I’m about to turn a second page in my life, as I’ve been through quite the fearsome experiences in recent years, unveiling the utmost beauty of my inner being while exposing the cruelty of the human attitude in this lifetime.

The whole world economy is based on cruelty and sadism, hurting people for not doing someone else’s bidding, rather than bringing everyone’s deep soul to the surface into a lifetime of not abusing but sharing one another’s free will.

What is this loveless place in humanity? It is void of dignity or self-respect and requires care for one another. I am sometimes still considering giving up as I lived a beautiful life, fulfilled and caring, but I cannot bear the cruelty of humanity, not only my own victimization by others. For despite all the beauty revealed to me by the Great Ascended Masters of Our Time I have been severely used up by the death-bringing betrayal by others whose bidding I did not do but rather for whom I cared a lot during this incarnation.

What have I done? I’ve called to God like Job, for worldly answers simply don’t cut it, and while I’m innocent like Job and no one understands but Master Saint Germain. What can I do, I’ve been bereft and asking Master Saint Germain and  King Solomon for restoration, praying for juice and divine mercy. I’ve become a Jew from it, not the answer but the result.

Please ask the boy.

He was holding a bunch of cut flowers, winding up a nice purchase for the customer in front of him. The boy was tall, a slender blond Germanic young man, present with the customer, and I ignored his handsome appearance. His attention was bound.

An older woman, maybe a few years older than me in her mid-fifties or so, looked at me. She was preparing flowers to sell and approached me to sell me something. When I saw that her face was uneven, I was startled by seeing something that scared me. Her face’s right side was frozen. She must have had a stroke. Saint Germain asked on my behalf, which freed me.

You must talk to the boy, Master Saint Germain made sure I followed his instructions as she nodded toward me to take my request. I didn’t know what to do and uneasily, for I had done it falsely too many times in this lifetime, kept my attention on her son.

“Sie moechten mit Ihm sprechen? You want to talk to him?” I’ve had female friends who were mothers get angry at me during my youth for my quality of bonding with their sweetheart babies. But she was extremely sweet about it, there was no crucial judgment in my attention on her beautiful young man, in fact, she appeared to understand the situation and deeply honor her boy. It was as if she was offering me the treat. He was handsome and beautifully masculine in his vulnerable radiant youth. Surprised by her wisdom, I looked at the young man through her eyes.

“Haben Sie etwas verschnitten das Sie nicht nach Hause nehme wollen? Have you accidentally made cuts you don’t want to take home?”

“Da muessen Sie meine Mutter fragen. Please ask my mother about this.” I was happy.

She took her time. Her mouth wasn’t moving on the right side, as she took a freshly cut rose that was red. The red rose was enough. But she took more and more go inward I am going out with her said Saint Germain, and Master Saint Germain's heartfelt presence increased. As she tied the bundle of greenery, gorgeous with many flowers, with a thread, she added more care, if I wanted paper. Either way. “If you’re going to carry them with you before being able to put them into a vase, it’s better to wrap some paper around them.” And she wrapped these beautiful flowers.

 I took my flowers and was happy.
​
You go on, I’m staying, Master Saint Germain said as I observed him helping the woman with her son. We met up again. 

 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.

I am tricky. My despair skyrockets every few hours. I am receiving homeopathy and it helps. The doctor was really sweet. After hearing my story, he told me to come whenever I need — just to sit and drink tea. ​The medicine was amazing. My attention shifted to joyous experiences. Now that it’s finished the horror is back in my mental imagery. 

Even though my Lama helps me through mental telepathy I am too tired to meditate. It is beautiful. He meditates with me. I learn so much. It should be worth it to me to stop dozing and sit up whenever he’s present. But I am too tired to meditate. 

I used to sit and stare at what my mind was doing. It was as if I was threatening my mind with a dangerous sword 🗡️. I used to not lay awake for long. I would leap into sitting and meet the mean ideations before me. It was better than sleep with horror percolating inside. Therefore I didn’t use to be able to sleep.

Recently I’ve been able to sleep cozily again. My bed in Mohin’s hotel is cozy. So is the room, albeit not for me. My Taoist inner alchemy teacher said, you can’t meditate your way out of your problem. You need to sleep.
​
I’m tired of meditation!

