The Currency of Enough

The Surprising Role of Money on the Road to Spiritual Awakening

The Eagle and The Condor (well, they might be Turkey Vultures since I couldn’t find an Eagle and Condor flying together today, but I’ll keep looking)

There’s a prophecy told across many indigenous cultures about the eagle, with its sharp vision and power, and the condor, with its deep wisdom and grace. And how they will one day fly together in the same sky.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First, let’s talk about money…

Money is one of the most taboo topics. We just don’t talk about it. At least, not in a real, meaningful way. It’s tied up with status, self-worth, and our sense of control. We chase it, accumulate it, worry about it, and yet we rarely stop to ask: What is it that we truly want from Money?

For much of my life, money has felt like a contradiction, especially in how it related to any sense of meaning or deeper spirituality. I was raised in a deeply spiritual and religious home: my mother, connected to the rhythms of the earth; my father, a Protestant minister. Faith was present, but it was never imposed. I was encouraged to explore, to question, to seek my own understanding. Yet beneath the openness, a subtle tension existed. My father spoke of money as a corrupting force, the root of all evil, while our family lived with the ever-present reality of “not having enough of it.”

That belief, and the lack, shaped me. It planted a thought, quiet but insistent: security comes from having more. Money wasn’t just currency. It was magic. It promised freedom, stability, even control. And so, I chased it. I built a career around financial success, believing that accumulation or more would bring a sense of ease.

But the truth is, there is such a thing as enough. When we grow in our spiritual awakening and shift from thinking in terms of “mine” to “ours,” the entire economic equation changes. The pursuit of security isn’t about amassing wealth beyond measure. It’s about ensuring that we, our families, our communities, and at the broadest sense, the entire human race, are cared for. As Ram Dass put it:

“Pursuit of the right livelihood should still remain, but the game of getting as much as you can from another person by treating ‘them’ as an object – that game doesn't hold as you become more conscious.”

There is a balance to be found. We should have enough to keep our bodies healthy, fulfill our existing responsibilities in this life, and sustain whatever spiritual journey we are on. But beyond that, overindulgence in money becomes more of a burden than a benefit. When accumulation turns into an end rather than a means, we risk losing the very freedom we sought in the first place.

Money dominates our collective consciousness, yet we rarely examine it. We hoard it, we spend it, we stress over it, but we don’t ask: What is money’s role in a meaningful life?

Lynne Twist’s book, The Soul of Money, arrived in my life at a time when I was finally ready to ask that question (deep thanks to my amazing coach, Jean Theron, for his always-amazing book recommendations). Twist’s book met me in this moment of transition, allowing me to confront a truth I have long ignored: Money isn’t the problem. Nor is it the enemy. The real challenge is in how we relate to it.

We cannot avoid money. We cannot reject it as something separate from a meaningful life. To do so is to miss its potential as a force for connection, sufficiency, and even spiritual alignment. The secret is not in turning away from money, but in transforming our relationship with it.

The Scarcity Mindset

We are steeped in a story of scarcity. From the moment we enter the world, we absorb the idea that there is not enough. Not enough time. Not enough resources. Not enough money. The belief is woven into everything: business, economics, education, even our personal relationships. It keeps us in a state of striving. We measure our lives by accumulation, as if security is something we can stockpile.

Twist challenges this deeply ingrained mindset. Not just exposing the fallacy of scarcity, but revealing how our unquestioned beliefs about money shape our sense of self and our connection to the world. She argues that true wealth isn’t about accumulation. It’s about recognizing that we already have enough. More than enough.

This idea of enough is a more radical shift than we might realize. It stands in stark contrast to the dominant narrative that tells us we must chase more to be secure, successful, or worthy. And yet, enough doesn’t mean settling for less. It means stepping out of the endless cycle of grasping. It means recognizing the profound abundance already present in our lives.

Mahatma Gandhi said:

“The world has enough for everyone's need, but not enough for everyone's greed.”

The first time I encountered this idea of enough, I resisted it. Enough? It felt naive. Even reckless. The world doesn’t reward enough. It rewards more. But the more I sat with it, the more I saw how scarcity thinking had shaped my choices. There was always another level of financial security to reach. Another safety net to build. The target kept moving. Even when I hit my goals, the underlying anxiety remained.

This is the deception of scarcity. It convinces us that the answer is always just beyond our grasp. But what if that wasn’t true? What if security isn’t about accumulating more, but about shifting our relationship with what we already have?

Twist tells the story of working alongside Mother Teresa. She witnessed how people with almost nothing still found ways to give. It wasn’t about excess. It was about seeing abundance in community, generosity, and trust. She also worked with some of the wealthiest families in the world. Despite their immense resources, many were trapped in fear. Fear of losing. Fear of not having enough. Fear of being taken advantage of.

Scarcity isn’t about how much we have. It’s about how we see what we have. When we believe it’s not enough, we hoard, protect, and isolate. When we remember that it is, we open, trust, and connect.

