Matthew Morales - Never Be Poor Again: A Guide to Money as a Spiritual Practice

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TK

Never Be Poor Again:

A Guide To Money As A Spiritual Practice

Matthew Morales

Copyright 2021 Matthew Morales

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Matthew Morales.

www.moneymystic.co

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN 978-1-7361885-0-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-7361885-1-4 (ebook)

L ibrary of Congress Control Number: 2020923009

~Special Dedication~

This book is dedicated to my daughter Aubrey Michelle Morales. My love. My heart. My inspiration. You are the timbre behind my poetry; the color behind my words.

~Special Thanks To~

Aubrey for telling me to write a book

Roya for saying Id be selfish if I didnt write one

Bria for encouraging me to get it done

Nicole for teaching me how to write one

Ashley for keeping me accountable

Grace for making it magical

Mom for being Mom &

Dad for being Dad

Contents

POVERTY IS A STATE OF MIND

The Decision: I ll Never Be Poor Again

The Million Dollar Library

Sold My Soul to the Devil

Aubrey-Marine-Morales

Salsa in Nepal

Humble Me

MONEY IS A SPIRITUAL PRACTICE

Principles

School is the Meaning of Life

Money Is A Spiritual Practice

YOUR MONEY MAKING PLAN

Laws of Nature

The Recipe

Proverbs

The Universal Laws

AND SO IT IS

My Little Golden Book

The Girl Who Made Me Rich

Buy The Ticket

CONCLUSION

Acknowledgements

About the Author

The Rest Mark |

The rest mark is a pause for effect stronger than a comma, that accentuates the tone or idea before or after.

Eg.

Wow! You are such an| idiot!

PART I

POVERTY IS A STATE OF MIND

THE DECISION

Droplets of blood pelted from the sky, as our bellies screamed at us for neglecting them. It had been six months since we had an address. Six months since we had enough guaranteed money to pay for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Six months since we packed everything we owned into two holey rucksacks and I couldn t be happier! We were living the dream. The ratatat tat of the feet, cars whistling by, birds chirping, the grumbling of our stomachs, our ears filled with a cacophony of sound that reverberated through the bones. My stomach was so angry at me, it was like a faithful partner who had caught me naked in bed together with a new young lover, it stabbed me over and over again. We, -Nicole, Isabell, Mallory, and I- had just spent twelve hours being tossed and turned on a bus which whizzed gracefully along steep mountains for what felt like days.

Our feet barely feeling the Nepalese earth we were moving so fast, the wounds of our hunger propelling us. Leaving India had not been easy to do figuratively or in reality. I barely had enough money to get my visa to cross the border; if I bought a Visa I would be completely broke. Not a cent. Actually, not a rupee, worth one-hundredth of a cent, in our pockets. Thankfully, our amazing friend Isabell, a small girl with huge deerlike eyes and a taut way of holding her body as if always ready for a fight, did have some money, enough for me and Nicole too. Breaking the spiritual laws of money was something I did easily back then. What a sucker I was . Nicole and I began our journeys together and by the time we got to this border, we had a combined eighty dollars. We spent forty dollars on the Visas and Isabell paid for the rest. Would the paltry amount that was left be enough to put a roof over our heads? After wandering around Kathmandu we found a beautiful place to stay with some locals and we managed to make a great deal if we paid two weeks rent upfront. Now we were just left with twenty dollars. I was still nauseated from flying around the cliffs of these mountains for hours on this terrifying yet amazing bus which danced along the curves of the Nepalese steep sheer-cliffed ribs. Our only desire was to seek out a well-deserved meal. Nicole, her nose scrunched up in thought in that charming way it did whenever she had made a decision, let s wander till we find something to eat . We re tired| were gonna just stay here and rest. Mallory gestures towards Isabell. Ok, we will see you later. We walked through an underpass through a huge wooden door and into the bustle. Exploring the passageways, our eyes, at least, were fed with beauty, wonder, and life; the townspeople, local stores everywhere, hypnotic music, and spicy smells pleased our senses. It was love at first sight. I was Harry Potter walking through Diagon Alley for the first time.

Where should we eat? I asked Nicole who was adoring a gold-encrusted bracelet with emerald and pearl. Let s just explore, when we find something good, well eat there. She was now fully entranced by a handcrafted neckpiece, my light wallet an itch on my mind as we meandered.

We continued through the storefronts, our eyes touching everything we passed. Walking past a hand-carved statue of Buddha I look up into the window of the store to see what other wonders they may have. The windows were adorned with beautiful rugs and tapestries, vibrant and magnetic. I turned to usher Nicole towards the store to explore its treasures and our day instantly took a dark turn.

Thud . My arm whips. Too slow. No! An enormous metal beast, an ancient angry red car smashes Nicole. She crumples, her body is now formed in the universal sign of surrender of the animal kingdom, but the beast has not finished with her. Mercilessly, it continues to crush her foot, it is slowing down, it seems so slow I dont understand why I cant reach it. Oh. Im not moving. Ah!!! A scream echoes, from whose mouth Im not sure. My body finally starts to move, I run towards the car which seems rooted to her foot, her organic form and its sharp metal joints temporarily and unnaturally fused. Get off her foot, get off her foot!!! Move!! I smash my hand over and over on the trunk of the beast.

The beast retreats off into the wild never to be seen again and I am screaming. Matt calm down, its ok it s ok, I m ok.

I hunch down, eyes darting between her foot and her face. Is it ok?

It hurts, but I think I m fine.

Well, weve got to get you to the hospital.

How do we do that? Is there something or someone we call?

I spring up: Excuse me, how do we get her to the hospital? Sir? Sir! No response. They dont speak English. Excuse me, sir, sir! How do I get to the hospital? Crickets. The owner of the carpet store runs to us, frantic to help. He waves down a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled vehicle that runs on one motor engine, somehow defying gravity. Surely, they can get us to a hospital. Sir, hospital! Can you take us to the hospital? He doesnt seem to understand.

Hospital! She got hit by a car. Emergency! Doctor!

I watch helplessly as the owner of the rug shop gesticulates to the tuk-tuk driver, his Nepalese words, and some money doing what I could not. Of course, I dont have money now, of all moments. He jumps out of the vehicle to help.

Emergency doctor?! Oh yes, emergency doctor. One of us under each uninjured limb, we gingerly maneuver Nicole into the tuk-tuk and we shoot off, my hyper-vigilance now on overdrive in stark contrast to Nicole who is so calm its terrifying, I pray its not shock.

The hospital bright lights offer little solace. Within thirty seconds a full crew of medics emerges and immediately gives her ketamine as a painkiller. The doctor feels around and inspects her foot:

I believe she is fine but we will take an X-ray to make sure she didnt break anything.