gratitude for being able to live a life that is in alignment with the person I know I was born to be. I have finally thrown away the countless costumes of the past that did not serve me, and I now wear one costume—the ME costume! And you know what? The “ME” costume still contains elements of that bold, colourful, dancing Gypsy Princess and the Polly the Space Navigator Parrot. In all I do, I express that same freedom and creativity that I knew was my Authentic Self when I was a child. But of course the “ME costume is so much greater than that. And make no mistake—your “YOU” costume is truly a coat of unlimited colours.

So this Halloween, as you don your holiday costume, or next week when you return to work, and step into your default role at your job, ask yourself how well these costumes express your innermost being. And if the answer is “Not very well”, perhaps it is time to explore a different fancy dress shop, and try on some new costumes for a change. But if the answer is “Yes, completely!” you just might be living the life of a superhero.

May you step into your YOU costume, and your every day be Halloween, filled with treats.

Lynn Serafinn
31 Oct 2009

P.S.: The title of this article is taken from one of my FAVOURITE songs by Ministry, which really reflects the whole idea of what we see/show of ourselves to others. Hear the track on my Blip.FM page at: http://blip.fm/~fo6cr Have fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lynn Serafinn, MAED, CPCC is a transformation coach, speaker, radio host and author of the bestselling book The Garden of the Soul: lessons from four flowers that unearth the Self.

Lynn coaches clients from all over the world via telephone. If you would like to discover and unleash your inner hero, call Lynn for a FR*EE  no obligation coaching consultation at 0845 880 28 25 during normal business hours, or fill in a consultation request form at http://www.create-a-life.co.uk/free_consultation_request.html