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More Praise for Uncovering the Life of Your Dreams

Uncovering the Life of Your Dreams is an insightful, enjoyable read. It opens us up to new perspectives about what reality is and how we co-create within it to find our purpose, move beyond our limitations, and create the fulfilling life we were meant to have.”

—Howard Martin, co-author, The HeartMath Solution and Heart Intelligence, Executive Vice President, HeartMath Inc.

“A fascinating reflection on what really matters!”

—Marshall Goldsmith, New York Times #1 bestselling author of Triggers, MOJO, and What Got You Here Won't Get You There

“Bruce Schneider has achieved a rare alignment between lofty aspiration and practical reality, manifesting a life that is the expression of his dreams. In an original, entertaining, and compelling way, Uncovering the Life of Your Dreams shows how you can do this, too.”

—Michael J. Gelb, author of How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci and The Art of Connection

Uncovering the Life of Your Dreams is a book that can't be read just once. I love the story and the playful way it introduces key concepts for a meaningful and joyful life. In sharing the concepts with my team, I've found that the book meets people where they are at and helps them on their personal development and leadership journeys.”

—Simone Noordegraaf, Head of GBS Europe @ AkzoNobel, Amsterdam, The Netherlands

“I loved it! A unique and mesmerizing book that expands your creativity and awakens your inner genius.”

—Dr. Joe Vitale, author of Zero Limits and The Awakened Millionaire

“In my profession, faith is the difference between winning and losing. Uncovering the Life of Your Dreams offers not only faith, but also a unique process that can empower you to become the extraordinary person you were meant to be.”

—Carlos Beltran, 9-time Major League Baseball All-Star

uncovering the life of your dreams

An Enlightening Story

bruce d schneider

Wiley Logo

To the iPEC coaches and other members of the community, who help people
uncover and then live the life of their dreams.


With Gratitude to …

Liz Fisch, for too many things to mention here, except your tremendous talents and effort in making this book what it is.

iPEC CEO Joan Ryan, President Luke Iorio, and colleague Monica Coleman, for your support, partnership, and important contributions.

iPEC's marketing team, who worked tirelessly to create the life-changing community: Heather Doyle, Michael Robinson, Cassandra Gaddis, Erika Schneider, Jenny Wiley, Jordan Page, Laura Kunzie, Rachel Hurley, and Shaunlee Hostutler.

iPEC's co-owners, partners, trainers, and mentors, as well as my friends and family who helped in the creation of this book. Whether you gave feedback on a preview copy, were the inspiration for a character, or played another role, know that my gratitude is unending. Though this list is long, it is not all-inclusive, as it would take another book to fully honor all the amazing people who deserve to be recognized for their presence in my life:

Amina Hedayat, Anabel Francisco, Andy Zundel, Angela Stanford, Anissa Matthews, Ascanio Pignatelli, Barb Newton, Barbara Anselmi, Barbara Curatolo, Barbra Schneider, Bill Bent, Bill Sex, Bridgette Simmonds, Cheryl Johns, Cheryl Neville, Chris Finnegan, Christie Koenigsmark, Christine Kloser, Christine Rodek, Christine Scantland, Cindy DuSair, Cindy Gardner, Cory Katuna, Craig Schneiderman, Dan Beldowicz, Daniel Macca, Debbie Bercume, Debbie Jaques, Debby Lott, Deborah Degner, Deborah Van de Grift, Demetra Moore, Don Madura, Ed Abel, Francine Carter, Gary Fisch, Gary Kamen, Gianina Monroe, Grace Germond, Heidi Krantz, Jacqui Neurauter, Jaimini Chandarana, Janelle Anderson, Jeff Gitterman, Jennifer Kwiatowski, Jennifer Potthoff, Jerry Schneiderman, Jessica Barreira, Jessica Beltran, John Bond, Joseph Maqqar, Joy Humbarger, Joyce Schneiderman, Karen Osgood, Kathleen Avery, Kellie De Ruyter, Kimberly Bagwell, Kim Connor, Kyle Pertuis, Laurie Lawson, Lawrence Lussier, Lesley Picchietti, Lisa Kaplin, Lisa Te Slaa, Lou Iorio, Lynn Waldorf, Maria Maduri, Maria Monroe, Mark Schall, Mary Jo Rathgeb, Mel Cockerham, Michael Berning, Michael Fisch, Micheline Germanos, Mindy Szeto, Nick Kolesnikoff, Nina Cashman, Paul Monroe, Peter Curtis, Raechel Anderson Dressler, Ronne Ozgu, Russell Gibson, Ryan Stanley, Sandra Slough, Sara and Zac Moskowitz, Shelley Pernot, Sherry Dutra, Sherri Gerek, Sheryl James, Simone Nordegraff, Sonia Lopez, Stacy Campesi, Stacy Hartmann, Stephanie Marisca, Steve Coleman, Susan King, Susan Stone, Suzanne Reilley, Tamarra Robinson, Tambre Leighn, Tara Roth, Taylor Laquaglia, Teresa and Tony Curatolo, Teresa Brenke, Terry Fralich, Theresa Horezga, Theresa Murphy, Tonya Echols, Tyler Caccavale, Wendy Stantzos, and Zack Lemelle.

