"Money had no name, of course.  And if it did have a name, it would no longer be money.  What gave money its true meaning was its dark-night namelessness,  its breathtaking interchangeability."    Haruki Murakami   (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle)

When I read this I understood, for the first time possibly, the deep magic of money. There has always been a fence, a dichotomous split in my mind about the place of money in the human condition. As a necessary evil.  On one side love and on the other money.  Amazingly, this one line took the fence down.

What money can buy, oh my my the range.  Breathtaking is the very word.  A day's labor for a villager outside of Calcutta or a pack of organic tea tree gum in Boone.  Just think of it.  Her on the hot plains of India hauling away debris for the dollar she's grateful to have while I, here in the cool and lovely High Country,  refresh my palate using that same number of coin.

Or the big spender in Hong Kong enjoying the exquisite delicacy of a bird's nest soup as a first course of a dinner for a small group of business associates.  A check for which will come to a whopping ten grand (that's without the wine or liquor).  Same number would pay my mortgage for a year. Ease, what ease that would bring.

Money...builds the Taj Mahal.  Buys my paint and canvas.  Or perhaps a baby's formula from the local market or the Ikea crib she sleeps in.  I watched yesterday, from a far and comfortable distance, the women of Sudan race to a food drop that may let their babies live another day.  Food payed for also from a far and comfortable distance.

 But then there is the equally long and compelling list of what money, however geni-like , cannot buy. Yesterday, she cannot be returned.  Tomorrow, he is without price.  As radically improved as one's health might be by sufficient coin, the reaper is beyond reproach when it comes to the bribe, blackmail  or promise
of money. And we all know the big L word topping the list.

Oh dearies, it's looking like that dichotomous split is not so gone after all.  But that's ok because the fence is down.  My mind has been expanded courtesy of Mr. Murakami and I am holding both sides in a whole. Choosing not between one or the other but simply letting it be.

Isn't that a beautiful  song?  Let It Be.  I bought the album back in 1970 for five dollars.  Magical, then.  Still magical today.

Let it be.