Two Meaningful Moments on My Multiple Myeloma Journey

My phone rang while I was visiting my family in Atlanta during my Christmas vacation in 2023.

"Hello, this is Leslee from the Jacques Marchais Museum of Tibetan Art," said the voice on the other end. "We'd like you to give an in-person presentation on feng shui." For the first time since my multiple myeloma diagnosis, I felt my lungs fully expand with possibility.

My hands trembled as I arranged my notes. Seven years since I'd taught, seven years since the diagnosis that halted everything. Familiar and new faces watched expectantly. I breathed in, let the silence settle and began.

The presentation was scheduled for a rainy Saturday morning in March 2024. Even though water was seeping and flooding the entry library area, it was the first time for me teaching since 2016. Now a couple of years after the pandemic, the room held the precious sight of uncovered faces.

Over thirty attendees filled the incense-scented meditation hall of the JMMTA, with bright light from the gray skies streaming through the tall windows onto the cathedral-height temple, surrounded by Buddha statues and Tibetan deities, where the participants were comfortably seated on floor cushions and pillows. I guided them through the Five Elements theory and bagua mapping, then led the group outside to the Zen garden, where the outdoor sculptures and plantings demonstrated the possibilities of placement according to feng shui principles. Back inside, I taught gentle qigong movements, including the "embracing the tree" posture, as our collective breath became synchronized. We closed our mini-retreat with the ringing of my Tibetan tingshas. We completed the circle by connecting hands and chanting "Om mani padme hum."

The second moment that life felt meaningful again was when I presented at the online summit for the London School of Feng Shui earlier this month. The familiar screen of the Zoom waiting room dissolved into a mosaic of faces — over a hundred attendees from across the world, their curious eyes peering from thumbnails arranged like a digital quilt.

My portfolio included the e.l.f Cosmetics corporate office in Oakland, California, the classic Water Dragon formation in Dayton, Ohio, and the transformation of my personal office and healing space.

Though I've participated in their summits before, this time felt different — my voice more assertive and my gestures more confident. I guided the attendees through the portfolio of my work.

I laid out a kaleidoscope of projects spanning the last couple years of work. My signature style emerged through vibrant-colored markers on floor plans, featuring crimson accent arrows and jade-toned green plantings. I included the stark, precise CAD renderings of a Tobago shipping container house subtly integrated into modern design. My hand-drawn color sketches of NYC Chinatown captured the neighborhood's hidden energy flows between century-old buildings.

Finally, I revealed photographs of my own office and healing space — its carefully positioned Brazilian crystals, green peace lilies and money tree plants in the dining room, and the small stone fountain whose gentle burble had soothed so many clients back to balance.

After I finished the presentation, EJ Shaffert — the loquacious owner of the London School who had coordinated the entire summit — expounded to the group, "RD - watching you today was like seeing a master architect creating a Qi-filled portfolio of spaces. It's a true renaissance of your work, more vibrant and insightful than before.”

While preparing my presentation at my desk, I realized I had completed eleven substantial projects since my recovery — reminds me to keep breathing life back into spaces and, unknowingly, breathe it back into me.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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