If we as Wealth Advisors are to serve as secular priests, in the wealthiest families, whose family enterprise includes famous brands, foundations, social welfare organizations, PACs, think tanks, and other family entities whose puppets and beneficiaries govern the polity, we had better find a way to be sanctified without upsetting anyone in the families we serve. This the Catholic Church and others have pioneered, as Fr Brennan, our defrocked priest in Wealth Bondage, reminds me. Pacts with the devil are a necessary strategy when the Devil runs the Fallen World and we have responsibilities to keep things on an even keel now and far into the future, despite whatever roiling of may occur from below. Still, the Gospels, or any other religious text, are an inconvenience, since on a certain popular misreading they might seem to say the first last shall be first and the meek shall inherit, or that charity is justice, or that strangers deserve hospitality, contrary to every principal of Prudent Estate Planning, particularly in states that have repealed the Rule Against Perpetuities. Buddhism seems a better bet as a spiritual support for a Wealth Planning practice since it is without doctrine. "Compassion for all we see." That sounds pretty harmless, really. We feel compassion for all, for all we see and not for those we don't since they are not our neighbors per se, are not present, or if present are invisible.
I was meditating, Buddhist style, with my boss and generous patron, Mistress Candidia Cruikshanks, she who rules us all, as founder and president of Wealth Bondage: An American Icon, when the Spanish speaking maid interrupted us, her hand shaking and rattling the cup as she served us herbal tea. "You stupid slut! How the F can I hold a charitable thought with bimbos in aprons rattling the effing cups? What am I? Am I some piece of furniture here? Do you know who I am? And you rattle a cup in my presence? When I am communing with most effing high? God was telling me how optimize all my effing bottomlines! And now I have lost my train of thought! Do you think God will forgive you for interrupting his most important message since Moses? Don't just stand there simplering. Be gone from my world!" So the maid is headed back to Mexico, not on the private jet, but in the trunk of my car. No! Don't misunderstand. She is alive and well, though weeping and a little dehydrated. I check whenever I pull over for gas to make a pit stop. My instructions were to dump her across the border, "with her own people. Her little pissant family or some distant relative can pick her up; they all stick together; I wish her no harm; I have compassion on all, that she might live! I have mellowed since my spritual awakening into the larger purpose God has for me as his Steward of all Creation! Oooooommmmmm." Once I dump the maid over the border, while I am here, I will see if I can find any memorabilia from The Day of the Dead. Skeletons Dancing. Maybe there is a spiritual angle I can use in that too.