Call it ‘Rich Asshole Syndrome’—the tendency to distance yourself from people with whom you have a large wealth differential.
In 2007, Gary Rivlin wrote a New York Times feature profile of highly successful people in Silicon Valley. One of them, Hal Steger, lived with his wife in a million-dollar house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Their net worth was about $3.5 million. Assuming a reasonable return of 5 percent, Steger and his wife were positioned to cash out, invest their capital, and glide through the rest of their lives on a passive income of around $175,000 per year after glorious year. Instead, Rivlin wrote, “Most mornings, [Steger] can be found at his desk by 7. He typically works 12 hours a day and logs an extra 10 hours over the weekend.” Steger, 51 at the time, was aware of the irony (sort of): “I know people looking in from the outside will ask why someone like me keeps working so hard,” he told Rivlin. “But a few million doesn’t go as far as it used to.”
Steger was presumably referring to the corrosive effects of inflation on the currency, but he appeared to be unaware of how wealth was affecting his own psyche. “Silicon Valley is thick with those who might be called working-class millionaires,” wrote Rivlin, “nose-to-the-grindstone people like Mr. Steger who, much to their surprise, are still working as hard as ever even as they find themselves among the fortunate few. But many such accomplished and ambitious members of the digital elite still do not think of themselves as particularly fortunate, in part because they are surrounded by people with more wealth—often a lot more.”
After interviewing a sample of executives for his piece, Rivlin concluded that “those with a few million dollars often see their accumulated wealth as puny, a reflection of their modest status in the new Gilded Age, when hundreds of thousands of people have accumulated much vaster fortunes.” Gary Kremen was another glaring example. With a net worth of around $10 million as the founder of Match.com, Kremen understood the trap he was in: “Everyone around here looks at the people above them,” he said. “You’re nobody here at $10 million.” If you’re nobody with $10 million, what’s it cost to be somebody?
Now, you may be thinking, “Fuck those guys and the private jets they rode in on.” Fair enough. But here’s the thing: those guys are already fucked. Really. They worked like hell to get where they are—and they’ve got access to more wealth than 99.999 percent of the human beings who have ever lived—but they’re still not where they think they need to be. Without a fundamental change in the way they approach their lives, they’ll never reach their ever-receding goals. And if the futility of their situation ever dawns on them like a dark sunrise, they’re unlikely to receive a lot of sympathy from their friends and family.
What if most rich assholes are made, not born? What if the cold-heartedness so often associated with the upper crust—let’s call it Rich Asshole Syndrome—isn’t the result of having been raised by a parade of resentful nannies, too many sailing lessons, or repeated caviar overdoses, but the compounded disappointment of being lucky but still feeling unfulfilled? We’re told that those with the most toys are winning, that money represents points on the scoreboard of life. But what if that tired story is just another facet of a scam in which we’re all getting ripped off?
The Spanish word aislar means both “to insulate” and “to isolate,” which is what most of us do when we get more money. We buy a car so we can stop taking the bus. We move out of the apartment with all those noisy neighbors into a house behind a wall. We stay in expensive, quiet hotels rather than the funky guest houses we used to frequent. We use money to insulate ourselves from the risk, noise, inconvenience. But the insulation comes at the price of isolation. Our comfort requires that we cut ourselves off from chance encounters, new music, unfamiliar laughter, fresh air, and random interaction with strangers. Researchers have concluded again and again that the single most reliable predictor of happiness is feeling embedded in a community. In the 1920s, around five percent of Americans lived alone. Today, more than a quarter do—the highest levels ever, according to the Census Bureau. Meanwhile, the use of antidepressants has increased over 400 percent in just the past twenty years and abuse of pain medication is a growing epidemic. Correlation doesn’t prove causation, but those trends aren’t unrelated. Maybe it’s time to ask some impertinent questions about formerly unquestionable aspirations, such as comfort, wealth, and power.
I was in India the first time it occurred to me that I, too, was a rich asshole. I’d been traveling for a couple of months, ignoring the beggars as best I could. Having lived in New York, I was accustomed to averting my attention from desperate adults and psychotics, but I was having trouble getting used to the groups of children who would gather right next to my table at street-level restaurants, staring hungrily at the food on my plate. Eventually, a waiter would come and shoo them away, but they’d just run out to the street and watch from there—waiting for me to leave the waiter’s protection, hoping I’d bring some scraps with me.
