Awakening The Womb of Wealth

Women are the weavers of the treasury of life and abundance

Sacral Wealth is a vision I have for the inheritance of our womb wealth to be restored, and for our feminine magic to be valued, and returned to the throne of its lineages.

Our wombs have awakened - now their magic needs to be funded.

I share this with you, because in 2021, with a new baby, and all my family dead, we were a few months from running out of money. We were still only renting. House prices were rising and we risked being evicted, and were exhausted from years of over-giving.

I could see how we are taught to spiritually bypass money, because it might lead back to our power to reshape the world - and nourish our own magic.

All the women’s programming runs rife in business practice too.

Don’t be too loud or proud, don’t bother people too much, stay small and be quieter. Give things away. Charge less. Be nice.

Money is presented as a dirty, sinful, wicked whore.

How had I got to Motherhood without healing my ancestral wealth template?

We often wish women a healthy pregnancy, and hyper focus on her nutrients, her food, her self-care, lifestyle, and her community of women who can be there to provide support and care (available like a maternal ‘Friends’ episode).

But we rarely wish women a ‘Wealthy Pregnancy’, or talk openly about money or finances.

It’s a taboo subject. In fact, motherhood is often presented as a totally flowing feminine experience that won’t require any structural mastery at all, as if we are still stuck in the 1950’s.

Money has been exiled from the room. It’s either drenched with fear, trauma, unfamiliarity, from our ancestral inheritance of loss, or it’s deemed as ‘unspiritual’ or sinful by the anti-capitalists and spiritual circles (who are often funded by said dirty wealth from other sources)

We are conditioned to avoid money, or act like we are outposts of a ‘moneyed class of nobility’ who don’t have to sully themselves with such notions as generating wealth, resources, legacy. Like the Queen, who doesn’t have to carry money.

The reality is, money is part of our integral experience as women, and needs to be reclaimed. It is feminine embodiment. It is our magical legacy.

From my perspective, early motherhood as a biological event is not the moment women should be forced out in the world hustling for a dollar in order to feed and support her family. Neither do I believe it is always practical, desirable or possible to leave that responsibility to men, either. As with everything in the modern feminine world, it is complex. But ignoring it won’t solve it.

Sacral Wealth is incepted to bring a mature, magical, nuanced, in depth work into the world, so that we can begin to embody our truth and power as women born to be abundant. I want to journey into the intimate, feminine, domestic, sensual experience of money – or lack– and embrace our relationship to money as a magical force, to awaken the Sacral wealth of the womb.

The first step is to talk about money as if it belongs to us, and is a mother and magical mistress to our needs. Money is an expression of the ancient abundance of earth, that wishes to infuse and support mothers, and our visionary dreams.

For me, the matter of money came to the forefront when I had my daughter and become a mother, with no family support.

I remember a moment clearly when I could feel the gap between what I was experiencing and what it was acceptable to talk about, especially in the spiritual worlds. As I told a long-term mentor of mine, after comprehending my deep ancestral inheritance of loss, and the ways that had made aspects of the feminine destitute, I started to embark on a forbidden, erotic romance with – money.

This memory comes up, of feeling the taboo quality of the topic, the sacred duality of what we are expected as mothers to create for our children and families, and the complete disassociation from the reality of what that might require, in material terms.

Here is a story: A few years ago, in the dense fog of the pandemic, this funny situation happened where I accidentally announced myself as a ‘capitalist’ to a circle, as we drifted into the forbidden talk of money.

We were sat outside this beautiful hand-built home, in the midst of the oldest intentional community in America, talking about parenthood, and browsing our way through a beautiful Waldorf work book. There were five of us sat around a small wooden table, with a pot of tea and handmade cakes. We would take it in turns to read one of the chapters and then go round the table and discuss it, between sips of tea, with our various ‘masks’ resting under our chin like a magical talisman, as if they might cast a spell and keep our face, our lives, our world together.

The Waldorf teachings were deep and beautiful, and innately I could feel how they spoke to the profound soul needs of our children. I would pause to drink in the atmosphere, curated by a magical unicorn of a lady who felt as if an entire department of Shinto goddesses had decamped to America, to serve in a new tea temple, and surround this new world with magic, and the gifts of stillness, presence and forgotten elegance.

What I appreciated most was the space to speak about motherhood and to take council on how best to craft a world for our daughter to thrive in. To make space to percolate the small details of play, craft, art, and most importantly how to mark the sacred routines of time with rituals.