Finally, the team at John Wiley & Sons—Editor Shannon Vargo, Peter Knox, Kelly Martin, Vicki Adang, and Deborah Schindlar—for your belief in the project and for helping to make this dream a reality.


When I was 19 years old, a drunk driver killed himself and nearly me by driving the wrong direction down a highway. I survived the head-on collision, but not as the same person I was before it. It's been decades since that accident, and I can still vividly recall the grueling pain of my battered body and, at the same time, the unimaginable and extraordinary experience of knowing that I was something other than that body—something beyond words and perhaps even beyond worlds. After the accident, I was awakened to a new reality, one in which figuring out who I really was and why I was still here became the focus of my existence.

Over the past 40 years, I have searched for the answer to those questions, as well as countless others. Through meditation and dreaming, the latter often of the lucid variety, I've developed a process I've termed “uncovery,” that is, removing all that is mind-fabricated until only purity remains. The uncovery process requires first questioning everything, especially that which is considered to be reality, and then continually identifying and eliminating any ego-generated thoughts or beliefs that cloud or distort what is truly real. This journey to higher consciousness has helped me chip away at all of the things that I am not to uncover the truth of who I truly am. While I did not necessarily find the answers, I certainly found my answers.

This book tells the story of a character named Scott Billings. Like you and me, Scott wants to know his true nature so that he can lead a more meaningful, purposeful, and fulfilling life.

I wrote this book as a narrative to help you, the reader, more easily step into Scott's shoes so that you can uncover more about the meaning and purpose of your life. All of Scott's adventures are based on my actual experiences. I hope that, in sharing them, a door is opened for you to experience something different—perhaps, as was the case with me, something extraordinary.

My purpose in life is not to teach, preach, or convince anyone of anything, but instead to empower others to seek their own answers, access their true dreams, and overcome anything that gets in the way of making those dreams a reality.

If you'd like to uncover the life you've been waiting for, perhaps what you seek is only a dream away …

uncovering the life of your dreams

Now: Setting the Stage

Sooner or later you will awaken to realize that you've spent nearly your entire life worrying about things you could not control, bothered by insignificant annoyances, and distracted by self-inflicted challenges.

On that day, you will also realize that you've missed seeing a beautiful and entertaining world; a world filled with mystery, suspense, drama, comedy, and an unlimited opportunity to engage in and fully appreciate the human experience.

Hopefully, that day will come soon, because when it does, you will smile as your body fills with a warmth that you will recognize as joy, and you will be incredibly grateful that you are alive and can choose how you want to spend the rest of your life.

Six months ago, before my journey began, I would have never thought I'd find myself sitting in the middle of an abandoned playhouse wearing a Bruce Springsteen tee shirt, a thin polka-dotted necktie, a pair of torn Levi's jeans with a magnifying glass in one of the pockets, a pair of broken sandals, and a fisherman's hat. And I'd certainly never have imagined that in this darkened room on this astonishing day, I would be about to open my eyes to a miracle.

Sitting here, I realize that my world had previously been a prison that kept me sleepwalking through life, ignorant and blind. Blind to the truth about reality, about life, about who I truly was. Now, with my eyes closed, I can see more clearly than ever before and in a few moments, after the count of three, I will open my eyes and see the absolute truth.

The answer to life's most important question is about to be answered, yet for the first time in my life, I'm content just sitting here, eyes closed.

Surreal and perfect. I'm smiling the kind of smile people have when they meet their soul mate for the first time and just know they have been, and will be, together, forever.

What will I see? I don't know, and I have no expectations. I'm just ready—ready to open my eyes to an even deeper reality.

Literally, I didn't see this coming.