How a verbal contract cost me my living and improved my Hebrew and Tibetan, and I was given food in Israel
​
Our daily bread give us today…
…and forgive us our wrongdoings…
את לחם חוּקנו תן לנוּ היום, וסלך לנו על חטאינו כפי שסולחים גם אנחנו לחוטאים לנו
…as we forgive those who trespass upon us.

Israel.
“Nothing is for free.”
This was one standard answer I received. I would ask
“?יש לך משהו בשבילי בחינ Do you have something for me, for free? ”
“Nothing is for free.”


HaShem

© Nora Hoffmann. Being given two free apples from a store nearby and fresh all leftovers at a Falafel Place on a corner of Natan Strauss, Jerusalem, right before closing at 10:30 pm

“יש לך משהו בשבילי בחינם? Do you have something for me for free?”
“’Mah at rotza? What would you like?”
“Whatever you will give me.”
“You are hungry?”
“Ken. Yes.”
“Take what you want.”
Uneasy to receive by my own hand, I would always request: “Would you give me what you want to give me?”
And they — mostly men — would give me something, mostly bread, into my hands: “God bless you.”
Our daily bread. את לחם חוקנו .

And forgive us our mistakes as we forgive those who trespass upon us.

I was barely living. Why didn’t I take 40% as promised by my inner father at the startup of our loosely agreed upon corporation? We never got to accomplishing a formal incorporation for my promise. I dedicated myself fully to the project. I have given everything.

I had been insecure. I am not sure if receiving what I felt I should ask would have changed the outcome. “You must ask for 40%.” But I only demanded an equal third to begin the venture.

Patricia Haggard of Bridges Academy had used me, based on a verbal only agreement, to build a lucrative online delivery of Alchemical Hypnotherapy of David Quigley. Due to my being shy to ask big boss money even though I was the head as far as executing the idea, we were sharing the income and costs three equal ways. Until Patricia Haggard decided to break the covenant of truth, made herself superior, placed herself on the pedestal of peace in the form of economic abuse, and forced me out. This is over for me.

The image she had been projecting was that she is a good person. It cost me my life. I have never had a business associate this ignorant. It was the first and one horrible business decision I ever made in this lifetime. Everyone trusted her.

At tzrikha khaim. You need life.

Ridden by horror and disbelief in her truthful lack of integrity — and horrified about the eventual decision to work with her despite off-the-bat years ago having a strong intuition that she was putting forth a false front the very first time I spoke to her — I lay alone in the cold of January on the cozy mattress in my Honda Odyssey, parked on a frontage road in snow and ice in existential terror.

I couldn’t sleep all night. I knew my best friend was worried. I had left his place late in the afternoon. A snow storm in the night had made me afraid to continue driving all the way to Mount Shasta, and I pulled over at 11pm onto the frontage road for a night’s rest. I couldn’t call. I have no American telephone, only online call options which are free. In the city of Mount Shasta I knew one location where I could use the internet from my car parked in front to tell my best friend I had arrived safely. But I was still 20 minutes driving away in good weather. Not having heard from me my friend was worried. I could feel his fear for me come on in waves.


© Nora Hoffmann. Two Introvert Alchemists with Master Saint Germain

I had left my best friend’s place — it is a small apartment, too small for two introvert alchemists, one beautiful big room with one bedroom separated by a sliding glass door. It is difficult to stay together even though we love each other. We were driving each other crazy. It didn’t feel right to stay. I decided to follow my heart despite fearing the icy season of Mount Shasta.

© Nora Hoffmann. A mild moment during the icy winter of Mount Shasta.


As I was lying shivering in the early morning in the back of my car, King Solomon’s visionary appearance which is guiding my life asked me:
“What do you need? Speak to me.”
“Ani tzrikha kesef. I need money.”
“At lo tzrikha kesef. At tzrikha khaim.” You don’t need money. You need life.
It was early in the morning, maybe five am.

By six am, the mountain on the side of the road sent me an image that it desired to keep my spirit and bury my car by blowing dirt over it. Annoyed, I leapt into the driver seat and drove toward Mount Shasta.

At tzrikha khaim. You need life.

