Gangsters 'N Gurus: Every Saint Has A Past. Every Sinner Has A Future.

By Nicolai Engelbrecht

Every Saint Has a Past, and Every Sinner Has a Future.

In rapid succession, Nicolai lost his best friend, his grandfather, and his younger cousin at an early age. With a mind too tender to process grief and his questions about life and death unanswered by the adults he counted on, the gentle boy began to change.

Teachers didn’t understand his wild energy and labeled him a troublemaker, and in his adolescence, his attraction to the seedier parts of society became apparent. Nicolai was heading down a path that almost always ended in one of two ways: prison or an early death.

One night, in a dark alley in Copenhagen, Nicolai lost his eyesight in a drug-motivated chemical attack.  It only was after losing his vision that Nicolai was able to clearly see what the future held if he did not make a dramatic shift in his life. After weeks of anguish and a miraculous recovery, Nicolai embarked on an authentic journey of self-discovery. 

His travels took him to remote parts of the world—from India, to White Horse Mountain in China, to Bali, and beyond—to learn the secrets of renowned spiritual teachers like Guru Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and Master Li Sifu.

Sharing his mystical life experiences, sacred wisdom, and ancient traditions, Nicolai teaches readers from all backgrounds how to break the bonds of a painful past and experience inner freedom. 

Gangsters N’ Gurus is a step-by-step guide to breaking nonconstructive patterns so you can liberate yourself from repetitive cycles of anxiety, toxic behaviors, and addiction. Nicolai applies this framework through accessible practices and exercises, perfect for anyone seeking a spiritual shift and a more profound and meaningful life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lifestyle Entrepreneurs Press
• Release date: Mar 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953153517

Book preview

CONCLUSION

Introduction

I started writing this book with the goal to create a guide to help people break their destructive habits so that they could live lives filled with happiness, as I do today. My goal became so much bigger and greater than that. For me, writing this book with a sincere and open heart has been one of the longest and most challenging processes I have undertaken. I have striven to remain connected to my true and authentic self during this process to give the best of advice to anyone who receives this book.

I can truly say that I live a life built on a solid foundation, rooted in universal and timeless principles. I have sought the truth about the universe and the human constellation. I have walked the seeker’s path since early childhood, never ceasing to ask questions, to challenge belief systems, and to elevate my consciousness and understanding of the worlds around and within me.

On this quest, I have taken numerous paths. I was entrenched in crime and violence on the darkest streets of Copenhagen. I sought respite in the beautiful, lush environment of southern India, living with swamis and monks, studying sacred mantras. I spent time living in the clouds—literally, in the clouds—in a Taoist monastery in China, hidden away in the mountains, studying sacred geometry, healing, and murderous practices like knife fighting and martial arts.

I have shared my understanding of universal principles with others, within the framework of tools such as breathwork, meditation, energetic healing, and emotional rearrangements. I have passed along these teachings to people in all layers of society—prisoners, gang members, single mothers, couples, bankers, actors, and politicians.

For decades, I have thoroughly studied myself and others, resulting in a comprehensive manual to guide others in the right direction when embarking upon the path of self-discovery and awakening. The purpose of this manual is to give you, the reader, the opportunity to transform and overcome any negative pattern or limiting belief system that may be holding you back. I have created specific exercises to ensure that you can solidify these teachings into your life. I want you to optimize your time on this planet and free yourself from bondage.

It is my wish for this book to work as a tool for you to face the unforeseen obstacles when transitioning into your new life of inner freedom. I can guarantee that as you gradually follow the process of this step-by-step guide to the end, it will generate a shift in who you are at your core. If you commit yourself, 100 percent, to the meditations and exercises, you will be able to regain the power of choice over your own path.

This path of self-discovery has always existed, and nothing in this book is new; it is simply my understanding of the road that leads to all roads. Though it has no name other than just the path, it is the path towards inner awakening and freedom.

May this book shed light to all beings who feel lost

or like they have hit a dead end.

May it bring you closer to the nature

of the universe and yourself.

