I Used to Care About Things Like Money and Status
A friend and I visited a new-to-us coffee shop in Savannah. I caught sight of a man sitting in the corner, and he did not look well. My heart groped for him as soon as I noticed him.
He approached my friend and I and asked if we had a phone charger. Neither of us did. I watched him go to the barista and ask for a phone charger, and saw the young man behind the counter shake his head.
That’s when I remembered I have one in my car. I have everything in my car!
I walked up to him, gently touched his shoulder, and told him I have one in my car. He looked at me with big brown eyes, and I recognized the shock in them.
This man has been traumatized, I thought.
I retrieved the charger from my car and came back in. By this time, the man was crying — bulbs of tears as big as his eyes streaming down face.
Hey, I said. Come on over here, let’s get you plugged in.
I said what’s going on? You want to talk?
He told me his mama was doing drugs.
He told me she had just threw him out of their home.
He told me he had nowhere to live.
He told me he was a paranoid schizophrenic, and he was so scared because he needed his medication every month.
He pulled his medication out of his pocket to show me, and said, “I can’t sell this.”
I said, no, you don’t want to sell that.
No, he said. I need this.
He was distraught over his mother, and he was so scared on his own.
We talked a bit, and he told me he had a place to stay that night in a motel that a shelter had set up for him. He told me he got his disability check the next day.
I said, oh hey, you’ve got concrete steps to follow now.
A light went off in his head, and his eyes widened. You could see his energy shift from desperation to hope.
He said, “you’re right! I’m going to be okay!”
And then tears again. Because, although he’s going to be alright, he couldn’t believe his mama would do that to him.
He said, I need a bag to carry my medication and my phone.
I said, I have a bag! I gave him my mesh backpack.
When I came back into the store to give him the bag, Spirit told me to disconnect. My job was done. I gave him the bag, I told him to keep the charger, and I said goodbye.
Later, I went and bought myself a new USB charger, a cable for my mac that I’ve been needing, and a super nice extension cord for my van.
Now that’s wealth — the resources to give to another, and then replenish deeply.
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This is my life. I bop around this world and follow the guidance from Spirit to be of service through love and thunder.
I used to be spiritual teacher, before love caught me in her net of wild and wonderful.
I used to be an intuition development teacher, before love smothered me with her sensual here and now.
I used to be a teacher for spiritual teachers, until love launched me on her waves of laughter.
Now it’s just love.
I’ve rolled through these last ten years sloughing off the unnecessary weight of my identities.
I wanted to be successful.
I wanted to be wealthy.
I wanted to be seen, to be known.
I wanted to be a thought leader.
I wanted to be the go-to person.
I wanted renown, respect, distinction.
I wanted an identity. A spiritual identity. And there is nothing wrong with that.
I didn’t try to let it go. I just kept meditating.
And playing in ego.
And meditating.
And wanting until it hurt.
And praying.
And yearning.
And talking to God.
And manifesting.
And listening to God.
And letting go.
And bit by bit, the structures I was upholding melted like sand, dropping out of my overturned hand.
And today, I have nothing left.
I don’t care about being seen; except I want to love people.
I don’t care about money; except I want it to be easy to move about this world and love people.
I don’t care about being respected or admired; except I want people to know my love.
My journey has brought me nothing but love, and it’s taken away everything that’s not love.
It has brought me to my knees, and they are the rapture.
I used to identify so strongly with the hustle culture.
I used to completely buy into the millionaire mindset.
I used to crave wealth to satiate my fear of the future.
But, it’s just love.
I am happy. That’s what I was always after, but I was mistaking happiness for the form it could take: the success, the spotlight, the money.
It still comes that way sometimes. And it’s fun.
But it looks way different.
Today, I travel full time. I write poetry. I do psychic readings.
And I write and write and write, hallelujah, I write.
Now that’s freedom.
I was just gifted a van from a special benefactor who sees me helping others and chose to give me her RV instead of selling it.
Now that’s being seen.
Today I am a giver of love, a receiver of love, a teacher of love, a fucking revolutionary of love.
I exist to love.
And I am rewarded by God through the people who see me. With things like a fucking van to live and travel in!
Not that my scion hasn’t been great. It has been. But this is better!
And I fucking love you.
More magic!
Right after I finished editing this article, I got this message from a stranger on Facebook:
Now, if that’s not being seen…well, I dunno what is!
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