In New York, I’d developed psychological defenses against the desperation I saw in the streets. I told myself that there were social services for homeless people, that they would just use my money to buy drugs or booze, that they’d probably brought their situation on themselves. But none of that worked with these Indian kids. There were no shelters waiting to receive them. I saw them sleeping in the streets at night, huddled together for warmth, like puppies. They weren’t going to spend my money unwisely. They weren’t even asking for money. They were just staring at my food like the starving creatures they were. And their emaciated bodies were brutally clear proof that they weren’t faking their hunger.
“The problem is caused by the inequality itself: It triggers a chemical reaction in the privileged few. It tilts their brains.”
A few times, I bought a dozen samosas and handed them out, but the food was gone in an instant, and I was left with an even bigger crowd of kids (and, often, adults) surrounding me with their hands out, touching me, seeking my eyes, pleading. I knew the numbers. With what I’d spent on my one-way ticket from New York to New Delhi, I could have pulled a few families out of the debt that would hold them down for generations. With what I’d spent in New York restaurants the year before, I could have put a few of those kids through school. Hell, with what I’d budgeted for a year of traveling in Asia, I probably could have built a school.
I wish I could tell you I did some of that, but I didn’t. Instead, I developed the psychological scar tissue necessary to ignore the situation. I learned to stop thinking about things I could have done, but knew I wouldn’t. I stopped making facial expressions that suggested I had any capacity for compassion. I learned to step over bodies in the street—dead or sleeping—without looking down. I learned to do these things because I had to—or so I told myself. Textbook RAS.
Research conducted at the University of Toronto by Stéphane Côté and colleagues confirms that the rich are less generous than the poor, but their findings suggest it’s more complicated than simply wealth making people stingy. Rather, it’s the distance created by wealth differentials that seems to break the natural flow of human kindness. Côté found that “higher-income individuals are only less generous if they reside in a highly unequal area or when inequality is experimentally portrayed as relatively high.” Rich people were as generous as anyone else when inequality was low. The rich are less generous when inequality is extreme, a finding that challenges the idea that higher-income individuals are just more selfish. If the person who needs help doesn’t seem that different from us, we’ll probably help them out. But if they seem too far away (culturally, economically) we’re less likely to lend a hand.
The social distance separating rich and poor, like so many of the other distances that separate us from each other, only entered human experience after the advent of agriculture and the hierarchical civilizations that followed, which is why it’s so psychologically difficult to twist your soul into a shape that allows you to ignore starving children standing close enough to smell your plate of curry. You’ve got to silence the inner voice calling for justice and for fairness. But we silence this ancient, insistent voice at great cost to our own psychological well-being.
A wealthy friend of mine recently told me, “You get successful by saying ‘yes,’ but you need to say ‘no’ a lot to stay successful.” If you’re perceived to be wealthier than those around you, you’ll have to say “no” a lot. You’ll be constantly approached with requests, offers, pitches, and pleas—whether you’re in a Starbucks in Silicon Valley or the back streets of Calcutta. Refusing sincere requests for help doesn’t come naturally to our species. Neuroscientists Jorge Moll, Jordan Grafman, and Frank Krueger of the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS) have used fMRI machines to demonstrate that altruism is deeply embedded in human nature. Their work suggests that the deep satisfaction most people derive from altruistic behavior is not due to a benevolent cultural overlay, but from the evolved architecture of the human brain.
When volunteers in their studies placed the interests of others before their own, a primitive part of the brain normally associated with food or sex was activated. When researchers measured vagal tone (an indicator of feeling safe and calm) in 74 preschoolers, they found that children who’d donated tokens to help sick kids had much better readings than those who’d kept all their tokens for themselves. Jonas Miller, the lead investigator, said that the findings suggested “we might be wired from a young age to derive a sense of safety from providing care for others.” But Miller and his colleagues also found that whatever innate predisposition our species has toward charity is influenced by social cues. Children from wealthier families shared fewer tokens than the children from less well-off families.