1 …

I am ready.

2 …

What a journey …

Six Months Earlier: Scott's Journey

There are many garden paths.

On each, there are beautiful flowers to pick.

A particular path may not be yours,

but do take the flowers with you when you leave.


From where I spent most of my time—which was sitting at a desk next to a large, metal-framed window in my third-floor office at DM Realty—the streets of New York looked like a scene out of an old storybook. It wasn't always a pleasant scene, but the distraction of staring at the constant activity below helped to take my mind off my empty life.

For as long as I could remember, I had been searching for some answers to make sense of it all. There were many questions to which I wanted the answers, yet every time I thought about my life, I found myself constantly returning to one question in particular: Is this all there is?

One afternoon in late fall, while staring out the window of my office and contemplating that question, I gave up on finding the answer. I can't explain why it happened then. All I know is that I came to the conclusion that there was no satisfying answer—no purpose to or meaning for my life. No purpose for anyone else's, either. Nothing more than this.

I decided to stop trying to figure it out and admitted to myself that my search for answers was simply an exercise to assuage my fear that life was meaningless. At that moment of resignation, I decided to accept that life was just a random, mathematical, and biological evolutionary process. A miracle, of course, that it could happen, but a meaninglessness miracle, nevertheless.

One might think that finally coming to any conclusion would bring some level of relief. Instead, the only thing I sensed was loss that this was, indeed, all there was to the waste of time that I called life. At that moment, I felt completely without hope.

It was just then that my boss walked in.

“Scott!” he yelled, loudly enough to let everyone else in the office know he was there and he was unhappy. I turned quickly to respond.

“I'm … I … Damon, I was just thinking about the Concord account. I'm developing a strategy.”

“Really? Looks like you're just wasting time. Like usual. I don't know why I even gave you that lead. If it wasn't for Karine …” he blurted out, stopping there and closing his eyes briefly, as if to redirect his thoughts. “You need to decide if you really want this job, once and for all.”

I didn't know what to say, and he didn't give me much of a chance to come up with something.

“You know, there was a time when nothing could stop you from getting what you wanted. Now, you don't seem to care about anything.”

He didn't wait for a response to that, either. He just turned and walked out of the room into the hallway, where my administrative assistant, Karine, who had clearly listened to the whole thing, quickly looked away as he moved past her and across the floor to his office down the hall.

Damon's personality had certainly changed since I'd first met him. He'd turned into a moody guy with little patience—not at all like the person he used to be when we were in college together or even who he'd been just a few years earlier, before he took over the company from his father.

But he was right, of course. I wasn't working on—or even thinking about—the Concord account. I didn't know why he gave me the lead, either. I wasn't even sure why he hadn't already fired me. We both knew I'd lost my passion for the job and that I was little more than a charity case. I didn't know what, if anything, would have to happen to re-engage me, not only in my career but in my life as well.

And then a real miracle happened. Well, that's when it began, anyway. I know exactly what time it was: 2:13 p.m. I remember that specific time because on that cool Tuesday afternoon in November, something unusual caught my attention. A flash of bright light reflected off the wall clock and back into my eyes, causing me to shield them with my arm.

I scanned the room for the source of the light and realized it was coming through the window from outside. Perhaps it was just a reflection from the sun at that particular time of the day, but it was definitely not something that I had ever seen before. I stood and looked outside and saw a steady, almost blinding, bright beam coming from a single spot across the street on the sidewalk, shining directly into my office.

Like a moth to a flame, from somewhere within the depth of my body, I suddenly felt a powerful tingling sensation and a strong, almost magnetic, pull toward the light. I rushed out of my office, startling Karine. She started to say something to me, but her words faded as I headed into the stairwell, not wanting to wait for the elevator. Afraid the light might disappear by the time I got outside, I took the stairs, a few at a time, as my anticipation grew.

When I made it to the lobby, I stopped for a second to orient myself. I looked across the street, and the light was still there.

As I made my way toward the light, its brightness dimmed. I thought I was imagining that, so I stopped midstride and began to take a few steps backward. I was probably a sight to see, not to mention an accident waiting to happen, and one would have if not for some resourceful driving by one of New York's cabbies. I barely noticed the cab, though, for I was mesmerized by how the light grew brighter with each step I took away from it. I started heading in the direction of the light again, but by the time I reached the other side of the street, the light was nearly completely gone.

