What keeps you from being a bougie b*tch?
Empathy.
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Why is this happening to me?
Empathy.
Why is my soul going through this?
Empathy.
Why did I choose to experience this?
Empathy.
Why am I suffering? Don’t have a husband? Am broke but surrounded by Range Rovers and $16 smoothies?
Empathy.
I can see the husband, yes. He shows up every time. The Emperor. King of Pentacles. Kind, nurturing, generous. Yet I can’t pull him any closer to my client. He says to me, Tell them I’m here. I’m coming — soon.
I’m like, Dude, I know.
My client may not believe me, even when I assure them of what I see. That’s okay. I don’t make their future happen. There really is no such thing as “future” — just experiences.
Yet I betcha they will be married in 2 years — and though my client will be very, very wealthy, they will never be a snob. They’ll drive around in a beautiful Range Rover wearing fabulous clothes and look like a movie star — but will remember the suffering, the trials, a broke bank account, what it takes to build a business, the anxiety and troubles. They will see everyone as an aspect of their life — whether past/present/future — and remember what it was like to live in one of the most exclusive towns in the US and not be able to indulge in the pleasure as they desired.
These valuable, difficult lessons will not be forgotten, even when my client fully inhabits a happy married life — and a much higher income bracket.
How helpful are past lives? Depends on how you use them.
There was a period that I was really into past-life regression — and would spend time conjuring images that were appropriate to the question. It was usually over money/wealth, as I was in the midst of building Shivaya Wellness and struggled. A big bummer of a time.
Always the question: Why am I so f-ing broke? Why is this so hard?
I didn’t have to be broke then. At the time of that particular question, I would have been six-figures wealthy if I had stayed in my teaching career. Yet I chose to walk away from a golden salary/pension to pursue life as a writer, which also morphed into my Tarot business.
Lucrative, it was not. Not for a long time. Eternal lessons? More than I could ever imagine. But Mama had bills to pay. Lessons could come later!
So when I said in those early days of Shivaya Wellness, Show me a lifetime that connects to my financial issues, a movie appeared in my mind, as clear as watching TV. Whether it was an actual past-life or a product of my active imagination, it was stunning to view.
The Jazz Age. A dark-haired woman in a gorgeous, red velvet smoking jacket. Me — and yet not me — stood in an enormous mansion with massive gardens that stretched long into the distance, somewhere in America. A young, handsome man — probably 20s — stood at the ornate dining room window, dazed with love as he smiled at me. I laughed and stroked his arm. There was no love for him. A pretty plaything, him and many others, until I grew bored and tossed them aside. I was rich. Autonomous. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anyone.
Once he left, I sat down to an opulent dinner. Alone.
The me of that past life looked straight into my eyes and said, Don’t be like me.
This was not a pleasant lifetime movie. No Cleopatra here. Just a miserable, shallow, bougie bitch.
Bonus: at least I was well-dressed, a foodie and of course, had my gorgeous gardens.
Drawback: I was probably found by my housekeeper after being chewed on my cats.
So it makes sense that I would end up in a religious family and church that preached against the ills of wealth, though one could argue that I was wealthy growing up. There was no way I was going to inhabit her — again! It makes sense that I had such early reactions to wealth and snobbiness, whether reality or my projection. The rich had power. I wasn’t good enough. They looked down on someone like me.
Hm . . . can’t imagine why I’d feel that way!
It also makes sense that I valued those who gave away their money as holy and higher-minded when really, we all have a role to play here. We need to experience every side of the equation to understand.
When we remember to see ourselves in those around us — the woman in the Range Rover (I was her) or the one who uses SNAP at the grocery (I was her), the woman with chronic pain (I was her), the woman with a happy marriage (I was her), the woman with the drug-addicted child (I was her), the woman who sits alone in her beautiful clothing, hating everyone (I was her), empathy grows.
Empathy grows and is never forgotten, even if it takes a lifetime or 10(0000).
Empathy —> I am you.
With empathy absent, it doesn’t matter whether you have a bank account or not.
With empathy present, it doesn’t matter whether you have a bank account or not.