It’s a strange thing money. It has a mythical appeal and repel quality. The familial tales and myths around money are epic. Each generation, reinforces codices of action and behaviour around wealth. But here is the real truth. If you weren’t born with family money, you are unlikely to get any to a higher level than your parents.

Oh yes, I know, I have heard them all…It’s how hard you work, it’s how you flow, it’s destroying those limiting beliefs, thinking abundant thoughts yada yada, blah blah blah, all stories, all bull shit.

One of the greatest deceptions I can see upon the world is that of the “Class System”. The level of income you are achieving designates your class, poor white trailer trash, lower income, blue collar, middle class professional too Elite, it doesn’t matter, these are the deceptive classes used to hide the great deception, that of Caste. The world is run and controlled through vertical lines of what you do, not horizontal lines of what you make. If you learn this lesson and learn it well, you will go far and possibly grow rich.

Now I was sexually abused from an early age. The situations generated around this, the feelings of guilt, shame, the crimes I in turn perpetuated, all had one true and hidden goal. The goal of keeping me within the “criminal subset”. I could have been a great politician or athlete, but by the time I was 10 the situations I had been in and party too, already precluded a sidestep into the legal world. Upon the underworld I would rise, fail or go to jail. I haven’t been to jail, which shows you just what a good little criminal I became, and within those ranks I could of ridden very high indeed.

Every time I tried to step away out from under a “strange attractor” would force it’s way in and I would be knocked back into the world of the illegal, until there was nothing but illegal for me to do. I became well trained, through fear, trauma and my own indelible well of hell.

The training to remain within ones caste ranges from subtle to highly invasive. The subtle is to write on drugs, prostitution and money and have your “friends” walk away, using justifications of “it’s in the past” or “I can’t be associated with that”. That’s a whole new level of denying ones being and validity as a person, watch as the real me shrinks back into shape. To the real heavy hits, this is the overdose of drugs, in the back of a car winding up in a different town, working in a whore house, kind of stuff, or the “we got the dirt on you, we’ll nark you out” (particularly effective when one has four kids).

Your, keep you in the Caste line, may be different, your circumstances are individual and unique to you. But if you are trying to change your life, move into another career, gain more wealth and keep meeting what the “New Age” terms resistance, then I would counsel you to look at your lines. Your vertical caste lines of what you were born and raised to be, rather than the class lines of money. It is very possible to ride to the top of your field, easily, as soon as you recognise what that field is and what is stopping you from plowing it.

I became a very well paid call girl, making my way up the ranks from seedy massage parlor to "High Class", then **** salesperson (still illegal here) working my way from foils to pounds and now I have a wonderful coaching and tarot business, whereby I get to support others to rise and be whole.

I have successfully navigated the side step. It took for me to realise that the ceiling is not above us, it is the walls that surround us, that stop our expansion.

In peace, strength and love.
​
Own it like the boss you are.

When you have played in the ocean and lost a fin to the sharks, how do you move beyond the puddle you have retracted too in safety?

There have been several periods in my life, where I have flown, soared with the birds, worn silk and before it was "Totally" unfashionable, fur!

Gees I looked good. I'm not a natural beauty, but bear in mind my goals when I entered Solway College, at 12, were to be an opera singer, a ballet dancer or a first rate whore. And I had failed at the first two.

Into the Telecom and Training area I drifted. I learned word processing for that company, on the most bizarre two-day training course. From hardly seeing a computer, to typing and editing on one, complete with Fkeys in two days, umm ('87, think on p.c's back then...had you heard of one?)

Another training course I went on was incredibly different. It was the Academy of Elegance, 12 week 'finishing school' for ladies. I learned to shade my face (it's all about the triangles), walk. sit, get in and out of a limo elegantly...if certain young song stars had of taken that lesson it would've saved a lot of eyes from unsolicited beaver shots.

The highlight at the end of the course was "The Walk". 

We had two walks to learn, involving make up and clothing changes, to be performed, at the end of the course, before Invitees and Academy Guests. As a special prize, the girl who had graduated highest, would receive the Golden Rose. A lapel pin of... a gold rose.

Gees I wanted that rose.

You see at this stage I was still thinking I was going to meet a wonderful rich man and we were going to waltz away under a sky of stars. He would lift me up marble steps where we sigh longingly before gasping to fulfilment, on silken sheets, under the canopy of the four poster. My natural shine would be allowed to come through and we would walk hand in hand, delivering love through the land.
And yes, I was on drugs most of the time.

Each week the lexicon of lessons was incorporated into life, practiced upon over the week and added to, like the most wonderful serial magazine. I missed one week over the time and it was "The Walks", we had already learned how to walk but this was the choreography for the End Show walk. Now I'm pretty bright and I do pick up things quite well, but these walks were tricky. step step half turn, step step pivot, kinda stuff and there were two of them, I did practice. Not being there for the initial lesson though, I was always slightly unsure on how the steps went and I did not have the confidence to ask the tutor, of whom I was in awe.

So finally, the night of graduation arrived. I did not have a guest, as everyone I knew thought it a pointless waste of time of a class. 9-5 was their life and the more I grew my butterfly wings, the more insignificant in their eyes I became. This course wasn't about looks for me though, it was about restoring confidence in a beauty that had been traded upon since childhood. A way of reawakening my hopes and dreams for the future. A more beautiful, self made future. How do we make the pictures if not through experience?
Which is precisely where I fell down. No, I did not fall, but I failed.

I looked so good, on that final night, I had shopped, plucked, waxed and shaved. Shaded, perfumed, buffed and teased, I sauntered through that room, up the middle catwalk steps I siddled (cause that's what you do, in heels, walking up steps, you place your feet slightly sideways, so the whole shoe is on the step and you glide upon slightly bent knee with back straight, shoulders relaxed and head, erect from, the crown) ;p I got to the top of the steps with the wrong foot forward, I pivoted instead of turning, was facing the wrong direction and flubbed it. If there were not 12 other girls who had all successfully turned the right way, it would not of mattered, but there were and it did.

There in the midst of Ambassadors, beauty queens and photographers, I Royally gaffed.

I didn’t get the Rose, but after 12 weeks with this crowd I had not expected to. The fundamental difference between them and me was well apparent by week three. To these gossamer wrapped and fledged, more gold than silver spoon fed monarchs, I was toxic. Perhaps tainted is a better word, they had a beautiful world and I wanted in. It was their duty to protect it, from riff raff like me.

Everything I learned, I had learned from grudging smiles, under raised noses, with little side serves of malice. Like the expensive foundation choice of wrong tone. Or the Winter when one is a Summer. I loved what I had learned wanted to put the lessons into practice, but something had ignited within, a desire hidden as money. The energy of money. When it is not actualy money you want but the things money can buy. I wanted that security, of never having to worry about the power bill, the rent, making a wrong foundation choice, good scents and textiles around me, colourful people and laughter.

Inside I left the whole experience feeling more unworthy than ever. 9-5 wasn’t working for me, drugs were and in the not too distant future I would end up in a massage parlour in Auckland.

So how does one move beyond the puddle of ones safety? I can see two choices. One can cry so many tears the puddle overflows and becomes a flood, or one can dig a canal from the puddle to the closest water source, even if it’s a sewer and one can float like poop “down to where the river meets the sea”.

I’m pondering my choice.
​
In peace, strength and love.