Musings on the art and manner of the Steemit economy

A writing full of gratitude.

Yesterday we talked about love; today, let’s talk about money. Don’t bother getting up from your Steem-paid sun lounger on the beach, just scroll on while sipping your pina colada.

My mother done tole me: “when money flies out of the window, love will soon follow”.

Our childish dream of having, and becoming, rich daddies and good-looking mummies is as old as the hills. But what’s it all about, Alfie?

The true value of Steemit is that we are collectively saying something even non-believers can believe in. This is floated entirely by the crypto currency, and anyone who fails to see that much is a bit of a numpty or got lost on their way to FB or Crochet Corner. Even I will confess to being here because of the money. Only not to make or take any.

My job is to be a fool. To counter the cruel, unfair world of all that is fiat and to stir it back into the Chaos of Creative Potential. I believe art can reveal the interconnections that exist between cosmos and temporal experience. I endorse all belief, be it in God or money, but above all just the breath of belief. We hinder ourselves by doing what we must. We liberate our potential to be free creative spirits by believing in what we do.

I write to give more than I can take. In order not to appear a fool I tend to be cruel. If any of this makes sense so far, read on.

benefactors

My parents are my life-long committed sponsors. It is sad to say, therefore, that they benefit nothing from me in return. In fact, they are generally embarassed about me. For example, I am erased from my mother’s life at a cocktail party when she gets asked after her children. She suddenly will have none (my sister would curse every mention of her existence, that deal has already been cut between them). It could be her fierce maternally protective instinct to shelter both of us that makes her negate me, so I am fine with that, I suppose; besides what do I want to be brought into a cocktail party for anyway? So thank you, mum.

In any case, if it were possible to do more to me than ignore me for the most part, my father would do it in his last attempt to save me from his own lack of success to make me successful (in the world, with people, financially etc). True, I have no value in this world economy since I have invested everything I am in an after-life. I don’t expect him to understand how this makes my current moves in this one all the more critical, with nothing concrete (in figures) to show for that. Considering hot air is all I have to hand him by way of sharing how I proove my success to myself, he has been extremely tolerant. For this a huge thank you, dad.

May I interject myself here to say that all the above goes to illustrate most of our finer relationship are best defined in terms of money and not love? It simply keeps the truth value of our relationship a workable guage. This is not a bad thing. It just isn't love as we must come to understand the future of love.

I promise you, only if you take away all and everything related to money out of a relationship will you be left with love. This will be a most stark operation, unsettling to the modern mind, allowing no past to slip into a pool of uncontaminated (non-pre-destinated) future.

I have only found three states of being which serve as touchstones: pure consumption of that which is free (think of breathing, berry picking, collecting rain on your tongue, or enjoying the simple art of cultivating votre propre jardin); simple sitting (because one cannot always walk or lie, so in sitting we know the Difference and find the Midst into which a Higher Consciousness may come). And the act of making love (are you in the Mood of Love and ready for its creation? Have you the potential/[which fuel?] to keep it streaming?)

There are several inconveniences to having to work covertly with no noticeable profits to share with the outside world. If my father discovered my presence here on Steemit, in the full realisation of how seriously invested I have been, with nearly all my time, every day anew dedicated to this forum over the past couple of years (give or take a break or two), he would be astounded and fly into a rage over my stupidity. On a good day, maybe, already exhausted by the petty minds at the bowles club, he would only continue to be bitterly disappointed in me.

I am pretty certain he would be mortfied, though, to discover anything that might have bled out of this place into my real life. Like say, a friend or like-mind. He would argue, per definition, if you met in a place where money brings you together (a workplace) this would be what you had in common and it is unlikely you were meant to be together for any other reason. In short, if you meet here, your meeting is centred around money. What other attraction is there? (There is insufficient sensory input for a chemical reaction or other social bonding clues beyond tags.) And I am inclined to agree.

But with a difference.