© Tz’hon Hoffmann; Mount Shasta City in its beautiful winter

For weeks I’d been drinking hot water. I would at times drink a bit of coffee or mocca. My inner mother Ma Zu encouraged me to drink water cold from the well.

© Nora Hoffmann. My secret remedy for love, a breakfast mokka made by me

I could not eat much. My best friend insisted I eat. To not have him worried more than he already was about me, I ate. He could barely function with the horror of my reality in his home. Thank God, his desire for me to live would make me hungry.

I had little savings. I had let go of my independent consulting business and given my entire attention and soul to this project. This woman and I both needed to make a living from our shared venture which began in 2018. She was fairly handling the money of the verbally agreed upon three-way partnership. David Quigley is a known crook. In fact Patricia Haggard opened her own school in 2017 to leave him.

It had been hard work for three years with very little money at first. Finally our project was going strong enough that we needed help. I enrolled trusted friends, competent teaching assistants who were always refusing to work with sleazy David Quigley due to his known absence of integrity, breaking agreements over and again, and his nasty attitude — many people refer to him as presenting as a sleazy car dealer. Ironically, most of our students were women despite David Quigley’s obvious and often-discussed-behind-his back sexism.

I promised my trusted people that they would be doing business with the wonderful Patricia Haggard of Bridges Academy, and me, a teacher of Inner Alchemy, because I was in charge of directing the online delivery team. I told my friends that I was always doing my best to mitigate David Quigley’s famous frequent misogynistic, political bullshit, and mean remarks.

© Nora Hoffmann. Child's Burger given to me in Mount Shasta City.


The very first time I spoke with Pat was on June 25th 2014. I needed some personal development to manage my puzzlement over an unexpected albeit loving and wise inner world arising after a sudden Kundalini surge the year before. I found David Quigley in a google search and called his Institute right away. Patricia Haggard of Bridges Academy was then the main sales person and, for bringing in business for him, co-director of David Quigley’s Alchemy Institute for Hypnosis, a center using hypnosis to get in touch with spirit guides.

Guided from within, or maybe someway tricked by my Egyptian God lover Thoth, but that’s for another day a story of love and fulfillment through living with ascended masters, I was already committed for a ten-day trip in the month of July. It was the only way I could learn the two-digit planetary numerology which surprisingly had revealed Thoth (71) in my name. I needed to learn this way of divination.

Therefore I discussed with David Quigley’s sales woman Patricia Haggard, casually known by most as “Pat,” my intent to take the training in September to be able to provide for myself during the busy month of July. By an easy-going incessant — accompanied by apologies for talking so much — talking manner from her I found myself enrolling for his upcoming training starting on June 28, i.e. in three days, despite my commitment to providing my bookkeeping clients the necessary regular business accounting.

In disbelief, I told my best friend — who then was just becoming my first, a very kind and understanding, boyfriend since my life-altering kundalini surge — that I thought she must be fogging customers with her incessant sweet-talking discussion of God-and-the-World while sneaking your money out of your pocket. He was not happy: “Sweetie, I understand you’re busy. But I do need some time with you.”

Pat excitedly celebrated when she acquired for herself David Quigley’s powerful gathered-for-decades customer contact list a few years into our mutual venture. She was proud that she had finagled it from him in a way that made her look ethical.

She used to advise that we needed to be ready to throw David Quigley under the bus. “He will throw us under the bus any chance he gets. He’s thrown me under the bus many times.” I would feel uneasy. I suspect she wanted to get rid of him as soon as she had sufficient scrupulous hypnotherapy teachers for her school. Oddly, she threw me under the bus.

Patricia had insisted I transition to working on our business and less in our business, and the people I enrolled in believing in the utmost integrity of Patricia are good people. They are highly intelligent, gifted, and spiritual. I diligently encouraged and developed their autonomy. Zoom was easy for me to master due to my costly master’s degree in digital media, and I trained all of them, and I did not exclude Quigley nor her, in developing their zoom leadership. I was building a long-term sustainable platform for everyone, and made sure my leadership team of brilliant women was authorized. I would hold meetings to debrief our team’s performance, trouble-shoot issues, and help everyone be clear with David Quigley.

