What Money Can’t Buy
It has been predicted: this is My Lucky Year. A once-in-a-lifetime return of the Water Snake, which blessed the annum of my birth. If I make it to 120 years of age, I’ll have another, but it’s not likely to happen.
So of course I wait for money, good fortune, opportunity in the form of a landfall: a gift, success, manna from heaven. Money itself is a familiar nemesis: I’ve had it, lost it, invested it, watched it decline in value, gathered more.
But here’s the thing: I’m increasingly aware that this luck is indeed streaming to me, only in the most unsuspected manner and through channels possessing no monetary value whatsoever. A pearl beyond price, it is the shining jewel of happiness: a pure, unadulterated, undiluted, unabashed transformation from fixation on the grave concerns that besiege humankind – from the unjust, the unseen, the unforeseen events and circumstances that plague all troubled species on this blue marbled planet – into a moment to moment walking meditation on the miraculous.
Suddenly and without obvious fanfare, I am smiling – quite a lot, as a matter of fact. My heart feels hopeful and I am struck with synchronicities everywhere: lucky bolts and inspirations out of the blue; ideas both conceptual as well as concrete. And while this wondrous way of being does not entail hiding my head in the sand, it allows me to manage life on a daily basis with all of my faculties attuned to assist, gather in and release out – without the added burden of stressing about things over which I have little to no control.
Imperfect, perhaps – but remarkable, nonetheless. I accept it with gratitude; I welcome the change.