All my love and blessings on your journey,

Nicolai

I: GANGSTERS

Gangsters is the story of my early years—a phase of my life I would have never made it out of without the love of my family. It is a story that will describe what the foundation of my spiritual growth was built upon. It is not all pretty, but just like the lotus flower grows through the mud, the same, you could say, happened with me. I went through the toughest parts of my life to be able to even write this book. I went through the dark muddy streets of Europe selling drugs and being totally crazy. However, before you get that story, I will take you a few steps further back.

Stepping Onto the Path of Spirit

At the early age of eight, I lost my best friend when he was killed in a car accident. I was a very sensitive little guy, full of creativity. I had been frequently bullied from an early age because of my looks. I was cross-eyed and often wore my big brother’s clothes, which were obviously too big for me. My hair was crazy, and I was not very confident; therefore, I only had few friends.

I was often in my own world, inventing games and stories. My friends and I imagined we were dwarves and elves, fighting the evil orcs and trolls with swords and magic. In general, I was a very happy kid who would spend many hours outside, contemplating whether I was able to speak to animals and testing my findings. I would try to imitate the sounds of the birds, call horses from my heart, or silently observe a rabbit moving swiftly over the fields. However, in the big city, it was more common to see a rat than a rabbit. I took every chance I could to explore nature, and when I was in the city, I would create an adventure of my own.

To this day, I remember the day my best friend Arthur died so vividly…

I was at home in my room, playing Heroes of Might and Magic on my computer, like I would on most dark and grey winter evenings. That evening, I was feeling a little annoyed. Arthur was supposed to come for a visit, but he hadn’t arrived yet or even called. Suddenly, my mom knocked on my door. She looked serious and asked me to come into the kitchen. My first thought was: Did I do something wrong?

I felt scared and knew something was not right. We walked together through the long corridor of the house, through the big orange living room, and into the kitchen. There my dad was sitting by the round wooden dining table. A circle of around twenty candles were burning as I sat down in front of him. My mom started crying, and the world froze for a second. I wondered: Did I do something bad enough to make her cry? She started speaking in an unsteady voice. I could hardly grasp what she was saying. Nicolai, Arthur was on his way over here and he was hit by a car. He is dead.

I had never experienced this before. Death… My friend Arthur…he died? I did not understand it properly, yet I understood it very clearly. My body was still, and I was quiet. I did not cry. I could not cry. I was just in a state of shock; of numbness. One of my best friends—one of the few people around me who always saw me for who I was and never made fun of me or my looks—was gone.

My mom, dad, and I walked together down to where he was killed, to where the car had run him over while he was running to come and visit us. To where he had crossed the road for a green light and a car making a right turn had killed him instantly. The walk there seemed endless. It was dark and rainy. I vaguely remember this experience of feeling completely numb, which would become a theme later on in my life—not feeling anything; just a full shutdown of the body. When we arrived at the crossing, neighbors and friends had put flowers on the street and some of our mutual friends and their parents were there too.

Once my state of shock began to subside, I remember this as the first time I really cried and felt deep pain and suffering—the type of pain I felt when I fell in the woods and a piece of wood went through my leg; real pain. That pain that comes from the core of your being. Everyone who has experienced the death of someone they love will understand that this type of pain can feel unbearable, yet it can also be a vehicle of transportation into the next stages of our lives.

This was, unwillingly, my early start into adulthood. I remember calling my grandfather, who I perceived to be among the most trusted people in my life. He had survived the Second World War and gave me solid advice that we are not the ones who can decide when we lose someone, but we are the ones who can decide how we honor the memory of the person we lost. Soon after, it was his turn to leave this planet. This, of course, did not make anything easier for me—two deaths within a very short time and the feeling of wishing you could have done something more or seen them one last time. I tried to go on living a normal life—playing and trying to focus on school. Then, just to really embed this theme, at the age of 12, I lost my cousin.

Tragedy or Spiritual Awakening?

