Kamisaka Sekka
Willow and Cherry Branches,
from the series “Worlds of Things (Momoyogusa)”
(1909/10)

"…they bear the weight of my very identity, my Prosperity."

Prosperity seems to depend upon some symbolism to properly manifest. It can’t exist without this. Neither island nor isthmus, it must carry some close association with a seemingly unrelated entity, as if inextricably married to it. For me, the symbol that fully embodied my growing Prosperity was found on my bookshelves. Once upon a time, in my penniless youth, I owned few books. I seemed to accumulate them, though, each a treasure in its own way. I considered each a keepsake. Nothing seemed to better symbolize my standing in my own eyes and in my community than that line of books, later that line of bookshelves I proudly maintained. I separated fiction from the others and sorted each by author, with a shelf or two in the basement, more or less randomly, holding gardening and travel books. Those were not for show. The others most decidedly were.

No better gauge of my Prosperity ever existed, or, indeed, still exists today. My books symbolically represent my accumulated knowledge and often hard-won experience, even though I know for certain that I’ve retained no more than microscopic portions of their contents. When asked, I won’t recall an author’s name, but I retain clear recollections of where I was and when I first encountered that author and his worldview. It was never about learning or retaining content for me, but about absorbing perspectives. I couldn’t recall the plotlines, either, or the specific points of fact or reasoning, but I could clearly recall the view from there, how the horizon shifted when that light fell across it. I consider my book collection my intelligence, my diploma, my key into and through this world. Without it, I would feel like a pauper, however otherwise financially secure I might actually be.

In this way, I believe that all Prosperity utterly depends upon such supporting symbolism, something that embodies the sense of wealth and wellbeing accompanying a person’s Prosperity. For some, I suppose, this might exist in a bank balance, but I wager that for most, it demands something closer to home and heart, more personal. It must not matter whatever it is, just that it exists and that its owner deeply appreciates the significance of its presence. It might be that most relationships require some physical symbol of their existence, for they might just be altogether too fuzzy and imperceptible to be otherwise believable. Brides receive rings. Bowlers receive silly trophies. Whatever the ruling symbolism, the physical instantiation need not hold meaning for any other. This distinguishes such symbolism from the Conspicuous Consumption I mentioned in the earlier Prosperity installment, Waste. Lucky socks might do the trick for somebody. Nobody else ever need suspect their significance for them to work their magic. They represent the purest form of relationship there ever is, as much identity as symbol of underlying Prosperity, but both.

I maintain a few collections that serve this curious purpose. My pots and pans, an odd collection of odds and ends, but the proper collection to my mind, solidly representing my mature Prosperity. My small collection of D-handled shovels likewise says more about my emotional state than most might readily recognize. That composter I mentioned in The Heap, earlier this week, also qualifies as just such an outward symbol of an unshakeable inward Prosperity. My 1967 Martin D-18 guitar stands as Prosperity incarnate.

I’m presently missing one of my symbols of Prosperity, and that absence has left me feeling emotionally poorly. My sacred barefoot shoes fell into disrepair last summer, and I have been unable to find a shop to repair them or find a suitable replacement pair. I have long considered my footwear to symbolize my Prosperity, so the absence of that particular pair has left me feeling bereft, in mourning for a time that might not ever return. Further, I worked my way through the soles of my slippers this year, too, and while I continued wearing them like spats for a spell, I finally had to retire them, too, amplifying my sense of loss and absence. That model has been on backorder since last Christmas, probably due to tariff silliness. I feel an abiding form of poverty lately. I feel it most prominently in my feet.

If you want to know someone up close and personal, engage in a conversation about their Prosperity symbols. What possessions do you associate with Prosperity and why? When did you notice this significant fetish entering into your life? How do you nurture it: furtively or more openly? What do you think it says about you that you chose to employ this symbol to represent your dream come true? Or did you choose it rather than it choosing you? I feel as though my SymbolicProsperity chose me, and that I happily, fortunately, merely followed it along. I might never become an epic figure, but I will always maintain my epic symbols, which might not carry an ounce of significance for anyone but me; for me, they bear the weight of my very identity, my Prosperity.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Prosperity, #PureSchmaltz