Psychologists Dacher Keltner and Paul Piff monitored intersections with four-way stop signs and found that people in expensive cars were four times more likely to cut in front of other drivers, compared to folks in more modest vehicles. When the researchers posed as pedestrians waiting to cross a street, all the drivers in cheap cars respected their right of way, while those in expensive cars drove right on by 46.2 percent of the time, even when they’d made eye contact with the pedestrians waiting to cross. Other studies by the same team showed that wealthier subjects were more likely to cheat at an array of tasks and games. For example, Keltner reported that wealthier subjects were far more likely to claim they’d won a computer game—even though the game was rigged so that winning was impossible. Wealthy subjects were more likely to lie in negotiations and excuse unethical behavior at work, like lying to clients in order to make more money. When Keltner and Piff left a jar of candy in the entrance to their lab with a sign saying whatever was left over would be given to kids at a nearby school, they found that wealthier people stole more candy from the babies.
Researchers at the New York State Psychiatric Institute surveyed 43,000 people and found that the rich were far more likely to walk out of a store with merchandise they hadn’t paid for than were poorer people. Findings like this (and the behavior of drivers at intersections) could reflect the fact that wealthy people worry less about potential legal repercussions. If you know you can afford bail and a good lawyer, running a red light now and then or swiping a Snickers bar may seem less risky. But the selfishness goes deeper than such considerations. A coalition of nonprofit organizations called the Independent Sector found that, on average, people with incomes below $25,000 per year typically gave away a little over 4 percent of their income, while those earning more than $150,000 donated only 2.7 percent (despite tax benefits the rich can get from charitable giving that are unavailable to someone making much less).
There is reason to believe that blindness to the suffering of others is a psychological adaptation to the discomfort caused by extreme wealth disparities. Michael W. Kraus and colleagues found that people of higher socio-economic status were actually less able to read emotions in other people’s faces. It wasn’t that they cared less what those faces were communicating; they were simply blind to the cues. And Keely Muscatell, a neuroscientist at UCLA, found that wealthy people’s brains showed far less activity than the brains of poor people when they looked at photos of children with cancer.
Books such as Snakes in Suits: When Psychopaths Go to Work and The Psychopath Test argue that many traits characteristic of psychopaths are celebrated in business: ruthlessness, a convenient absence of social conscience, a single-minded focus on “success.” But while psychopaths may be ideally suited to some of the most lucrative professions, I’m arguing something different here. It’s not just that heartless people are more likely to become rich. I’m saying that being rich tends to corrode whatever heart you’ve got left. I’m suggesting, in other words, that it’s likely the wealthy subjects who participated in Muscatell’s study learned to be less unsettled by the photos of sick kids by the experience of being rich—much as I learned to ignore starving children in Rajastan so I could comfortably continue my vacation.
In an essay called “Extreme Wealth is Bad for Everyone—Especially the Wealthy,” Michael Lewis observed, “It is beginning to seem that the problem isn’t that the kind of people who wind up on the pleasant side of inequality suffer from some moral disability that gives them a market edge. The problem is caused by the inequality itself: It triggers a chemical reaction in the privileged few. It tilts their brains. It causes them to be less likely to care about anyone but themselves or to experience the moral sentiments needed to be a decent citizen.”
Ultimately, diminished empathy is self-destructive. It leads to social isolation, which is strongly associated with sharply increased health risks, including stroke, heart disease, depression, and dementia.
In one of my favorite studies, Keltner and Piff decided to tweak a game of Monopoly. The psychologists rigged the game so that one player had huge advantages over the other from the start. They ran the study with over a hundred pairs of subjects, all of whom were brought into the lab where a coin was flipped to determine who’d be “rich” and “poor” in the game. The randomly chosen “rich” player started out with twice as much money, collected twice as much every time they went around the board, and got to roll two dice instead of one. None of these advantages was hidden from the players. Both were well aware of how unfair the situation was. But still, the “winning” players showed the tell-tale symptoms of Rich Asshole Syndrome. They were far more likely to display dominant behaviors like smacking the board with their piece, loudly celebrating their superior skill, even eating more pretzels from a bowl positioned nearby.
After 15 minutes, the experimenters asked the subjects to discuss their experience of playing the game. When the rich players talked about why they’d won, they focused on their brilliant strategies rather than the fact that the whole game was rigged to make it nearly impossible for them to lose. “What we’ve been finding across dozens of studies and thousands of participants across this country,” said Piff, “is that as a person’s levels of wealth increase, their feelings of compassion and empathy go down, and their feelings of entitlement, of deservingness, and their ideology of self-interest increases.”
