Coins are not cold,
they are breath wrapped in form,
songs of exchange
waiting to dance in your palm.

Money is medicine,
a rhythm, a river,
flowing when trusted,
withholding when feared.

Do not chase it—
invite it.
Do not bind it—
bless it.

Gold that breathes
finds its way to open hands,
to those who give without grasping,
to those who see its spirit,
not its cage.

Abundance is a circle,
a pulse, a heartbeat,
and you, beloved,
are already its center.