Do you think Twinkies should be free?

How about soda or candy?

Let’s try the same question with some other things, not just food (if you can actually call these examples “food”): Should tables and chairs be free? Should you just be able to walk into a furniture store and take whatever you want?

One more round–this time with services (rather than physical items): Do you think people should paint your house for free? Fix your car? Do your dry-cleaning?

Keep in mind, the question isn’t “Would you like these things to be free?”–it’s “Do you think they should be free?” In other words, should everyone just be entitled to go into any store and demand any item or service, absolutely free of charge?

If we’re being honest with ourselves, I’m guessing that most of us would answer no. (And if you didn’t answer no, I bet you would if you imagined yourself as the store-owner or service-provider in this scenario, forced to work for free, rather than the one getting the products or services for free!)

Fair is fair. Whether we’re talking about junk food, furniture, or manual labor, paying for things shows that you value them. Payment acknowledges the time, energy, and expense that goes into making/doing something that you want. And it represents (or embodies) an exchange of energy that both sides feel good about (otherwise, the exchange wouldn’t happen).

We take all this for granted–so much so that we rarely if ever think about it. It’s just a given that most products and services cost money. And that is generally seen as fair and right.

Yet all of these universally accepted notions about paying for what we value often goes right out the window when people think about services aimed at helping you in your spiritual life.

Time and again I’ve heard people say, “I just don’t think it’s right to charge money for spritual services.” Yet these same people would, undoubtedly, have no argument with a store charging for Twinkies or other things that are BAD for you. So why do they have a problem with people charging for something that is GOOD for you, that uplifts you, that adds value to your life?

More often than not, it’s not the would-be customer who expresses reservations, but the person providing the service: the one offering the spiritual counseling, reading, energy work, or any other service designed to enrich your life in a positive, holistic way. Some of these practitioners might feel that money and spirituality are in conflict. Others might simply lack the self-worth to value themselves and their gifts enough to feel worthy of putting a literal value on it…in the form of a price tag!

(My first job after college was co-managing a New Age Center, which I did for five years–so I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve heard variations on this “you-shouldn’t-charge-for-spiritual-services” theme dozens if not hundreds of times during those years alone!)

This is not to say that we shouldn’t give. (Also, don’t worry–I’m not going to start charging for my blog!) Giving is wonderful! Offering your gifts without any expectation is a beautiful service!

But there is also absolutely nothing wrong with exchanging energy for services–whether it is through trade, barter, or cash. After all, money is simply another form of energy. Payment assures that the energy keeps flowing back and forth (as opposed to a one-way energy-suction or simply stopping). It is also a compliment, a way of saying, “I appreciate you. I literally value what you do. It adds value to my life!” (If it didn’t, you wouldn’t participate in the service, even if it were free, right?)

From a law-of-attraction standpoint, paying for spiritual services is a way of feeding that service, a way of saying, “I want more stuff like this in the world!” Giving something energy makes it grow. And as I stated above, money is simply another form of energy.

On a practical level, exchanging money for spiritual services enables the server to make a living (fully or partially) through their gift, their passion, their service. It means that they will be able to offer this gift to far more people, dedicating a large portion of their life to it, rather than trying to cram it in on nights and weekends after working 40-odd hours at a job they took merely out of (perceived) necessity.

Without charging for their spiritual services, so many gifts would atrophy, fall by the wayside, or go largely (or entirely) unshared. Many people’s life-callings would go unanswered, simply because they felt uncomfortable accepting money for it. (Whereas they would, presumably, feel OK accepting money for typing in an office cubicle, putting cans on a grocery-store shelf, or doing whatever other job they might take to pay their bills.)

So, whichever side of the exchange you might find yourself on, remember that payment for spiritual service is a way of both sides saying, “I value this. I value you. This is important, life-enriching, spirit-nourishing work. And I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is.”

So, can we all just agree to get past this money-for-spiritual-services hang-up once and for all? I bet we’d all be so much happier, more abundant, and spiritually enriched.

I would put money on it!

…

What are your thoughts about being charged money for spiritual services? (Remember, I’m not talking about charlatans and scam artists; I’m talking about people who legitimately enrich people’s lives through gifts and talents that they’ve nurtured and honed through years of work or training.) Do you ever feel weird about charging for your own services–whether they’re spiritually based or any other kind? Would you be willing to open to alternative perspectives that might nurture you, your gifts, and those who receive them? I’d love to hear about your thoughts and experiences.

Twinkies photo (CC) Larry D. Moore. Hostess Twinkies is a trademark of Interstate Bakeries Corporation.

This post is going to be a bit different: I just got an idea for a comic book (yes, based on personal growth–otherwise I wouldn’t mention it here), but I don’t draw well–so I thought I’d just summarize the story and, of course, throw in my two cents about its lessons/implications. Enjoy, and feel free to imagine marvelously drawn cartoons as you read. 🙂

Many people know the Arab story about the man who didn’t get the memo to “Trust in God, but tie up your camel,” but today I’m going to tell you the less-famous continuation of that story–and how it created a little-known superhero: Thirsty Man!

Part One: Dude, Where’s My Camel?