Of course, there are exceptions to these tendencies. Plenty of wealthy people have the wisdom to navigate the difficult currents their good fortune generates without succumbing to RAS—but such people are rare, and they tend to come from humble origins. Perhaps an understanding of the debilitating effects of wealth explains why some who have built large fortunes are vowing not to pass their wealth to their children. Several billionaires, including Chuck Feeney, Bill Gates, and Warren Buffett have pledged to give away all or most of their money before they die. Buffet has famously said that he intends to leave his kids “enough to do anything, but not enough to do nothing.” The same impulse is expressed among those lower on the millionaire totem pole. According to an article on CNBC.com, Craig Wolfe, the owner of CelebriDucks, the largest custom collectible rubber duck manufacturer, intends to leave the millions he’s made to charity, which is amazing—but nowhere near as amazing as the fact that someone made millions of dollars selling collectible rubber ducks.
Do you know someone who suffers from RAS? There may be help for them. UC Berkeley researcher Robb Willer and his team conducted studies in which participants were given cash and instructed to play games of various complexity that would benefit “the public good.”
Participants who showed the greatest generosity benefited from more respect and cooperation from their peers and had more social influence. “The findings suggest that anyone who acts only in his or her narrow self-interest will be shunned, disrespected, even hated,” Willer said. “But those who behave generously with others are held in high esteem by their peers and thus rise in status.” Keltner and Piff have seen the same thing: “We’ve been finding in our own laboratory research that small psychological interventions, small changes to people’s values, small nudges in certain directions, can restore levels of egalitarianism and empathy,” said Piff. “For instance, reminding people of the benefits of cooperation, or the advantages of community, cause wealthier individuals to be just as egalitarian as poor people.” In one study, they showed subjects a short video—just 46 seconds long—about childhood poverty. They then checked the subjects’ willingness to help a stranger presented to them in the lab who appeared to be in distress. An hour after watching the video, rich people were as willing to lend a hand as were poor subjects. Piff believes these results suggest that “these differences are not innate or categorical, but are malleable to slight changes in people’s values, and little nudges of compassion and bumps of empathy.”
Piff’s findings align with the lessons passed along by thousands of generations of our foraging ancestors, whose survival depended on developing social webs of mutual aid. Selfishness, they understood, leads only to death: first social and ultimately biological. While the neo-Hobbesians struggle to explain how human altruism can exist, other scientists question their premise, asking if there’s any functional utility to selfishness. “Given how much is to be gained through generosity,” says Robb Willer, “social scientists increasingly wonder less why people are ever generous and more why they are ever selfish.”
Decades of “greed is good” messaging has sought to remove a sense of shame from being a beneficiary of outrageous extremes of wealth inequality. Still, the shame lingers, because the messaging runs up against one of our species’ deepest innate values. Institutions seeking to justify a fundamentally anti-human economic system constantly rebroadcast the message that winning the money game will bring satisfaction and happiness. But we’ve got around 300,000 years of ancestral experience telling us it just isn’t so. Selfishness may be essential to civilization, but that only raises the question of whether a civilization so out of step with our evolved nature makes sense for the human beings within it.
From Civilized to Death: The Price of Progress, by Christopher Ryan. Copyright © 2019 by Christopher Ryan. Reprinted by permission of Avid Reader Press, a Simon & Schuster imprint
(Contributed by Gwyllm Llwydd.)
Something strange happened with the birth of the internet; something changed about how we understand our identity and our existence. And that something was that our sense of self got translated into 0s and 1s so that we could project a part of our being as a single node into a global network of nodes made up of other selves.
In a way, this is no different from how we interact with our more local cultures, whether they be our families, our communities, our corporations, or our nations. All of these entities are cultures of interconnected selves in a network that changes and evolves relative to the thoughts, the emotions, and the behaviors of the individuals that make up the collective. The culture influences us just as we influence the culture.
The way that the internet is different, however, is the speed and the scale of the network. Things move quicker in the digital world, and on top of that, it is — as the late media theorist Marshall McLuhan put it — a global village. The reach of this network extends to each and every corner of the world rather than just the bubbles that physically surround us in the day-to-day world of atoms. Like with most great technologies, these facts have combined to augment both the best and the worst of humanity. The core that builds out this augmentation, however, is this: We are now crowded by more information than we have ever previously had to make sense of.
