MISSING TEETH
8 / 20 / 2026
I notice his missing teeth.
He must be struggling. Spiritual man who lost his way. Selling his art for free.
My story subtly shapes how I see him. And I notice a little shame arises in my system due to this projected idea that I “have more” than him.
I flip through the 8.5 x 11 inch papers, each of them holding what seems to be channeled artwork.
“Do you know what you’re creating as you’re doing it?” I ask him curiously.
He shakes his head. “No, I usually see it in my mind's eye, create it, and find out afterwards”.
As he speaks, I’m trying to figure out who he is. And I’m equally feeling silly for not being “pure” or “spiritual” enough to look at his art or be in his presence.
I notice the ridiculousness of the conversation I’m having with myself and how it’s preventing me from truly connecting with him.
I stop on a drawing that catches my attention due to all of the activity and color. There’s a multi eyed man, an Egyptian woman with cow horns, a peacock, a wasp looking bug, a shell and a few other images. It must be a story.
“Can you tell me about this?” I ask. I have more of a desire to understand him than I do the actual art.
“Ah yes!” He lights up as he begins to tell me the Greek story of Lo and the connection to the Egyptian story of Isis.
I can’t follow everything he’s saying. But he’s passionate. And I’m interested in his process as an artist.
In order to create this, he surrendered to whatever wanted to work through him. He didn’t know the story before he created the drawing. He only knew the first image - the shell. And that seemed to spiral into everything else coming through.
He makes putting together the pieces sound like the most exciting treasure hunt.
I know that feeling. It’s a gift to hear him talk about it.
By this time, the other women have found the table and begin gathering around, looking through the artwork too.
“Free artwork! Talk about abundance.” one woman says.
I laugh, “I know!”
I appreciate the perspective because I didn’t see it that way since I’m currently battling with my own ideas around whether or not someone’s art should be free.
“Why not sell it?” the woman asks.
“Oh I’ve been there. It’s ridiculous, selling your art in museums. It’s impossible,” the man replies.
My heart sinks.
Here I was, holding a retreat that aimed to help other women see the value in their gifts and trust in following them.
And just like that, we are face to face with what seems to be — a struggling artist.
I walk around to the other side of the table to where the man is sitting to make room for the women to look at the art.
My eye catches a hidden tip jar and immediately, I decide to pay him. I want him to know his art is valuable to the right eyes.
I open my wallet with the intention of putting a twenty in the tip jar he seems to have no intention of putting out.
Instead, I come face to face with a hundred-dollar bill sitting next to the twenty. I rarely have cash on me, let alone a hundred-dollar bill. But a client had recently paid me in cash.
Before my own fears around scarcity take over, I brush past the twenty and choose the hundred, placing it in his jar. Feeling a slight rush run through my body that is in anticipation of his reaction.
He swells with surprise. “Aw man!” His reaction also holds excitement, maybe a little resistance too.
I notice something softening in him. He chooses to receive it fully.
“Give me a fist bump” He says with a big smile.
I smile big back. We share the joy.
I’m nervous to ask but it only feels right, since we were just speaking about it and something in me recognizes this man knows.
“What is abundance to you?” I ask him. I hope the women are interested in hearing his answer too.
He takes a brief moment.
“Abundance. It’s presence with what is…” He continues on.
I can’t remember his exact words now. I remember what they made me feel.
Tears fill my eyes. My heart knows the truth of what he’s saying, and he’s transmitting it beautifully.
I feel God’s presence.
All of a sudden, giving him the $100 feels different.
There was a piece of me that gave from lack, and there was a piece of me that gave from recognition and abundance. And the piece of me that gave from lack, well, truthfully, it feels a little unsatisfied.
Just like lack does.
Abundance isn’t the absence of things - whether that’s teeth or money from selling your art.
Abundance is being fully present with everything that is.
With the art. With the moment. With the person sitting across from you. The possibility. With the life that is actually here.
“Does it feel abundant to share your wisdom?” I ask him, thinking he’ll say yes.
He pauses longer this time. He closes his eyes, as if he’s waiting to feel the truth of his answer before speaking.
“No. It’s not about that either.”
He begins talking about how easily things can become mistranslated by the mind. How quickly we can take an experience and turn it into an idea about abundance instead of actually feeling it.
He tells us that sometimes when he goes out to dinner with his daughter, he doesn’t take the leftovers home.
Not because he doesn’t value food. Almost the opposite.
He describes the pleasure of taking a few bites you really taste and letting the experience be enough. Fully enjoying what is there rather than holding onto something simply because some part of him is afraid he might need it later.
I listen with a big smile.
I notice how quickly I turned his words into another concept.
Abundance isn’t something we understand correctly. You can’t look at someone’s life from the outside and decide whether they are living in abundance.
Abundance is something we experience.
It would also be too simple to make him the teacher and me the student. Or me the giver and him the receiver.
Maybe neither of us is either.
Maybe we are both giving and receiving at the same time.
I offered him who I was by giving him something I had in my wallet and the curiosity to connect.
He offered me something by sharing pieces of himself and his art.
And suddenly, I think about what I had been teaching the women all week.
That maybe this is what it means to truly show up as yourself—not trying to become the person you think the other person needs, not trying to prove your value, not trying to take something from the exchange.
Just offering what is genuinely yours to offer.
And allowing yourself to receive what someone else has to give.
There was nothing to do, fix, or hold onto.
Just what was there.
And it was absolutely enough.