A few people walked past me as I made my way. I looked into each of their faces for some sign that they, too, saw this strange light. No one else seemed to notice anything unusual. The fall air was quite chilly, and watching a passerby reach down to zip up his child's jacket made me realize I hadn't grabbed my coat in my hasty exit. I was thinking about turning back when a gust of wind slapped that thought away, and I again focused only on finding the source of the light.

I slowly edged closer and saw an elderly man holding a white cardboard sign. While I couldn't make out what was written on the sign, when I tilted my head a little, I could see a slight glimmer coming off of it. I guessed the sign was indeed reflecting sunlight that, from my vantage point, I was unable to see.

The man was about 5′6″ tall, with salt-and-pepper hair. He was dressed in ragged clothing, and I was pretty sure he was cold. From where I was standing, I couldn't see into the bucket on the ground in front of him to tell if anyone had given money to this poor freezing soul.

Despite his appearance, there was something different about the man. Although he appeared to be panhandling, he had picked an oddly disadvantageous location on the edge of the curb in the middle of the block. Since he was facing the street, pedestrians walking by would see only his back, and because he was not near the corner, he could not approach cars stopped for red lights. I thought twice about approaching further, but my intrigue got the better of me and I continued to move closer.

The light was now completely gone, and I could see the sign clearly. It was blank. It was just a blank white sign, held up by a homeless man standing the wrong way on a street in midtown Manhattan.

I leaned in and said hello, but he neither responded to nor acknowledged me. I found myself uncertain of what to do next, but then the thought popped into my head to give him some money.

Not too much money, I thought, but a sum that would hopefully get a reaction from him. I reached into my wallet, took out a ten-dollar bill and extended my arm. He didn't move. I leaned in to look into the bucket and saw that it was empty. I thought about just dropping the bill into it and leaving, but decided to try to engage him by continuing to offer him the bill. For as long as I could, I held my arm extended toward him, bill in hand. I couldn't tell how much time had passed, but when I started to feel my fingers grow numb from the cold, I gave up and put the money in the bucket. I looked at him, again waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. But there was nothing. No glance, no smile, no nod, no thank you. Nothing. Not even a flinch. I thought to myself, I'm an idiot. Damon is going to flip out if he finds out I left the office. I need to get back to work. Maybe I'll get lucky and he won't have noticed that I was gone.

As I turned away from the man and took a step back toward my office, he started to speak.

“I feel your pain,” I heard behind me in a rather deep, monotone, and hoarse voice. The broken silence startled me and I immediately felt crushing waves of fear and grief. I felt the urge to get away as quickly as I could but couldn't seem to move.

It took a few moments to collect myself enough to face him and respond. “Are you talking to me?” I asked quietly and cautiously. Since I had been turned away from him when I heard the voice, the thought occurred to me that maybe it wasn't me he was addressing or perhaps it wasn't even him who had spoken.

“Who are you?” he asked. Looking around, I saw no one but the two of us.

“I'm … I work across the street,” I said, reflexively pointing to my office window. He didn't look up. “I noticed a light outside my window. It was coming from over here. Did … did you see it?”


A man of few words, I presumed. “And who are you?”

“I am the beggar,” he responded. “I am a beggar” would have made more sense to me, but I decided not to read into his choice of words.

“What was the pain you were talking about?” I asked but had a feeling what was coming was a blank stare—which was exactly what I got. I also knew the answer to my question. All my life I'd been afraid. It was an underlying fear that seemed to always be there, ready to strike at the worst possible moments. Be it with regard to a job, relationship, opportunity, or challenge, I always felt a painful and almost crippling fear that made me feel that I was just not good enough to accomplish anything great. Sometimes I found enough courage to face a challenge in spite of it, but most other times, not. Regardless of what action I took, the feeling was pervasive. I believed I'd done a pretty good job of hiding this fear, and in turn accomplishing enough to achieve a decent life, but right now, in front of a total stranger, I felt like I was an open book and that he'd chosen to read the only chapter I desperately wanted to remain closed.

He turned his head as if to stare deep into my soul. Although I still felt fear somewhere within me, I also felt something completely different from anything I'd ever experienced. A wave of energy ran through me—a low-voltage and enjoyable roll of energy throughout my entire body from my feet to my head. Suddenly, I felt as if I was not on a city street with him; we were transported somewhere else. I didn't know where I was or what was happening. I was still right there, but I was also not there.