As a reward for making it happen, I am the one with empty hands. Patricia Haggard has been making it impossible for me to take care of myself, and sending me ruthless replies. She refused to give me the recordings of the three-way delivery of online material that she always said not to worry about, that I could receive them anytime from her, and was capitalizing on every customer contact acquired during our shared venture, but left me with nothing. No customer contacts. No team. No students. No food. No. Zero.

I couldn’t immediately start alone and earn an income. For reasons above my understanding, my previous friends stayed with Pat of Bridges Academy, thereby allowing her to throw me under the bus. For my own survival now I pray none of them have enough inventive brilliance to see how I was developing the long-term sustainability of the business.


© Nora Hoffmann. Mount Shasta giving me what I need — life.


I was beside myself from the horror of betrayal. I had betrayed myself. Without the very team I enrolled and trained, Pat would not have been able to discard me the implementor of our successful online delivery of David Quigley’s Alchemy Institute’s content. She kept my team, the welcoming atmosphere I created, my delivery strategy, my long-term business development plan, and my livelihood.

To add insult, Patricia claimed I owed her money, as if she was paying me by the day and I had been given by her undue income. She demanded I pay her back for the days she forced me out from our ongoing training. As if I was her employee! As if I was out of integrity, she wrote “I trust you will pay me when you have it.” As if I owed her something. She pretended I had not given everything I could, even claimed “so you learned a little bit about zoom.” She may be projecting.

I had kindly pointed out a breach of integrity of our mutual agreement in Pat’s demands on our partnership. She therefore accused me of being untrustworthy and was “going to think about working together in the future for a few days.” She dug the knife into my heart in our friendship. When I forwarded her texts of David Quigley badgering me for his own reasons — for years he had made clear remarks about resenting my financial share — she pulled the knife out, using his comments to back her decision, to let me bleed to death without care about how I’d survive, and divided my business livelihood between the two of them.

Her way of behaving at the end was similar to nasty highschool girls. She punished me for something outside my control, most likely her frustration about her lack of financial self-reliance, her economic dependence on Quigley, and her failure to succeed in business without him. What I didn’t take into consideration had been that she was still working for him outside of our mutual partnership — where he was paying her.

Seraphim.

Nothing. Yesh li khaim. I am living. Jerusalem.

© Nora Hoffmann

Ain li kesef. אין לי כסף.

I was approved for pro bono help from a lawyer referral service. But several attorneys did not accept the case.

David, a kabbalist at home:
“Akhad. אחד. At zrikha orekh din akhad. Lo zrikha shisha.” He raised his open palms toward the sky saying He will provide. One. You need one attorney. It doesn’t take six. Holding his index finger stretched to the sky, he repeated:
“Orekh din akhad.” One lawyer.

A falcon had announced himself to be taking out the very fear that inhibited me. After a day or two of Patricia having pushed the knife deeply into and pulled it out of me, my best friend and I were driving by as a falcon shot from the sky, killing a small bird. My friend was scared. Despite my horror, I decided to interpret the sign positively: Since I left his home, my Tibetan Master appeared to me in spirit through a falcon.

Thank God for my spiritual practice. I needed to master my mind to dis-identify from the unrelenting image of my lying dead frozen on a road. For weeks on end I could not sleep. I could do nothing but stare at my mind, seeing the nothingness in my despair. Some days I was unable to move.

My Tibetan Master would pray for me, give me initiations, and appear. I could identify his kind Tibetan accent.

How is your meditation practice?

It’s like demons on a wallpaper. Terrifying.

He’d make me laugh: See, if you change the wallpaper, then is tantra (transmutation practice). If you don’t change the terrifying wallpaper, then is dzog chen (Great Perfection practice).

I had no place. My family home is occupied by a demonic take-over. My one and much older sister has inherited our maternal grandmother’s mental illness of ill will, incessant belligerence, and power-hungry Machiavellian manipulations. She was using our mother’s money to hire a mean lawyer to act toward her own will. The well-paid government high position schoolteacher-once-sister had taken my apartment in our mother’s home and told our mother’s care home I was dangerous. I needed a lawyer to see my mother again.

I must be purifying terror, the archaic kind of our collective humanity, and personal from my own past lives. Fear and despair are always present.