My heart poured into the book, leaving invisible imprints of sticky oxytocin and idealistic hopes, all the ways I wanted to weave into being this perfect beautiful world for my daughter, and somehow to also redeem my own child self in the process. In this environment, the possibility seemed scented on the wind, just a turn of the seasons away. The weather was cool, and we shrouded ourselves in shawls and warm dreams.

But there was an unspoken ghost at the table. A Goddess even. Dirty, unkempt, hungry – a ghost who had not been fed for a long time. She was Money.

Not patriarchal money. But the Money Mother. Her hair was tangled and her eyes blacker than the banshee, lined with weeping. Her breasts were shriveled and her hands rested proprietarily on her womb, still aching to birth, still engorged with the placenta of her lost treasure. She was Sacral Wealth.

The unmentionable was money – the necessary sister substance to this maternal love we were weaving. The roots, the foundations, the wealth. Real resources to structure this new world. The Strict Mistress of hard cash, who supported the Mother frequency. The Femme Fatale of Finances.

I saw that beyond the ideals we were reaching for on ethereal wisps of dreams, down in the root, mothers were bone-tired feeding our children when the world was not feeding us. We were all the Orphans of the money mother. We were broke. She needed to be restored.

Some invisible tether, an umbilical cord of sorts, had been prematurely cut.

We longed for the pulse of life force to bring us nourishment. We were psychically unmothered and unmoneyed. And no one was coming to rescue us. This was initiation.

So, as we were finishing up, clearing the pots, gathering the children, the banished goddess money, made her uncanny appearance like a fairy wraith on a dark road at night, incandescent with strange dread. We got to real talk, about screen time, exhaustion, and the connector, money.

Everyone has their own story, their own dark fairy tale. Mine was a dead mother, and a beautiful dragon child born on the one-year anniversary of her departure. Pregnancy, birth and postpartum in a strange land, with a dead mother, and an unfathomable grief. An uprooting, a hollow foundation. And a restructure. How I longed to be held by my mother as I held my daughter. How I longed for her voice, her cooking, her funny ways, not a paid-for postpartum doula (as lovely as she was for the brief time before the Pandemonium started). I longed for a warmth of support that is unscheduled, that pops by from love.

Motherhood ushers you into new rooms of the mother loss wound. Old furnishings you can barely comprehend, let alone reupholster.

Of course, the mother of my dreams was just that, resting in a psychic nirvana along with my dreams of the perfect Waldorfian child utopia. My real mother, the one who existed before death, was complex, wounded, a woman who had struggled with motherhood, her mother, and especially with money. Aged eight, she had marched me to the bank, to help beg them not to repossess our house during the miner’s strike, as we were about to go bankrupt.

I remember her sobbing over the sink, terrified to be homeless. Her own mother (my grandma) had undergone electric shock treatment for a nervous breakdown after losing a relatively small amount of money on a house down payment, as a widow.

My father had had a nervous breakdown, after his family went bankrupt, when their small green grocery shops were usurped by the big supermarket chains, and after his sojourn in bed for a year and a day, he spent the rest of his working life on the outdoor northern markets, 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, in all weather for about $250 a week.

This was my inheritance of loss. A wise woman once said to me, “when your mother dies, you finally receive her full inheritance. Pain and all.”

So, in the inner stew, as the subject of money came up and I heard my complaints towards this wraith-ghost of money and the corrupt money systems of the world, I apologized. What came out of my mouth next, as the group was dispersing, were the unexpected last parting words, almost an apology to the Money Mother herself - “But of course I love capitalism”.

And then the meeting was over. There was not really the space to explain myself. I just had to let is stand awkwardly, until the wind got it. I did not have time to describe the golden goddess I was seeing in my mind’s eye. Not a crazy man-made system that was sucking everyone dry.

I half imagined they all went away disgusted at my closing statement, visualizing me rolling in dollar bills in a red Porsche, smoking a cigar. My own imagination drifted to Bradford millionaires, the new industrialists of the last revolution, course, bloated with the cash of earth’s mined body. Full of the stench of new money that the people in power still look down upon today.

I might as well of rolled in the muck with my knickers showing screaming that I was a sinner. Lust, gluttony, greed. Such a bad, dirty woman, who WANTED CAPITAL to support her family.

My husband laughed. I was known for things rolling out of my mouth that couldn’t be taken back, or properly explained in the moment.

The worst thing is, I don’t even take it back. The wind can’t even have it. Because I want to keep it close and work some magic with it.

