Until I was about fifteen, I had a wonderful childhood, living a completely normal life surrounded by a loving family, and until then, I had no idea what the spiritual world meant; the concept was completely foreign to me. And it would never have occurred to me that this method would come later. But let's go back to the very beginning. When I now look back on my childhood, I see that it provided me with ideas, themes, and mechanisms for the 111 Music method. As a little boy, I grew up in a small two-room apartment with my parents. I always dreamed of what it would be like to have my own house with a garden, somewhere in the countryside. This wish was partially compensated for by the fact that my grandparents lived in the countryside, so until the age of fifteen, I had a wonderful childhood, visiting my grandmother and grandfather by train from Kolín to the village of Řečany nad Labem. I later drew on these various situations. What I experienced in my own life inspired me to put all this into practice, because it was clear to me that I was not the only one experiencing such things, but that there were many children who certainly needed help, who were not strong enough and did not know where to turn in their despair.

In the most difficult times, it was these memories of my childhood that I returned to, memories of my grandmother. In a way, it made the situations I was going through at that moment easier to bear. I often sat by the window in the early evening, looking out at the distant landscape of the Iron Mountains, and remembered how I used to travel there as a little boy from the big city to visit my beloved grandmother. Seen through the eyes of a child who knew nothing of the world and whose horizons ended at the nearest hills and meadows, I set off on a journey of adventure. At the age of fifteen, I longed in vain to return to that time and would have done anything to avoid experiencing such unpleasant psychological problems. So I closed my eyes and returned to the situations when I used to walk from this place on Fridays to the nearby bus stop, from where the bus took me to the train station. This was often associated with feelings about Friday classes, both in elementary school and in elementary art school, where, coincidentally, my father taught me to play the clarinet. Even then, Friday morning wake-ups were different from all the others. They came with the certainty that I would experience the beauty of this wonderful village. I would breathe in the morning scent of something I only knew from here, because in the city it was suppressed by smog from cars and factories. Above all, however, it was a certain vision of freedom, a freedom that was simply lacking in the city. A feeling of something indescribable that gave all this a certain sense of security, peace, harmony, and an endless desire for the aforementioned freedom.

With all this, I was able to endure all the unpleasant situations at school, not to mention what I was going through mentally. At around 4 p.m. on Friday, however, the situation came to a head. Departure by double-decker passenger train to the station in Řečany nad Labem. Today, it is just an ordinary village to me, but at that time it was a kind of impregnable kingdom where no problems could enter. They were far away from this place, and everything stayed there with them. For me, this was a kind of paradise on earth. In today's world of phones, social networks, etc., all this may seem a little comical, but there was something special about that time. I always spent the whole following week thinking about what my next trip from the hustle and bustle of the big city to the village to visit my grandmother would be like. I experienced amazing things there. I didn't have any friends, which I was often reproached for, but today I see that it was the best thing that could have happened. All these connections came together over time to form a kind of mosaic, and you could say that the key fit into the lock. Just the feeling when I arrived at my long-awaited destination, got off the train, and felt as if I had returned home after a long journey. In terms of energy, I already perceived certain disproportions at that time, which was basically the beginning of my sensitivity, where on the one hand I had very pleasant feelings and on the other hand something was missing, or perhaps different.

There was no sense of calm, which constantly compelled me to do something, and so I had to keep looking for new solutions over and over again. At that time, for reasons unknown to me, I was very interested in the evening sky. I often went out onto the balcony in the evenings, as we didn't have one at home and here we did. I would sit there for hours in the evening, just watching the beauty. It evoked a certain calm in me, which was more than enough for me at the time. That calm was nothing more than tuning into a source of cosmic energy. If we allow it to flow naturally through our bodies, we suddenly find ourselves in an oasis of calm in the present moment, here and now. But let's go back.

You know, it's hard to explain when you wake up on a Saturday morning and your grandmother suddenly brings you breakfast in bed while you watch a morning fairy tale program on TV. I realize that today's younger generation will most likely tap their fingers on their foreheads and think that this is a completely ordinary thing. After all, today we can watch TV anywhere in the world, even on our cell phones, but for me back then, it was something completely different. Today, most children have a TV in their bedroom, which is considered the norm in many families. But I can tell you that there was something special about those days. It was precisely those unusual events that I didn't experience on a regular basis that were extraordinary for me, something I could look forward to for a whole week, even though it was something as trivial and, in the words of today's generation, ordinary as a morning program of fairy tales on television.