My cousin lived right next to me, and we would play almost every day in the streets of Copenhagen. Back then, the neighborhood was not a safe place for kids. Junkies lying half-dead on staircases, robberies, prostitution… But we had a basketball and some graffiti cans we took from my older brother, which gave us enough to do. The streets were our big, exciting playground. I remember one of our games was to wait for the junkies to start assembling their fix of cocaine or heroin, and just before they had finished putting it out on the silver paper, we would throw a water balloon at them and then run and hide. Obviously, this lifestyle was a bit different than what most kids outside of the concrete jungle experience.

My little cousin, who was only 10 years old, developed a very rare lung disease that is only common in women over 50. Unexplainable. He died only days after we all found out. This was too much for me at age 12. I was in deep sorrow, and my questions about life and death grew bigger. What happens after you die? Is there life after death? Do ghosts exist?

A week later, my cousin’s funeral was held right after school. I remember that day so clearly. I had gym class. My teacher did not like me because I did not enjoy playing football or ball games in general. So, here I was, little Nicolai with my baggy pants and my favorite cap on, carrying my yellow book with a written letter from my mom explaining why I couldn’t attend the class. I gave the letter to the teacher, and he instantly looked at me with suspicion. My body tensed up as he started to mock me, yelling, It is so typical for you guys to try and avoid my classes. He was referring to me and my three friends who were causing a lot of problems. You are just lazy, so you come up with excuses not to go to class. The more he shouted this down into my face, the stronger I felt the rage inside of me building up towards him.

This is where it all began to unfold—the road towards non-constructive communication and behavioral patterns. I flipped out and started shouting at him, wanting to hit him. Luckily for all of us, my father was nearby, as he had just dropped me off. Naturally, he came running as he heard my voice echo through the whole school. He knew what was going on inside of me and, of course, stood up for me and protected me. At the time, I didn’t see it, but it was necessary for me to stand up for myself towards the lack of human values this person showed me. Because this wasn’t resolved, I just started to perceive myself as someone who was always wrong and someone the teachers were always against.

For the first time, I had finally found a way to release my sadness via anger and aggression. All this misplaced and suppressed energy inside of me grew like a demon in my belly. Later that day, at my cousin’s funeral, I cried incessantly for hours. Everyone tried to comfort me, tried to explain to me how everything was going to be OK. Of course, no one could answer my biggest questions that would give me the reassurance I was searching for: What happens when and after you die? Where do people go? How do you know where they are going? How do you know that everything will be OK?

After these experiences and encounters with death, I slowly started to become less and less receptive in school and less and less motivated to do anything anyone told me to. I also quickly got a reputation as one of the troublemakers. My mind was constantly engaged in thoughts and questions about life that no one could seem to answer, or maybe they could, but I did not believe them. I started to express the violence and anger within me more and more frequently. It was the only way I knew how to get recognition, attention, and validation, and it was the only tool I had to release the sadness that was inside of me. It was not a rare occasion that I would try to beat up the guys who were up to five years older than I was. Once my friends and I even filled up the school with tear gas just to show the older kids who was in charge. We were a strong crew of small boys who all felt that same deep-rooted sadness.

The Troublemaker

As a young man, at the age of 15, I started selling drugs as a hobby to help my friends and as a way to forge my identity. In this environment, I had people who thought I was cool and saw potential in my skills; people much older than me who I looked up to. On the other hand, I had my teachers telling me I was a bad boy. This, in combination with my early experiences of loss, solidified my identity as the troublemaker.

I started exclusively hanging out with kids who were in similar situations and could understand the pain I was feeling; they had their own experiences of trauma and loss, whether it was in terms of poverty, or life as refugees, or split families. They could somehow identify with the deep pain and sadness I felt and suppressed it in the same way I did: through taking drugs, not attending classes, or fighting. We were a group of both guys and girls, and we were quite extreme. The first time I got drunk, I was 14 and at school. But who really gave a fuck?

