Yogis and Businessmen – Why Prosperity Is Your Sacred Duty

In my last post, I gave you the numbers. I asked you to actually calculate what you earn as a freelancer—after costs, after the time you really put in.

And if you're like most people, you saw something... not great.

Maybe you shrugged. "Yeah, but what can I do?"

Maybe you thought: "My situation's different. I'm just starting out. Next year'll be better."

Maybe you just closed that post and went back to work, because... well, bills don't pay themselves.

I get it. Really.

Four years ago when I first ran my Fiverr numbers, I wanted to deny it too. I wanted to tell myself it was temporary, that it's "part of the process," that everyone struggles at first.

And while that's partially true, that's not the point.

This post isn't about you earning more because you "deserve it."

It's about something way bigger.

The Absurdity No One Questions

Ever notice that in an electronics store, nobody walks up with an iPhone and says:

"I'll take this one, but I'll pay the Xiaomi price because that's my budget"?

Sounds ridiculous, right?

But when it comes to a creator's work? Suddenly it's completely normal. A client walks in, doesn't even take their shoes off, and says:

"I'd like the premium version, but at the economy price, because the competition does it cheaper."

And here's the kicker—instead of smiling and saying:

"Then maybe the competition will be happier?"

—we tense up, search for diplomatic words, explain ourselves like a student at the board.

As if we have some moral obligation to adjust to someone else's budget just because they brought it along.

The Cage You Don't See

Let me tell you something that sounds abstract, but I promise—in a second you'll see how it affects your daily decisions.

There's an archetype of the poor creator.

You know it. Van Gogh, who probably sold one painting in his lifetime. The artist in the attic, hungry but authentic. The innovator whose genius will only be appreciated after death.

And maybe you think: "But I'm not an artist—I'm a graphic designer/photographer/copywriter/programmer/designer."

The archetype touches everyone who creates.

Because deep down, somewhere subconsciously, you've got this equation ingrained:

Authentic creator = poor creator

And those who earn? Who do business with their work? They're... you know. "Just businessmen." A bit less pure. A bit less real.

Take Elon Musk. Incredibly creative visionary. But I've heard the opinion—spoken with a note of contempt—"He's just a businessman." As if earning from your vision disqualified you as a true creator.

Now think about Nikola Tesla.

Genius. Visionary. Innovator who wanted to change the world. Died alone, poor, cheated by "evil capitalists."

And that's exactly why we revere him. He's a hero.

Because his poverty is proof of his purity. Because greed didn't taint him. Because he remained "true" to the end.

See what's happening here?

Musk named his company after Tesla. He's realizing the vision of electric cars, rockets, transforming civilization. He's doing what Tesla wanted to do but didn't live to accomplish.

Yet in the collective consciousness:

Tesla (Nikola) = true genius.

Musk = just a businessman.

One is revered for failure. The other disqualified for success.

This isn't an accident. This is the archetype in action.

It's not your fault that you think this way.

It's not even a conscious thought. It's a cage placed on you before you even started creating.

And now the question:

What happens when someone in this cage encounters AI?

The Moment the Cage Becomes a Trap

AI can create images. Write texts. Generate code. Often - for free.

And a creator with the ingrained "authentic = poor" looks at this and thinks:

"Oh crap. Now, to prove I'm a real creator, I have to sacrifice myself EVEN MORE than the machine. I have to work EVEN CHEAPER. Because otherwise... who am I?"

See what's happening?

AI isn't a threat to you as a tool.

AI is a threat to your identity.

Because if a machine creates for free, and you stop suffering and start earning... then who will you be? A businessman? "Just another one"?

And suddenly you start competing on price with a machine. You lower your rates. You accept every client. You're available at every call.

This isn't a business decision. This is identity defense.

But there's something you're not seeing in this moment.

Yogis and Businessmen

A few years ago I read Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi."

He wrote something that shocked me:

His closest American students were businessmen. Yogananda wrote—and this was the moment that stopped me mid-paragraph:

"The same energy that allowed them to be successful in business, later allowed them to be good yogis." (Inaccurate quote.)

Not: "They had to abandon business to be spiritual."

But: "It's the same energy."

Agency. Discipline. Intention. Connection with something higher than yourself.

I trusted what he wrote, but didn't really get it. Only later—when I met my mentor (a businessman and investor who teaches about spiritual energy in business), when I started observing my clients on Fiverr—I saw it with my own eyes:

People with high spiritual energy naturally attract money.

Not because they're greedy. But because they understand: money is energy. Agency. The ability to act in the world.

I saw the flip side of that same truth:

If you fear money, if you think "a true creator is poor"—you're cutting yourself off from that energy.

You can't fully create because you've rejected half the flow.

You've rejected responsibility for what happens with your work.

What This Is Really About

My mentor once said:

"My mission is to help conscious people acquire as much money as possible so they can transform the world."

At first it sounded... strange. Maybe even a bit uncomfortable.

Then I thought:

If conscious people, with high aspirations, with a vision of a better world—if they don't have money...

Then who will?

Who will have the resources to use AI? To multiply their intention? To create products, content, solutions?

People without the spark. Soulless corporations. Those who only see "content to monetize," not meaning and value.

AI multiplies what it receives as input.

If it gets mediocrity from creators who don't value themselves, who compete on price, who've accepted the poverty archetype—it will multiply mediocrity.

But if it gets intention, meaning, vision from creators who understand their value—it will multiply that.

So Why Does It Matter That You Earn Little?

Not because you "deserve more" (though you do).

Not because "everyone should be rich" (not everyone).

But because by giving up money, you're giving up responsibility.

Responsibility for whose intention will be multiplied by AI.

Responsibility for the transformation of the world that—if you're here, if you're reading this—you probably feel is your mission.

When you accept the archetype of the poor creator, when you say "I'm not the businessman type," when you compete on price with a machine...

You voluntarily yield the field.

You surrender tools, resources, the ability to influence—into the hands of people who don't have your spark, your vision, your connection with something higher.

What Can You Do About This?

I can't put anything in your head.

I can only encourage you to check it yourself.

Ask yourself:

• Do I believe that being a "true creator" requires being poor?

• Am I afraid that earning more will make me lose my authenticity?

• Do I see business as something dirty, separate from my spirituality/creativity?

• Am I giving up money because... I'm actually afraid of the responsibility that comes with it?

Then check—empirically, like I did on Fiverr:

Look at people who have money and high consciousness. Are they less authentic? Is their energy lower?

Or is it the opposite?

So What Next?

You can decide that "money doesn't interest me" and continue playing the role of the romantic creator who creates "from passion."

And that's beautiful—I truly appreciate romanticism.

You can also do something harder:

Stop proving to the world that you're not a "greedy businessman." And start proving—to yourself—that you can take responsibility. For your work. For your vision. For the money that's meant to carry that vision forward.

Because it's not about having more "in the account." It's about having influence.

Because if you—someone who thinks, feels, creates with intention—don't take that responsibility...

then those who only see "content to sell" and "reach to exploit" will take it.

And they'll use your spiritual energy to create a vision to which they'll attach their own intention.

At the end, I leave you with a question (the most important in this post):

Is your reluctance to earn really humility? Or perhaps—a convenient form of escape from responsibility?

If it hurt—that's good.

Maybe the cage has started to crack.