This realization hasn’t transformed me overnight. In actuality, it’s still unfolding. But it is clear to me that money is neither good nor bad. It’s simply a tool. It can be used to create separation or to create deeper connection. The way we use it depends entirely on the story we choose to believe.

The Eagle and the Condor

In her book, Twist shares an ancient story, told across many indigenous cultures of the Americas, about two ways of being: the Eagle and the Condor. The Eagle represents the rational, strategic, and structured. The Condor represents the intuitive, relational, and deeply connected to earth.

For centuries, the prophecy says, the Eagle has dominated, favoring logic, conquest, and expansion. We see it in our economic systems, in our obsession with growth, in the way we prioritize logic over intuition. In the process, we have devalued the wisdom of the Condor. We have devalued indigenous knowledge, interconnectedness, and a way of being that doesn’t rely on conquest to feel secure.

And it is costing us.

But now, we are in a time when the Eagle and the Condor have a chance to fly together. This prophecy is more than a cultural legend. It reflects a global shift in consciousness. The world is reckoning with the limits of a purely Eagle-driven way of life. But this shift is not only happening on a large scale. It is happening within each of us.

For most of my life, I have lived as the Eagle. My career was built on strategy, execution, and measurable results. I thrived in environments where rationality and foresight were rewarded. Like many, I believed that success meant rising higher, seeing further, and securing more. But something was missing.

I had spent years developing the ability to soar, yet I had lost touch with the ground.

The Condor had always been there, quietly waiting. It showed up in moments of stillness, in writing, in meditation, in connection, in those rare glimpses of being rather than constantly doing. But I didn’t know how to integrate it.

Until only recently, I have seen the Eagle and the Condor as opposing forces, two different ways of being that could not coexist. I thought I had to choose.

I don’t think that anymore.

The prophecy isn’t about one side winning. It is about remembering that both are essential. The world needs the foresight of the Eagle and the wisdom of the Condor. And so do each of us, individually. The Eagle and the Condor are not just cultural forces. They are aspects of ourselves.

Many of us have been taught to operate as Eagles: focused, driven, productive. We are trained to think in terms of scarcity, competition, and achievement. And yet, there is something in us that longs for the Condor’s wisdom. We seek connection, meaning, and a way of being that isn’t just about more.

But the answer isn’t to abandon the Eagle. It is to teach it how to land.

We can still be strategic, but we must also be present.

We can still plan for the future, but we must also trust what is unfolding.

We can still build, but we must recognize when we already have enough.

I have spent much of my life trying to be one or the other.

Now, I am learning what it means to be both.

The Eagle sees far. The Condor feels deeply.

Only together can they navigate both sky and soul.

That same integration, of vision and heart, structure and compassion, is needed not just within us, but in how we engage with the world. It’s especially visible in the way we give, support, and attempt to help others. Whether in personal relationships, community work, or philanthropy, we often bring the mindset of the Eagle without the grounding of the Condor. We seek to solve, to rescue, to fix. And we believe we are helping. But without awareness, our efforts can reinforce the very imbalances we hope to heal.

Rescuer vs. Coach

This is particularly evident when money is involved. Giving can be an expression of love, or a subtle exertion of control. We give to uplift, to alleviate suffering, to make a difference. But beneath the surface, the dynamics are often more complicated.

I have long struggled with the concept of charity. From a young age, I questioned the way it was structured, the behaviors it seemed to encourage, and the subtle message it reinforced. The idea that some people need to be saved by someone else. I have long believed in self-reliance, in the idea that people are capable of shaping their own lives. And yet, I cannot ignore the ways I have personally benefited from the generosity, kindness, and support of others. My life has been shaped by the willingness of people to step in, to guide me, to offer help when I needed it most.

Twist shares an indigenous perspective that helped me reframe generosity in a way that clarified these feelings. The old indigenous saying (often attributed to Lilla Watson) is:

“If you are coming to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you are coming because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

I love the way this challenges the traditional model of giving. It forces us to ask: Am I offering support in a way that empowers others? Or am I reinforcing dependence?

The Power of TED (The Empowerment Dynamic), by

David Emerald Womeldorff

, is another book that has meant a great deal to me, and is deeply intertwined with this concept. It provided a framework that helped me better understand this tension and offered a path toward a healthier way of engaging with others.

In his book, Emerald references the Drama Triangle (introduced by psychiatrist Stephen Karpman in 1968), which outlines three dysfunctional roles people unconsciously fall into when dealing with conflict: Victim, Persecutor, and Rescuer. The Rescuer, one of the three roles, operates from a place of wanting to help, but in a way that subtly reinforces power imbalances. The Rescuer sees others as needing to be saved. They step in, solve problems, and offer resources, often without realizing that they are keeping others in a place of dependency.

Just like the charitable giver, the Rescuer role is transactional. It provides relief, but not true empowerment. It allows the giver to feel good, but it does not create real, lasting change.

