The sacred inheritance

When my mother died, the inheritance she left behind didn’t change my siblings’ lives at all. My sister was already far wealthier than my mother ever was, and for my brother, it simply meant a larger investment account.

But for me, it changed everything.

I never thought I cared about money. I certainly never cared about inheriting it.

I know people who wait for their parents to die, counting on what they’ll receive.

I never wanted my mother to die.

And yet, when she passed, what she left gave me something far beyond finances.

It gave me freedom—the freedom to live without scrambling, to say no without guilt, to make choices that honor my energy instead of my fear.

That freedom was the real inheritance.

Because of her, I now own a beautiful piece of land in Mount Shasta—a place I believe is sacred. I’m creating a sanctuary there, a retreat space for others to reconnect with nature and the deep intelligence that moves through all things.

I never realized that my mother was giving me her love when she spent all those years building her wealth—love expressed through effort, perseverance, and her desire to provide. I didn’t see money as love back then; it wasn’t my language.

But now I understand.

And I’m grateful that I can return her love to the world in a way that feels sacred and alive—through this land, this sanctuary, this offering of beauty.

Standing among the ancient four-hundred-year-old cedar and oak trees, I feel the presence of lineage and history. I feel the wisdom of the land and the early hands that tended it.

My mother’s love is in this landscape and sanctuary. It’s part of the earth’s remembering.