There are many variations on part one, but Thirsty Man’s version goes like this:

A Bedouin was riding his camel across the desert with his servant: the camel-keeper affectionately known as “Camel Boy.” One morning, they awoke in the middle of the desert to find that the camels were gone–inspiring their now-famous exchange:

Camel Boy: Dude, where’s my camel?
Bedouin: Didn’t you tie them up?
CB: No, I trusted in God to keep them here.
B: A little advice for the future, Camel Boy–trust in God, but tie up your camel.

Which brings us to the lesser-known part of the Thirsty-Man saga, in which these two camel-less fellows are forced to make their way across the desert by foot.

Part Two: Camel Boy Becomes Thirsty Man

As you can probably guess, the desert was very hot, and walking across it made them very thirsty. They rationed their extremely limited supply of water, but soon ran out of that. They were able to get a little moisture from a small cactus, but just barely enough to keep them alive.

After a few days and nights of staggering across the desert with parched mouths, they reached an oasis. The good people of the oasis took pity on the tired, thirsty travelers. Aside from tending to their physical needs, the villagers listened to their guests’ story with rapt attention.

Camel Boy especially appreciated the attention being lavished upon him–particularly by the beautiful women of the oasis, who wiped his brow, washed his feet, and hung on his every word. He had always lived in the Bedouin’s shadow, a near-invisible servant–but now he commanded center stage, evoking equal parts awe (“Wow, you really walked all the way across the desert?!”) and pity (“You poor dear, you must be so thirsty!”).

He was no longer a boy sidekick–he was a heroic leading man: Thirsty Man!

(At this point I imagine him standing tall under the oasis’s palm trees, proudly wearing his newly donned super-hero costume–the requisite cape and boots, as well as a tight-fitting unitard with the “Thirsty Man” insignia: a capital T over a burning sun and an almost-empty glass of water.)

Aside from listening to his amazing story (from which he conveniently omitted the detail about why he was walking across the desert), the oasis villagers offered water. The Bedouin gratefully accepted, drinking numerous glasses until his thirst was quenched. Thirsty Man, however, only took a few drops–just enough to wet his tongue.

“I don’t want to shock my system,” he explained. “My body has grown accustomed to doing with almost no water.” The villagers tried to coax him into drinking more, but he was adamant: just enough to keep him alive and no more.

Part Three: Thirsty Man’s Travels

Once the Bedouin had quenched his thirst, he decided that he liked the oasis so much that he would stay there. Thirsty Man, on the other hand, had bigger plans for his life: he was going to travel the world. And so, with much concern for his well-being (especially that lingering thirst, which he never seemed to shake), the villagers bid Thirsty Man adieu.

Once again he wandered off into the desert, with only a small canteen of water to sustain him until the next oasis. Amazingly, he managed not only to cross the desert but to travel around the entire world, making thirst not just a temporary condition but a way of life.

(Indeed, he’s built his entire life around this identity: His favorite food is extra-salty potato chips. His favorite animal is the cottonmouth viper. His favorite musician is Sonic Youth’s guitarist, Thurston Moore.)

Thirsty Disciples

Sadly, Thirsty Man is misunderstood by many people, who offer him water and are perplexed when he refuses to drink a normal amount. Others, however, are moved by his plight. Indeed, he has re-created time and again the original scene in the oasis: intrigue, concern, pity, and, above all, interest.

And wherever he goes, he certainly does attract interest–as well as disciples. The disciples don’t wear the same costume, and they build their lives around symptoms other than thirst–but the dynamic is the same:

• They identify themselves based on a hardship, illness, or symptom.
• The symptom, like Thirsty Man’s thirst, may have been unavoidable at some time in the past, but is no longer necessary to continue.
• They derive some benefit from the symptom–such as pity, assistance, or simply attention.
• They resist all efforts to eliminate the symptom or distance themselves from it.

Please note, however, that there’s a big difference between a thirsty man (someone who’s thirsty) and Thirsty Man (who’s built his entire identity around being thirsty).

Dark Night of the Thirsty Man

Sometimes, in his darkest hours, lying in bed at night, Thirsty Man wonders if it’s all worth it or if he should just give in and drink as much water as most other people. But then who would I be? he wonders. Certainly not Thirsty Man. And I’m not Camel Boy anymore (and wouldn’t want to be, even if I could). So I’d just be…

But he can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. It’s just too scary, too confusing, too painful. And so he falls asleep thirsty, wakes up thirsty, puts on his Thirsty Man costume, and continues his thirsty lifestyle.

As I envision my comic book’s final page, Thirsty Man is surrounded by a throng of adoring, thirsty disciples. A few uncomprehending people offer him water, which he pushes away, despite his chronic thirst.

I wish that this story had a happier ending, but I’ve found that while you can offer Thirsty Man a glass of water, you can’t make him drink.

…

Have you ever met Thirsty Man or any of his disciples? What do you think is the best approach to them? Have you ever fallen into a variation of the “Thirsty Man” pattern, even a little bit?

Thanks for humoring my comic approach! Next time we’ll get back to “normal” posts–I promise! 🙂