There are many so-called master alchemists who pretend to be in the business for sincere reasons. Since ancient times, alchemy, due to the potential for easy gold production from cheap ingredients, has been used. Thus there is "fool's alchemy," in whereby he attempts to take people's cash while not offering the real gold which is ash. Wherefrom does in a healthy alchemical environment ashen gold arise? It is the ash of burning the old vehicles of emotional rigidity into merciful compassion. 

It is terrifying to say the truth. David Quigley and Patricia ganged up against my dear beloved soulmate at the exact moment that she had put in the remaining effort to bring in any missing necessary resources, including a mature team of assistant trainers who were her peers and whom she masterfully developed to provide a safe and meaningful online training environment. ​

 What I experienced in the US is unfathomable in Germany. Perhaps after Covid, it may be possible within a few decades — I am told that Covid eradicated a significant portion of middle-class business owners — that someone gets exploited, and the laws do not protect them, but currently, their society is knit so tightly that it is unthinkable. They’re probably the nicest people I have met, although some, the not-so-smart-ones, are annoying in their rigidity — and financial entitlement.

I arrived here with a backpack and a carry-on. I’d been to India. A business relationship, in fact, a classic roadside robbery scenario, their taking everything and leaving me for dead, forced me to move with my car out of a driveway onto a road trip into the beautiful Pacific Northwest, Pat Haggard and David Quigley, a known team of crookery but I fell for Pat/ricia, who can be extremely sweet caring, appearing kind and honest when she is dependent, had taken my livelihood. Their reasons were obvious. I can say with pride that these two people’s current income would not exist without me. Having stolen my business share, they’re definitely much better off than before I got them on the road: It was online alchemical hypnotherapy therapy certification training delivery which Patricia could not get off the ground because Quigley fearfully refused to get into it.

My spiritual journey in my car with one bag of luggage and a computer to write and think and cry with was accompanied by beauty. I have learned to ask for food for free, from vendors in different parts of the world.
​
From the gorgeous Pacific Northwest, I flew to Israel, following King Solomon’s advice to get חיים, life. Then, in order to have affordable four walls around me, a roof, and a lockable door, I used my remaining savings to finally return to India, where a US citizen is authorized to dwell for 6 months before being required to exit and re-enter to renew one’s Visa, and I accepted a very cheap hotel sponsored by Mohin, with the intention for some months of serious trauma recovery. There I mostly lived from hot water, and asked for free food here and there, even in India. My guides clearly instructed me about where and whom to ask, and in very rare circumstances to kindly give money. Generally they sent me in direction of the well-to-do in India, which has sufficient money to support their family traveling all over the world, despite a general naïve assumption of “You must be rich because you’re here.” Hearing about my actions triggered a Dutch friend of mine, who travels in India being supported by her country’s sound social support network, not on a shoestring but with little money. 

The beauty of the world:

India’s Himachal-Pradesh has a wonderful government. Everyone receives state support for energy, widows receive a special pension for food, and generous monthly rations of staples including rice, daal, and “ata”, which is bread flour to make Indian bread, and most middle class people of Himachal-Pradesh make a living owning orchards, which has been implemented by the state to support this gorgeous region’s growth for prosperity. Tourism here thrives, and is as well highly regulated to support the local’s financial strength. Of course as a foreigner I have no rights, neither there nor in Israel, however, most people in this region are “simple” — in Indian English locals use “simple,” meaning “sincere,” — and were mostly, albeit some very suspiciously, sweet, or respectful toward the situation in which I am.

But after a while, having lived with the locals in variety of settings typical for Indians, I was fed up. The hierarchy of the highly patriarchal, sexually distorted society, their assumption of my having money and free sex and demanding both frequently and forcefully, made it impossible for me as a single woman without companion to get ground under my feet economically. Whenever I was working in Mohin’s office, his staff’s antagonistic attitude toward women kept me from prostrating to my higher self. After a few months, in despair with no idea of an end of my horror in sight, I told my beloved inner husband Saint Germain:

Saint Germain. I seriously need a beak.

In his sweet upbeat manner, he showed me my light and skinny body, walking in the beautiful streets of Simla, saying:

Do you see how alive you are here in this region of the world?

Every day I was uncomfortable, knowing I would need to supplement my hot water diet with begging. Even though Saint Germain let me off the hook right away upon arriving in India when he explained: you don’t need to play the food game anymore, and I fasted for many days, with hot water and minimal food, sustaining my body through the energy of the Himalaya and Siva’s country’s daily joy and emotional aliveness between the people he guides, he made me ask different people for food, including my miracle-treat for depression, a heart-opener extra-ordinaire — coffee. But it was true, because of this needing to survive by the bare seat of my pants, I lived.

As my inner father King Solomon had said: You don’t need money. You need life. At tzaricha chaiim.
​ ָאת צריך חיים.

Many people in Germany have been very generous and kind, as well. Some are German, and many are muslims. However, perhaps from a similar entitlement as my Dutch friend, some Germans try to give me lip: “We can’t give you our left-overs. No one works for free ⛧👹👿👺😝👎✨🖕” I tried to give the truth to a couple, and all a German master can say is: “I don’t believe you.”

It may be the same as if an Indian burn victim told her story, or, if it wasn’t in the global news, a pair of parents was found here in bottomless sorrow from their child being shot in school — what I experienced, is impossible in Germany. There are strict laws for work relations— which Patricia treated me after all as if I was her employee with no rights at all --, and those laws are enforced very seriously, and the social net will catch someone, with the mandatory help of the persons for whom someone delivered services. The Wild West, the “rights” of the lawless, cannot enter Germany.