Show me the money

Put simply, many believe that when we let go of the value of money, abundance arrives.

And then there is this sadness, that in grieving we often attach the wildness of it, to dollar bills.  Like the cup I once carried, except that this one runneth over.  Like how it feels to have faith in someone as they pass from their body, could have a value to it.  Like the most vulnerable of actions – release – is up for judgement.

It feels like a time for reminding that there are no rules to grief.  That my grief, looks like my grief.  Point finale, as my francophone colleagues say.

My grief has judgement to it.  As I let go the idea that the judgement of others has any hold on me, I look to my own actions. And what do I see? Vulnerability.  Fear.  Trust.

I am not sure there is more of a challenge to openness, than observing or helping someone die.  And then you ice that with the power of choosing to die.  And put the cherry of discontent on top.  What do you do with all of that? Well you just let it be, alongside your own imperfections.

They are with me now, my imperfections. I am looking. But it’s to grow, not self flagellate.    Why did I?  Because it was all I could do. It was, who I was.  And now, I am. I am the same, and I am changed.  I sit still, and I move.

And with the hardest of humility, I see the value of reciprocated care.  I see what was not, and what was.  Lovingly handed, behind its veil.  With trust and hope and the painful acknowledgement that abundance is not green.

I have picked up my abundance and am asking it to grow me.  Looking to the knowledgeable as I relearn how to eat, release, commune, see the mirror.

And to those with their nose in their wallets, I raise my cup high. That kind of discontent is not to be held, nor will it be caught by me.  The only blessing to which I assign value is this peace, this beautiful peace that tells me that nothing was lost.  All is, as it should be.

“Our happiness is a direct reflection of how quickly we can restore our fear back to love.”  (Gabrielle Bernstein)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s