Many well-intentioned acts of charity fall into this trap. Large-scale aid programs can unintentionally weaken local economies. Over-reliance on external funding can strip communities of their own agency. Even on a personal level, when we help someone in a way that disempowers them, we subtly reinforce their dependence on us rather than their belief in themselves.

The antidote to the Rescuer role, that Emerald points to, is the Coach: a way of supporting others that acknowledges their resilience, resourcefulness, and ability to create change for themselves. The Coach doesn’t “save.” The Coach stands beside, offering guidance, encouragement, and a belief in the other person’s capacity.

This shift is profound, especially when applied to money and giving. It means moving from:

• Transaction to partnership: Giving not as an act of charity, but as an investment in mutual growth.

• Scarcity to sufficiency: Recognizing that people do not lack capability, only access to resources and opportunity.

• Control to trust: Allowing those receiving support to determine how it is best used, rather than dictating the terms.

True generosity is not about fixing. It is about walking alongside.

Twist’s work with both billionaires and those living in extreme poverty reveals an unexpected truth: scarcity thinking exists at every level. Those with very little often fear they'll never have enough. And those with enormous wealth often fear losing what they have.

The shift from Rescuer to Coach mirrors the shift from accumulation to integration. When we stop seeing money as something that separates us, we begin to use it in ways that strengthen collective well-being.

This isn’t just about large-scale philanthropy. It is about how we think about money in our own everyday lives:

• Are we using it to create deeper connections, or to reinforce distance?

• Are we giving in ways that empower, or in ways that maintain control?

• Are we operating from fear of not having enough, or from trust that we do?

Beneath those questions lies a deeper story. A story we have inherited, rarely questioned, and unconsciously lived by. The belief that there isn’t enough. But what if the real work isn’t about having more, but about seeing enough more clearly? What if sufficiency isn’t just an idea, but a practice?

The Antidote to Scarcity

By now, the scarcity mindset is familiar. We’ve seen how it shapes not just our beliefs about money, but our behaviors, our choices, and our capacity to trust. And yet, knowing this is only the beginning.

The real work is learning to live differently.

Sufficiency is a way of seeing. It begins with noticing when we already have enough. And then letting that awareness shape the way we live.

This is not easy. The world still rewards accumulation. And even when we intellectually embrace sufficiency, emotionally we may still feel the tug of not enough.

But sufficiency doesn’t ask us to deny our needs. It invites us to notice when the cycle of grasping has replaced genuine fulfillment. It asks us to be honest about what actually sustains us, and what brings peace, meaning, and connection.

In many ways, this sufficiency mindset echoes the idea of abundance popularized in The Secret by Rhonda Byrne, a few years after Twist’s book. But where that approach leans on manifestation and desire, sufficiency rests on grounded presence. It isn’t about wishing for more. It’s about seeing what’s already here.

Scarcity narrows us. It makes us fearful, competitive, closed. Sufficiency widens our field of vision. It creates space for generosity, collaboration, and joy.

For most of my career, I believed financial security was the key to freedom. I worked hard, saved diligently, and focused on building stability. And yet, the idea of enough always felt just out of reach.

As I continue to explore sufficiency, I see that wealth is not just about numbers. It is about how we relate to what we have. I find myself asking different questions:

• Instead of How can I get more? I ask, What is enough for me to live well?

• Instead of What do I lack? I ask, What do I already have that is more than sufficient?

• Instead of How can I hold on to what I’ve built? I ask, How can I use what I have to create greater connection, meaning, and impact?

I also recognize that I approach this conversation from a place of privilege. My family is not starving. We are not worried about keeping the lights on or having a roof over our heads. Enough means something different for everyone. For many, sufficiency is not just a shift in mindset. It is a matter of survival.

And yet, regardless of circumstance, the way we relate to what we have shapes our experience. Scarcity keeps us trapped, no matter our financial standing. Sufficiency allows us to see possibility, whether we have little or much.

Sufficiency is not a number. It is a perspective.

Money is not the enemy of a meaningful life. It is not something to be rejected or feared. The challenge is not in having money, but in how we hold it. Do we treat it as something to cling to? Or do we see it as something that flows? Something that supports, empowers, and deepens our ability to live well?

This is the integration of the Eagle and the Condor. The Eagle’s wisdom allows us to plan, build, and work toward some semblance of security. The Condor’s wisdom reminds us that life is not defined by accumulation, but by how we show up in the world. When we embrace both, we move beyond scarcity and into sufficiency.

Scarcity convinces us we are alone. Sufficiency reminds us we are connected.

Scarcity keeps us grasping. Sufficiency allows us to trust.

Scarcity fears what will happen if we let go. Sufficiency knows that when we do, we create space for something greater.

The way we relate to money is often the way we relate to life itself.

If we are always chasing, always seeking more, never feeling we have enough, then we will live in a constant state of lack. But if we shift our mindset, if we see the abundance already present in our lives, then money, like everything else, becomes something different.

Not something to hoard.

Not something to fear.

But something to use.

Something to help shape a more capable and compassionate future.

Something that, when held with the right perspective, allows us to truly live.

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