But as the hours passed and Saturday gradually turned into Sunday, I began to realize more and more strongly that this moment of complete peace would pass and I would have no choice but to return to the crazy and, for me, meaningless hustle and bustle of the big city. I felt like a complete stranger on the coast, whom no one understood and who had perhaps come from a completely different time and space. The feeling of returning could be compared to a certain helplessness and emptiness, like when the last leaves dry up on the trees in autumn and the wind blows them away somewhere far away. When, after some time, I started secondary school, I had the opportunity to fully experience what it means to be bullied by classmates and to be accepted by almost no one. My peers didn't accept me at all, they mocked me, threw my personal belongings around, and constantly teased me, for example, about playing a musical instrument, and we could go on and on. In a sense, I am grateful to all those who participated in this, because they gave me invaluable experience that I can draw on to this day, especially in the 111 Music method. Namely, experience based on a certain degree of empathy for other people. Until I was 26, I grew up on the tenth floor of a two-room apartment in a prefabricated building. I had a beautiful view from the window, which faced southeast. From there, I could see the Iron Mountains, the Orlické Mountains, but above all, the Chvaletice power plant. The sight of it always brought me a sense of peace and harmony.

Many will surely ask what is so enchanting about a completely ordinary coal-fired power plant. It served as a certain point that I associated with my fairy tale Řečany nad Labem. I often looked through my binoculars to see if I could see this place near the power plant, but in vain. The remnants of the Iron Mountains, which ended here, were higher than this location. The Chvaletice power plant was a symbol of two meanings for me. Both beautiful and sad. The beautiful moments were provided by the journey to the fairy tale itself. Whether by car, but mainly by train. That was the real adventure. The special atmosphere of the two-story train, which, after the stationmaster waved it off, departed from the third platform at Kolín Main Station. With the first few meters, the thought flashed through my mind: "So, now you're going home." You may ask, where home? I was just leaving it. The word "home" is a kind of metaphor that expresses a return to certain home energies that I knew at that time only from this place and the surrounding countryside. And so I sit on the seat of that train, next to me a bag of packed things, waiting for the chimney of the Chvaletice power plant to finally appear. At that time, the power plant seemed quite frightening. There was a humming everywhere and electricity sparkled from the wires. It was a certain milestone that separated the world of the city from the world of fairy tales.

For me, however, it was a certain degree of protection, which with its power held back everything heavy on one side and on the other side let only the train and its passengers pass. After a while, the vision of freedom I had been longing for finally appeared. It was a sure sign of preparation for departure from the train, which would stop at the Řečany nad Labem railway station in a moment. And so it happened. I got out and felt the longed-for calm, peace, and harmony. The hustle and bustle of the big city had subsided, the rush and shouting of people had ceased, and all around was an enchanting silence, occasionally interrupted by the cries of birds from a nearby forest. That forest was certainly magical, for there was a certain gate in it that separated this world from another.

The forest behind the gate was mysterious and deep. It connected directly to the beginning of the Iron Mountains, and I did not dare to enter it alone during the day, let alone in the evening. The sad expression of the Chvaletice power plant was such that I left this wonderful fairy tale behind. As I stood on the platform, I often said to myself, "Maybe the train won't leave, maybe the trolley will fall, and I'll be able to stay here at least until the next day." But as soon as the train arrived and I got on, everything inside me tightened, and I knew I couldn't do anything. The train started moving, and I couldn't do anything about it. The whole cycle would start all over again. Those were the two perspectives that this place evoked in me.

But let's return to this wonderful fairy tale, which was enchanting in every way. This was my life. Here I experienced what it means to be free, to live in the here and now. The evil that pursued me did not reach me here. The walls of the house gave me a feeling of being in an impregnable fortress. There was no one here to humiliate and bully me. There was peace everywhere and a permanent feeling that I belonged somewhere and that I had some value, at least for a short time.

