Walking the Edge Between Money and Meaning

I Want Money, and I’m Working on the Rest

Photo by Joshua Rondeau on Unsplash

“Money don’t get everything, it’s true.
But what it don’t get, I can’t use.”

When I first heard Yoko Ono sing that back in my college days, I felt the trigger immediately. Consumerism. Capitalism. I didn’t know how to listen to or articulate my discomfort then. Looking back, it was about the ache of wanting. The fear of not having.

On a walk with a friend recently, she told me about growing up an only child. Her parents were not rich, but they did well. They were able to send her to college.

My parents were not rich either. And they also sent us to college.

I know there are struggling people in this world. Lots and lots of them. Struggling for basic needs. Hungry. Cold. Displaced.

And the unobserved mind in me buys into the idea hook and sinker. Money can fix that. If I had money, I could get everyone shelter. Warmth. Food. Education.

It makes sense.
It’s rational.
Almost moral.

Money is power.
Power to protect.
Power to buffer suffering.
Power to buy time, comfort, care.

This thought surfaced while we were out with our exchange student, trying to give her a full American Christmas. Small town strolls. Parades with church floats and fire trucks. Local businesses lining the streets with cookies, cheese, crackers, candy.

And I wondered, what if someone unhoused showed up and started grabbing the food?

Not politely.
Not quietly.
Just taking.

The discomfort exposed something I did not want to look at. The invisible rules. Who the celebration is for. Who abundance belongs to.

Later, in a completely different setting, that same tension surfaced again during a call with my touchstone community The Creator Retreat.

I’ve been holding hands with this bold and vulnerable group of souls all year. We huddle. And then we launch. The support goes deep.

During a Zoom meeting about money, I went deer in the headlights. My body tightened. My mind went blank. I had to leave early for a previous appointment.

I could feel that rich connect with the group as they checked in or gave me space to process through whatever it was that came up for me.

What lingered wasn’t the conversation.
It was the contraction.

I tried to name it in writing. Not to explain myself. Just to see it more clearly.

• • •

Thank you for checking in. I was bummed I had to leave early. I almost never go to the doctor, but I had an appointment that day.

I wanted to stay and see if I could name what was happening inside me. I didn’t get clear on it until this morning.

I want you to know how grateful I am for your courage and commitment to spelling out the finances. And I also want to be honest. When there are lots of numbers and letters, my system freezes.

• • •

Reading my own words back, I could see it.

Not confusion.
An inward pull.

I am not dyslexic or ADHD. I think it is just my particular wiring. I need quiet time to digest topics that trigger before I can reenter a conversation. I’ve always been this way.

I’m also an auditory learner. I did well in school because I intuited strategies to get through the system. I have been rooted in the school of self realization for most of my adulting life. Audiobooks are my go-to. I listen slowly. I replay passages until they sink in. One line becomes my meditation for the day.

This is what living on the edge of enlightenment looks like for me. Not transcendence. Not escape. Just noticing where my nervous system tightens. Where fear disguises itself as logic.

Because here is the pivot I keep bumping into.

Money is power.
And money is also illusion.

It can solve problems in form.
But it cannot resolve the inner contraction that keeps recreating them.

I know how to manage money.
I do not yet know how to remain steadily present with my inner self.

Sometimes I fear I might die a seeker. Always grasping. Always one insight away. Never fully resting in the truth that it is okay to not be okay. That this discomfort is part of the human side of consciousness.

And that is where the illusion lives.
Not in money itself.
But in the belief that once I have enough, I will finally arrive.

The truth is quieter.

I do not want money.
I want joy.
I want ease.
I want peace.

I want the homeless and displaced souls of the world to have medical care and psychological support. To have a home. Healthy food. Dignity. And the chance to dress up and go see the skill and magic of the Nutcracker Ballet.

I want to shower the people I love with the ease money provides.

I want all of us to have our basic needs met so that, if the impulse hits, we have the inner space to turn toward self realization.

This is the edge I keep walking.
Between money as power.
And money as illusion.

I know it is not here for me to figure out.

It is a trigger.
Showing me another place I get tight.
So I can soften.
So I can relax.
And remember the inner self.

Even with the well-worn voice,
“I want answers,”
growing quieter in the background.

---

Wishing you enough money to pay the bills,
and enough presence to remember it was never the point.

💚✨
Dancing on the Edge of Enlightenment
Edge Dancer · Connie