Growing up in a generation even as recent as the mid-20th century meant that your sense of self was mostly shaped by a combination of your local cultures, popular media culture, your education, and whatever life experiences you accumulated living in the real world. Today, however, things are slightly different. The internet has not only completely shattered and broken what we think of as popular culture into million little pieces, incapable of making a coherent whole, but it has also equipped us with all of humanity’s knowledge. Now, access to the diversity of information and cultures and knowledge can lead to power, but too much information and too many cultures and too much knowledge only overwhelm, and given how the human mind works, leading us to confusion. As the late psychotherapist Carl Jung put it:
“The pendulum of the mind oscillates between sense and nonsense, not between right and wrong. The numinosum is dangerous because it lures men to extremes, so that a modest truth is regarded as the truth and a minor mistake is equated with fatal error.”
Our mind has filters to deal with information overload, breaking things down and making them simpler for us to consume, but as Jung insinuated, these filters aren’t necessarily the paragons of rationality. They don’t filter between what is objectively right or objectively wrong, but rather, they filter how well the information coheres with our existing state of mind, our existing sense of self, to maintain its sanity in a world far more complex than it could wish to comprehend in a limited amount of time.
In the past, growing up in local cultures in the physical world, we had these same filters in place, of course, but we also had more time and less information. Your parents may have conditioned you one way, your teachers another, and your friends, too, but there was a limit to how much they could communicate with you. This meant that you had both the time and the space to think, and if the conditioning wasn’t useful, your sense of self would eventually be aware enough to have an easier time rejecting it, even if you filtered for coherence and short-term sanity in the beginning.
In the global village created by the internet, on the other hand, the node of your digital self is constantly bombarded by the larger network, which is itself shaped by hidden algorithms, mostly manipulated by those who happen to shout the loudest. For the average person, the amount of consumption far exceeds the amount of time they have to rationally make sense of it. And when they can’t rationally make sense of it, they take shortcuts, which is clearly apparent in the rampant and blind tribalism on most social media networks. And, of course, those who refuse to take shortcuts often get punished for this by a state of constant and bewildering confusion they feel regarding their place in all of this.
The internet is still young, and it is still learning to organize itself. But until it does, the most important skill in the 21st century will be the ability to rationally refine the sense-making apparatus of our mind. Rather than blindly following the automatic filters and biases of the brain, it will be to create our own information filters. Rather than simply being a node in the grand network, it will be to see the network as a whole as it continues to evolve. Rather than pretending that the information we consume has already been filtered for right and wrong just because our own sense of self has an attachment to a particular tribe or an idea that makes us feel emotionally secure, it will be to ask why that information might be right or wrong from someone else’s point of view.
At its core, this kind of sense-making has two components: The first is to do the work to figure out which information should be consumed and which should be discarded — consciously, beyond our personal biases, and ideally, from as many diverse perspectives as possible; the second is to just step away from it all to simply think about what is consumed and how it all connects.
The American philosopher Ken Wilber likes to assert that everybody has some important piece of the truth. This applies to people, as well as to ideas. And yes, while the words of, say, a racist might make objectively false language claims, the emotional experience that underlies those claims has a sliver of truth because it explains their complex relationship to reality, however misguided their words and any subsequent actions may be, or however uncomfortable that may make us. And if you take a hundred or a thousand different little truths, dig a little deeper into each of them rather than blindly dismissing whatever threatens your attachment to your own sense of self, what you end up with is a mosaic of interrelated experiences that collectively guide the global culture. A network of truths unveils itself rather than whatever truth is most comforting to you.
In the modern world, we have far more information than we know what to do with. It’s perhaps far more than we could wish to reasonably make sense of no matter how many filters we intentionally create, no matter how long we step away to think about our consumption. That said, this simple fact is a gift or a curse relative to what we do about it. If we take the easy way out, which is the way of blind association to whatever part of the network it is that conditions our own personal node, then we all suffer. If, however, we are more intentional in how we choose to interact with this information, we can start to put together enough pieces of the puzzle to at least peek at some important parts of the picture without even having to fully complete it.
The most effective people learn to close the gap between what makes sense and what is right. What makes sense is what is coherent only if you ignore anything that doesn’t suit your existing narrative. Rightness, on the other hand, is the willingness to embrace temporary incoherence — or a state of confusion and nonsense — long enough that a broader and more honest mental model of the world can be created. One accepts only what makes it feel comfortable; the other seeks out and corrects errors to make itself better aligned with the actual workings of reality.