Even though I was a troublemaker, I always had a sincere wish to help people around me, especially my friends. This became the very reason I went so far down the wrong road towards self-destructive patterns. I was attempting to help others who were drowning, yet I myself did not know how to swim. In this effort, I drowned myself and completely lost track of who I once was.

At the age of 17, I started working as a chef. I was involved in various criminal activities. I liked the fast life with everything it involves: expensive wines and whiskeys, sniffing cocaine and taking ecstasy at parties, traveling to Amsterdam and the Canary Islands, or just going on a casual three-day bender. I didn’t sleep much during this time of my life and as my criminal career progressed, I would usually wake up smoking a joint.

The types of crimes I was involved in escalated, too. For my 18th birthday, I got my first weapon. Well, I had always carried knives and other hand combat weapons, but now I was on the streets and needed something more intimidating. On the evening of my birthday, my friend handed me a plastic bag. It was heavy. He laughed at me and said, OK, now is the time for you to prove you are really ready for this new life you are choosing. You have to walk home and show you have the guts to do this work.

I looked in the bag. It was a Berretta double-barrel shotgun. The one-hour walk home felt long, and I was feeling quite paranoid. I knew the sentence for carrying this weapon was a year in prison, minimum. As I arrived at my flat, I put the shotgun on the table and instantly, I knew I had to take care of something that had been pressing on my mind for quite a while. Some of the older guys had been trying to force me to pay some money for something that was essentially their mistake. I was moving around 100 to 150 grams of cocaine a week, and they said that I had not paid for a portion of that. However, I was keeping accurate records of my payments.

I picked up my old Nokia. Hey, what’s up? It’s me—Shorty. I think it’s time to meet.

I prepared my living room. The shotgun was on the table, and the regular 10 grams of cocaine were on my little silver plate with a note rolled up next to it so it was ready for use. The doorbell rang, and in they came. Both of them were 10 years older than I was. One was very large and had quite a reputation. The other one was a big-time smuggler. I sat down, relaxed on the sofa. They had very aggressive attitudes when they first came in. However, they were quick to change when they saw what I had laid out. I looked at my Rolex (it wasn’t actually mine, but I had taken it as a deposit from a guy who owed me money) and then looked at them.

So, what’s up, Shorty? the bigger guy said. What are you thinking?

I calmly responded to them, I assumed that we could figure out a solution to our problem.

After we finished going over the numbers, it turned out that they were the ones who owed me money. This was my first step into the darker part of the underworld.

Feelings of unease about life and death, both about myself and those around me, became everyday preoccupations. My crimes intensified exponentially. One of my favorite activities was to rob the street pushers from Nigeria and other African countries of their cocaine. I saw it as my right to take the drugs from them, as they were in my territory. I would often circle the city in my bulletproof vest, looking for people who either owed me money or had somehow tried to fuck with me or my crew.

I was getting plenty of signs and I was also told by the elder within the criminal network to slow down, but I never took the hint; I had messed up so much already that I refused to listen to my intuition. I was in a kind of survival mode, where every day was about making money and showing off. My whole life was really just about how many designer clothes I could buy, how many bottles of alcohol I could buy in the club, and how many women I could have with me when I would sit and party. Five-star hotels were a weekly activity to go and chill in. Sometimes we paid, and other times we just used a stolen credit card. Simple as that. However, it would seem that the more glamorous my life looked on the outside, the darker it was on the inside. I never dared to ask myself: Is this worth it?

So, the day had to come where my life would take a very brutal and unexpected turn, a turn that was enough to wake me up and redirect me onto a new path, living in alignment with spirit.

A Turning Point

At the age of 20, I was assaulted on one of the dark streets of Copenhagen. I had been out for about two days partying and was finally on my way home. The same morning, I had been at a strip club instead of attending my culinary arts program. A guy who had been hanging around for a few hours at the strip club came up to me. He had obviously been following my every move—back and forth, from the toilet to the bar. He asked me if he could buy some cocaine, and I told him to fuck off because I didn’t interact with junkies.

Walking outside, on my way home, I