Plenty of water accompanied by plenty of rest and many hours of additional sleep will help replenish our kidneys. Money represents the chi of the kidney, and feeling constant terror indicates depletion of kidney energy. My Taoist Arts Inner Alchemy teacher advised me that “You can’t meditate your way out of your situation. You must sleep as much as possible.” But how could I sleep?

I did follow his advice as best as I could with my unstable no-home situation, at a friend’s in Sweden who let me stay for a while at her second home, at my best friend’s in California when I was docking there, on the cozy bed in the back of my minivan when I was rolling on, and in India in a wonderful friend’s cheap hotel rooms at cost.
Master Saint Germain, my inner husband, King Solomon my inner father, and my inner mother Ma Zu, she is known in Tibetan Buddhism as the first Tibetan to become enlightened, told me: Don’t worry. Study Hebrew. Study Tibetan. Think of nothing but moving up to Israel.

Azriel. Khaim. חיים. Israel. Azriel.

My inner father King Solomon is right. I need life. Khaim. My heart has been depleted. If I am going to come through horror and despair poor, I might discover the strength to rebuild financial power. I need to return. With very little money. Azriel. I carry on. Azriel.
​
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by Nora Hoffmann, 3/11/2013

One thing is clear to me: 

We are rebuilding our economy. Beyond rebuilding, we are restructuring and redefining it. We are restructuring not only the external pathways of commerce, but we're rerouting our inner pathways, the way we think, about commerce, economy, and the means of communicating value: currency (which frequently is money). In short, we are re-e-VALUE-ating our approach to our personal, interpersonal, and global economies. 

As human awareness of each other expands through communication and information technologies, we are starting to see something we've never seen before: the true reality of other people. Thus they start living as real people in our perception, versus just a vague sense in our minds' eyes. And as we see ourselves in their shoes, we can't but care. Thus many of us recognize that we want to share prosperity and happiness amongst all of us, and that we can't leave any one person or sentient being behind if we want the whole that we feel part of to thrive. 

We recognize that often quantity of money applied does not equal quality of life stimulated, and we don't like the discrepancy. Particularly, as global citizens, I believe more and more of us share the desire that the resources we contribute and circulate serve the wellbeing of every being of this earth. It's not a choice anymore: Feeling our tribal nature and innate empathy naturally expands the definition of value received for money given to include more than just oneself. 

Life stimulated, aliveness inspired, is what I equate with "value." Providing goods and services is what I equate with the human need to contribute, "to make life wonderful," as Marshall Rosenberg, founder of Nonviolent Communication, puts it. The instinct to engage in trade and commerce is based on our needs to stimulate life for ourselves, and to make life wonderful for our community. In other words, our need for everyone to thrive, to share and experience companionship in our experience, and to live this earthly life to the fullest. 

When money given and life (value) received are within reason of each other, sanity settles. We relax, rest our bodies onto this beloved planet, and money becomes a natural earthly means instead of an abstract, alienated entity accessible only by a fearless or ruthless few. Now money can become a friend to those of us who are sensitive, who need it to come lovingly, who insist on circulating it with an open heart, clear mind, and confident choice. 

We further recognize that commerce isn't all about profit, and safe-guarding ourselves: It's about connection. I get to meet you, and you get to meet me, through the contribution we make to our world, through the exchange of our goods and services and ideas. Suddenly, commerce becomes a sacred means of sharing our humanity. A sacred means of respect, curiosity, and mutual exploration. And thus an ancient aspect of human interaction becomes a new and primary dimension of economic relations: Enjoying each other. Friendship. Fun. 

Thus I envision an economy where everyone feels comfortable participating. Where the joy of sharing diversity through commerce and trade inspires everyone to partake meaningfully. Where people effortlessly recognize how to express their spiritual integrity within the web of human sharing. (Incomplete sentences are common place in my German native tongue. I like them, so you will see many in my writing.)

I believe economics are at the very root of human evolution. Money, originally of the earth, has gotten a bad reputation, because it's been abused. A basically spiritual essence, closely tied to Gaia, I want money to become a worthy representation on the altar of the Goddess. A representation of our earth, of our interconnection with each other, of sharing respect, and beyond respect, a representation of a deep celebration of sharing this sentient existence on our earth. A representation of sustenance through meaningful exchange. Instead of complaining that money has become a God, I want to celebrate that money, like everything that exists, expresses God.  ​​