Our world is about society, politics, education and war, all of these is made with money and with money as the end goal. It has been set up for us to focus our attention on making enough money: well, you do get up 5 days a week to go to a job to make enough money to live, do you not? And the reasons are good ones except that there is a whole lot more going on in you and around you than just the requirement for money.
I have written several articles that appear on ravensmedicine.com that teach the basics of what money is and how to create financial freedom for yourself on the salaries and businesses that are accessible to us who are not capitalists, are not ‘wealthy’ and who are not in the network of oligarchs whose wealth actually marginalizes them. Their money separates them philosophically from us: we are using our cash for shelter, food and clothing; theirs is for their perceived need for luxury, power and leisure. These are rather different goals to aspire to in life.
You knew I have a story about my life experience with j.o.b. (just over broke), here it is:
In the 1950’s in my later teen years and in the 70’s after divorce, there it was: go get a job. But that was a serious challenge because the prevailing attitude about ladies on the job: we were not supporting households as men were and so we did not need to be paid much. In essence it meant men were paid about a $1.00 per hour; we were paid about $.25; it was not possible to support a family on the buck. Where did that leave those of us of the female gender: out of a decent livelihood without a man? Oh, girl; oh, girl!
My last job came about when I applied to a lamp warehouse to become a lighting consultant. The deal on offer was that given a minimum salary to begin, if I should learn the business in a three month time, the company would then double my wages: from $250.00 to $500.00 a month that at the time was a manageable amount.
When the day rolled around that was the 3 month boundary, I went upstairs to talk to the boss. I began by reiterating the deal I was made by the young executive who hired me. When once informed, the boss said: “Oh, no. We are not going to double your wage, maybe, in another 6 months we will give you another $25.00 and then, later on next year, maybe, another $25.00.”
I was already struggling to live with dignity in a walk up apartment sharing a bathroom with a family of 5. Whoops, that’s just not going to work and besides, did the company just lie to me? Hmmmm!
So: what did I do? Those days were at least a dozen years before we began a movement called: Women’s Liberation. In my Canadian world at that time, there was no precedent for what I was about to do.
I stepped back from his desk about a foot and a half. If I open up my mouth to speak, you can hear me! At the top of my voice, I used the next 90 seconds telling this guy what a total scumbag he was! What was his answer to that?
“Ok. You’re fired!” I was about to have the last word; a word he was chauvinistically and patriarchally unprepared for! I rocked his world big time.
Pointing directly into his face, I said: “Too late! I quit before I even walked up these stairs.”
So: what did I do? I got out my sewing machine!
I had been a sewer about 20 years at that point and it was the time of hippy shirts. I bought muslin, pre-shrunk it, designed and sewed hippy shirts, sold each for $3.00. Two designer shirts out of 5 yards; cost $.75 yard, profit on my personal creativity and initiative: $4.25, half set aside for rent, the rest to eat and buy more muslin. I set myself free: free to live and be creative. Thank you very much. I never looked back.
As I had been nurtured on my dad’s wage of about $40 a week in the 1940’s, I had learned frugality. (Frugality is not miserly; it is the art of using money for your life purpose.) I was not stymied by not having much money; but I was certain that my time, my talent and my intelligence were not for your profit. I was not raised to be your slave. That was my last j.o.b.
I have cast my lot with my people. People became my focus, my inspiration and my sources of enough money to live on. We were all in the same boat, except I was a tradeswoman. I can be self-employed. I was ready for the real training I needed at that point to accumulate sacred money geared to my personal spiritual purpose in life which at this point means writing a blog by name: ravensmedicine.com. It’s only about 49 years later and while I am no kind of oligarch, I own my own mind, I own my heart and I own my life. In my 81st year, that counts.
Thank you very much for paying attention, for reading what I write and please, remember to pass the fun along to anyone you deem receptive to the idea of creating true freedom in a world messed up by the corruption of money. Freedom is not cheap; it is priceless!