The scope of our sense-making apparatus has grown from local to global within a generation. Not only is there more daily pressure applied to it, but the amount of time it has to respond to these challenges is getting shorter. What matters isn’t what we consume, but how the grand total of our consumption is made sense of, and increasingly, in this latter regard, we are fighting an uphill battle that is edging us towards an unconscious perception of reality rather than a truthful one.
If we don’t effectively use our tools, our tools end up using us. In the 21st century, the difference will be determined by how we manage information.
Playing at the intersection of science, art, and philosophy. Trying to be less wrong. I share my more intimate thoughts at www.designluck.com/community.
(Contributed by Heather Williams, H.W., M.)
A video about the astrology of the Saturn-Pluto co-presence and conjunction in Capricorn from 2018-2020.
Translators: Mike Zonta, Hanz Bolen, Melissa Goodnight, Richard Branam
SENSE TESTIMONY: Cadres working against each other can cause antagonism and impeachment.
5th Step Conclusions:
1) Truth is the unimpeachable, inexcusable protagonist, always at the center of everything, already a complete success with no additional effort required, one cadre working harmoniously everywhere.
2) One Infinite Consciousness, is boundlessly comprehensive and limitlessly inclusive, of all genuine goodness and authentic legitimacy — invincibly empowering the supremacy of Truth, that is always indivisible and thus indomitable.
3) Truth I AM is abundantly touching, knowing, guiding all, a self evident radiance of powerful presence, agreement and well being.
4) Truth is the Nucleus: Energy Workshop, this Effectively Operational Influence Exerts’ it’s Cognitive Narrative: Agency of Celebration, Being I AM THOU CONSCIOUSNESS, , Because I AM, Knows’ that Truth is straight on the Mark, this likeness is the Perfume that Thoroughly Enriches life Itself.
All Translators are welcome to join this group. See BB Upcoming Events.
BostonDynamics Atlas uses its whole body — legs, arms, torso — to perform a sequence of dynamic maneuvers that form a gymnastic routine. We created the maneuvers using new techniques that streamline the development process. First, an optimization algorithm transforms high-level descriptions of each maneuver into dynamically-feasible reference motions. Then Atlas tracks the motions using a model predictive controller that smoothly blends from one maneuver to the next. Using this approach, we developed the routine significantly faster than previous Atlas routines, with a performance success rate of about 80%.
For more information visit us at https://www.BostonDynamics.com.
The King Within: Accessing the King in the Male Psyche
In this pioneering contribution to masculine psychology, Robert L. Moore, a Jungian psychoanalyst, and Douglas Gillette, a mythologist, examine the inner King-one of the four archetypes of the male psyche. Asleep-as far as Ego-awareness is concerned-for untold generations, the King at the center of every man’s soul is now returning to consciousness. His return is heralded by many men’s growing sense of empowered masculine authenticity and by their enlarged capacity to empower others: other men, their friends and co-workers, the women in their lives, and their children. The inner King integrates power and nurturing, firmness and caring, courage and creativity, self-affirmation and self-sacrifice. From his central position between the world of imagination and the world of action, the King within challenges every man to take up his own scepter, to dream dreams, and to make them come true. This new revised and expanded Text Edition of The King Within recounts, as did the first edition, the many gifts the King can bestow on men. It also offers expanded discussion of techniques for accessing and regulating the King’s powerful energies. Most importantly, it presents, for the first time, a 47-page description of the 16 configurations in which the four archetypes appear in men’s personalities. This additional section includes newly created graphics that illustrate Robert Moore’s ground-breaking “Structural Psychoanalysis,” a new and vital integration of psychoanalytic and spiritual theories that will help men achieve a full and authentic maturity-so as to steward a new and better world into being.
Optimistic “4 million people call LA home. 4 million stories. 4 million voices…sometimes you just have to stop and listen to one, to hear something beautiful.” – LAPD Headquarters
Russell Brand Learn to meditate with Deepak Chopra & Russell Brand! In this video Deepak teaches Russell how to meditate, with a simple but extremely effective and easy set of steps. This is a technique that can be used for meditation for beginners, meditation for stress and meditation for kids. If you want to learn how to meditate check this out!
This is a clip from the upcoming Under The Skin podcast with Deepak Chopra and Russell Brand. You can listen to part one of this conversation this Saturday 28th September only on Luminary! Get Luminary here: http://luminary.link/russell