He grabbed the lapels of his coat and, as if showing me his heart, opened his coat for a brief moment. As he did, the fear within me completely disappeared. Tears began to well up in my eyes, and I felt no need to wipe them away. For a moment, I felt powerful, clear, and focused. It was then I realized that he was not a beggar, nor was he an old man. I wasn't certain that he was mortal and was even less certain that he was actually standing there with me. His age and clothing didn't change, nor did anything else about him, yet when I looked past his soiled coat and the dirt caked in the crevices of his face, I realized that he was glowing. It was absolutely beautiful. Stunning. He was the source of the light that I saw; it was not the sign, not from the sun, and perhaps not even from this world.

He closed his shabby coat, and though I could no longer see the light coming directly from his body, I could feel its warmth deep within me. I wasn't expecting to be outside this long, yet I was no longer cold. In fact, I felt warm and strong, and I felt that I could, and part of me wanted to, stand there forever.

“I am humbled to be with you,” I said. I had a million questions, but only one came out of my mouth. “May I ask you why the sign is blank?”

“It is because most people do not want to know what it says,” he responded.

“I do,” I retorted.

“Then why do you see a blank sign?” he asked curiously, without any hint of judgment.

Gusts of wind so strong they could have knocked me off balance began whipping around, but the air between us was still, and I felt steady. I closed my eyes before responding, “The sign is filled with messages.” That didn't sound like something I would say. I had the weird thought that he was talking through me, as if he was speaking using my mind and my voice and I didn't have control over what I was saying.

The beggar continued where I left off. “It is up to you to decide when and what you are ready or willing to see. There are signs, everywhere, and it's your choice to read them or not and then determine what they mean to you. So what does this sign mean to you?”

I responded, again with words that didn't sound like my own. “I think you, showing up here as a beggar, offer me the opportunity to realize that I am not what I appear to be, as I know you are not who you appear to be.”

“I am the beggar,” he reiterated.

“No, I mean … I know you are … but you really aren't, right?” I said, believing that I was now owning my words again.

He didn't answer and instead asked another question.

“Why do you suppose I beg?”

“You probably …” I stopped myself at that point, realizing that anything I said next would sound condescending or judgmental.

“I do not beg for money, and I do not beg for me,” he said. “I beg for you. I beg for you to give me money.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that is what I do,” he patiently responded.

I could have probed more but decided it would have been unproductive to do so. I didn't understand any of what was happening, and surprisingly, I didn't feel I needed to.

I thought of asking him how he dealt with the cold and wind, but having felt the warmth of his light, I figured that I already knew the answer. “I know you're making a statement, but aren't you afraid that someone will harm you? Can't you get your message across in another way?”

“I have. Many times, and in many ways. The message is always there for anyone who is ready to receive it. And I am safe. What can people take from me? My money? I do not have any. My clothes? Who would want them? My body? Someone might take it one day, and if so, so be it. My body would be still, but I would still be.”

What he said should have saddened me, but instead it felt comforting. I imagined it was difficult living like that and wondered why he would choose to do so if he didn't have to. Yet I had the feeling he wanted to, as if he was born to do so.

And then he continued, “You don't have to feel the suffering of your fear. I can do that for the both of us.” With that, he turned away from me and once again stared ahead.

I knew I wasn't ready to fully grasp his message, so I didn't try. I also knew he was right about my suffering. But in that moment, I wasn't ready to explore that pain. Instead, I chose to dwell within the amazing and deepening sensations and emotions that seemed both brand new yet familiar to me. It was as if the beggar gave me a long-desired and welcome reprieve from myself.

I took a long deep breath and felt the wind flow though my body. It felt a part of me, everything did, as if I was complete and whole but now not limited to my body. There was only that moment, and no other time or place in the universe existed. In the middle of the block on that Tuesday afternoon in a windstorm, I was home. Safe, fearless, invulnerable.

“That's enough for now,” he said.

I knew at that moment that the bliss I felt would end and that I would strive to feel it again, so his statement offered a possibility. “You said ‘for now.’ Does that mean that I can meet with you again?”

“What you seek is only a dream away,” he said in a fading whisper.

His words seemed like another wind, one that blew me into an even deeper state of being. I completely lost myself, feeling my eyes close and my breath grow shallow. In that moment, all thoughts stopped. I was no thing. I was every thing.

I probably stood motionless in that spot for quite some time. When I opened my eyes, the beggar was no longer in front of me. I looked around until I saw caught a glimpse of him moving between other passersby, walking down the street with the sign in one hand and the bucket in the other.