Later, I was listening to a podcast with a well-to-do male professor turned spiritual teacher, who concluded his pompous talk with the idea that the best way to judge how good and spiritual a person was, is to see if they are rejecting money and material wealth, and living a simple life. Aha – that was the marker, to see if someone was a bad, dirty, human, chasing the dollar, how unspiritual, how low.

But, wait….there’s a catch here. There is no feminine energy in this poverty, no embodiment, no root magic. No Lady Saturn. No luxe - the feminine light of abundance. Women have always wanted to resource their creations.

Because all humans have body needs (feminine) for home, food, care, nourishment, beauty, and in this society that takes money.

In that template of belief, it predisposes the already wealthy to be the gatekeepers of spirit – including religions already worth trillions of dollars. It also predisposes us to systems of lack, contraction, meanness, rather than claiming, and rebirthing the reality that we are full of wealth, and that life is teeming with bio-magical luxury.

There is a magical money that births more creativity, more innovation, more wealth.

Our wombs are designed to conceive, create, birth AND fund and nourish life and our creations. In ancient times, Goddesses were depicted with multiple breasts, showing the awesome ability of the feminine to feed, fund, and finance life and her creations.

Goddess Temples, that were eventually annihilated, and their feminine practices outlawed, were once the original banks, where the commonwealth was stored.

Sacred Union heiros gamos rituals, were once held on the threshing floor, where the grain was harvested and prepared, representing the abundance of creative wealth.

I held my precious, totally dependent, daughter in my arms, and I knew that – come what may – I was NOT going to fail her, or allow her to suffer the poverty that I once had. Beyond that I wanted her to know the rich, luxurious, feminine frequency of abundance, not be contracted into the mean, puritanical poverty of the inquisitor.

I had spent so many years listening to people preach who secretly lived on multi-generational wealth.

I had spent so many years thinking my impoverished goodness could fix the world. It didn’t.

I had spent so many years thinking the world was going to collapse and money was unnecessary. It didn’t.

The catholic church is worth up to a trillion dollars, male performance coaches are worth 7 billion dollars, tech men are worth billions and can dismantle a bridge for their yacht to pass under on their holidays. What I’ve realized is that people’s real problem with capital only becomes active when it’s in the hands of magic women, who wish to restructure the world.

On Magdalene’s Feast Day, 2021, I decided to host an event, to belatedly celebrate the launch of Magdalene Mysteries in 2020. I thought it would be some ceremony and chat. Instead, what blasted through, was the template for Feminine Magic, Enchantress Arts and Sacral Wealth.

Magdalene was on the money trail….she wants women fully resourced in their Sacral Wealth.

Women have awakened, and now they need funding.

The womb of wealth must activate.

We must incept the new Quantum Feminine Economy.

I realized that I already knew how to run a business and make money (I had worked in women’s media for a decade, reaching the ivory tower of the editor’s office, and had been paid by companies such as Time Warner to relaunch their biggest brands, and I’d been self-employed since 2008, after receiving a 5 figure book deal, and a monthly film column. I’d also pioneered on the cutting edge of online feminine spirituality, in the days before zoom existed).

But I thought I had to let go of all this knowledge and expertise in order to be truly ‘spiritual’.

It was a choice between making profit or being palatable. I gave myself permission to thrive. I embraced my exiled inner Wealth Witch.

I taught about how this is the age of notorious women – powerful, awakened, wealthy women, who have BIG visions to first feed their family, and make offerings to the ghosts of their lineage, and then to bring through new structures (however big or small) that create a new future.

On her death bed my mum told me it was the time to create legacy.

To birth our true inheritance.

Sacral Wealth has come from this cauldron, in service to funding a new way.

I am looking into the future through my daughter’s eyes. I am afraid. And I am courageous.

I am visioning the Money Mother and her Womb of Wealth pregnant again with new life-bearing energy for the world.

I am incepting magical money in the hands and wombs of women and feminine centered ways.

I am remembering when Money was a Goddess.

She is with us now. Ready to invest in our sacral wealth.

I am leading a global movement of women into their ‘Rich Witch Era’

Come and join our Money Coven and learn how to birth a brand that can become a Sacral Wealth business, combining practical tools and feminine magic for success.

Sacral Wealth 3 Month Initiation Starts on January 22nd.

CEO - Chief Executive Oracle Live Salon starts at 12pm EST January 22nd

Equinox Abundance Portal starts on Telegram from Feb 1st - March 21st

(Sacral Wealth includes all 3, or you can custom pick what to join)