Imagine you have a very old but well-preserved bicycle with a strange leather saddle with large springs. When you hit the slightest bump, the saddle springs and you feel like you're on a bus that you're driving. At that time, I used to draw chalk marks in certain places on the streets to symbolize bus stops. I didn't carry anyone, but I enjoyed my magical, happy fairy-tale world, where I could at least briefly leave behind what depressed me so unimaginably and live in harmony with nature. This is how I used to go shopping at the local supermarket every morning, and my journey often took an hour. As a bus driver, I had to drive around all my stops and only then park my vehicle in front of the supermarket entrance. I often had to make up excuses that the shopkeeper didn't have the goods I wanted because... How can I explain it to you? There was one large supermarket and two smaller grocery stores. I was very familiar with the supermarket at the time, because shopping there was quite simple. You just chose the goods you wanted and put them in your shopping cart. However, I wasn't very interested in the other two grocery stores. I felt like I was being interrogated there. There were usually some old ladies standing behind me in line, waiting for me to finish shopping. I preferred to avoid this place by taking a detour.

The area around my fairy tale had an enchanting landscape. So one day, I took my "bus" on a trip to the local pond. The landscape would captivate anyone. The water was covered with water lilies, carp were swimming in it, birds were singing in the distance, and frogs were croaking from the shore. I used to sit there for hours, just watching the calm surface of the water glistening in the glow of the setting sun. I imagined I was a captain sailing on the open sea to a place where completely different people lived. I sail fast and I am the only one with a boat. So I am guaranteed success, that no one will catch up with me and everything I left on shore will remain there. When you live in a city apartment from birth, you don't get to experience what people in the countryside do. Watering with a hose in the evening. For many people, this is a completely normal and annoying thing. Mowing the lawn, where you have the opportunity to be in direct contact with nature, to smell the scent of freshly cut grass, which you then throw away somewhere on the compost heap. You have the opportunity to experience what it's like to plant lettuce and sow radishes.

When the time is right and summer turns to autumn, digging the soil with a spade and gradually preparing everything for winter, which will soon be quietly knocking on the door. You know what it's like to rake hay and put it in piles, or how interesting it is to pick potatoes from the ground. City life cannot offer you that.

Of course, life wasn't all sunshine and holidays in the countryside. I often compensated for my everyday city life, which at that time was still compulsory elementary school, by observing the landscape from my window as the day transitioned from afternoon to evening. Others might have gone out with friends, which didn't make much sense to me, so I had my own world, in which I looked through binoculars from my home tower toward my fairy tale. At that time, there were no cameras with optical zoom, only regular binoculars were available. So I observed the Chvaletice power plant, which was about twenty kilometers away as the crow flies, and wondered what it would be like to be a bird.

What would it be like if I had the opportunity to take off and fly to where I so desperately wanted to be? To fly away from everything that weighed me down, like a stray boulder by the road. Thanks to the lookout tower where I grew up, I had the opportunity to observe the sky and the landscape in all its four beauties, because, as they say, I was right in the center of the action. At that time, I loved to photograph clouds and the Iron Mountains, which still attract me today like a magnet. My desire to photograph clouds was driven by two things: a longing for freedom and a certain strange feeling it evoked in me. I knew that feeling well, but I couldn't explain it. It reminded me of the energy in my fairy tale at the time, but I couldn't quite understand or specify it. I still remember that it inspired my elementary school physics teacher at the time. He decided to make a large bulletin board in the hallway, which would consist of photos of landscapes and clouds. Without knowing it at the time, in about fifteen years, this idea became an important part of the 111 Music method.

Time gradually passed, I grew up, and over the years I was able to learn about Amazonian herbs, homeopathy, bioresonance, Somavedika, chiropractic, and perhaps even deep abreactive psychotherapy. I tried all these methods on myself over a period of about five years and verified that everything works down to the smallest detail. And so I became interested in these things until, over the next five years or so, I gradually developed the 111Music method. But we are already nearing the end of the whole story.

In conclusion, I would like to add that whatever your life circumstances may be, and even if they often seem unbearable and without any way out, believe me, there is always light at the end of the tunnel. Don't panic, because every situation always has a solution. You never know what coincidence will lead you to exactly where you will be helped.