I see money as a mirror for the shadow who travels with you to safeguard you from getting sunstroke from revelling in the Truth too much, too soon.

hard times

As for my parasol, I use my parents and their shame (or name it what you will) amongst other useful people from my past. I thank them all. Anybody who helps to move the money (energy) along, which for me means to write. I, too, feel the pinch of a fast-moving, urgent economy alright. My most precious silent hours of solitude in the day (the first and last two) no longer effortlessly can be put to this work any longer. Perhaps, I should take this opportunity to thank my son (locked up in his own world) for having kept them available to me despite stealing much of my other time. Living with any (normal) others makes such self-indulgent enterprise, that is the one of a writer, impossible.

The other supporters have all been paraded here in my blog posts. They pretty much all belong to the parallel reality owned and instilled by the World Banking; there where real men hunt bison, not clouds of fluffy spirituality. As do most of you: fully legally catching hares and harts or whatever is on today's menu. You are here to find an alternative to the minted coin and make full use, voluntarily, of the traps that come with it, buying into a new system of survival. Have you an alternative? No, precisely: you need energy to live.

Energy has to be acquired since we are not perpetuum mobile automatons. Hence the need for means with which to get it. Economy is Greek for household, and we all have one under our very noses, behind our very eyes, in the pit of our belly, all are different valuta of the current we call life. We need to take care of our Self. (See how @trucklife-family manages in her report on her own self-care in her latest post).

It is up to you how certain you want to make the self-made illusion of there being but two certainties in death and taxes. Kid yourself not: most of what you are belongs to either. Even without governments you would be taxed: to live is to pay off debt and trying to limit new debts. How self-sufficient and independent (debt-free) must we ambition to be, anyway? For those who make love it becomes a real question, for the rest of us it remains mucking about with words.

the golden ass

Money is consolidated energy (and therefore karmic by nature). It does not tell us who you are but it reflects how you do. It is why we are fascinated by millionairs lounging by the side of their pools. It is why we bemoan our 10 hour days shoving a mop around the airport. Some things we do leave us out of the spiritual loop, but this also depends on how you do them. Many a Zen Master does little else all his life but rake the sand in his garden.

Were we to begrudge the time stolen we otherwise would have certainly spent on feeling ourselves (getting to know the Real I), I would applaud your gripes and grumbles and seriously bewail your struggles.

Money is neutral. It is only as dirty as you make it. One day you wake up on your lounger and find heavy clay where you though there was white sand. So off you must trudge to find yourself a pair of clogs that can cope with that.

Money is but a reflection of what you (have to, karmically) take care of. It paints out a picture before you as does a film on a screen. Any arguments about the value (the appreciation) of what you do being injustly determined by some despotic bullies is beside my humble and philosophical point. A point, mind, which converts without any loss directly into Practical Application, namely, discovering one’s honorable self.

We are all here for the Currency. From behind my desk, I watch it flow most cryptically in all of you showing signs of life in print and picture.

If you can get rich quick, go for it. Why not? You will come to a halt as and when. We all do, some sooner than later. So be it. Have your flash photography and eat it. Lean back and depend on “what the markets do” for you, by all means. There is nothing painful to anyone about stepping on the backs of others to get what you believe you need. Some of us believe in miracles, others believe in adding up the numbers. These backs I refer to have volunteerd afterall, with plenty in it for them. They are the ones who put the money in the pot, like in Steemit’s case someone like me – not that I have not put hard cash into the Crypto banking system, which is all that counts for you money-makers; but by now you will have understood that for a Karma-Light worker coin and copy are identical in weight and meaning: i.e. just traction for the soul to get a grip on life.

Yes, guys, we are all wonderfully connected here on Steemit. And I do believe God says: it is good.
Ok so we are back to talking about love, afterall. Can’t help it. Occupational hazzard.
I believe in love, Alfie
Without true love we just exist, Alfie
Until you find the love you've missed
You're nothing, Alfie

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Extras

Recipe Pina Colada:

^{Ingredients: 3 parts Pineapple juice, one part White rum, one part Coconut cream
Preparation: Mix with crushed ice until smooth. Pour into chilled glass, garnish and serve.
Standard garnish: Maraschino cherry, Pineapple slice}

Or try a more complicated Watermelon version here (cutters required).

Additional reading:

The Wishing-Table, the Gold-Ass, and the Cudgel in the Sack by the Brothers Grimm

Photo credits:

Man on sunbed: TerriC
All others by: chunchun except the one with the rake by manfredrichter