There is a particular stillness that settles over you when you finally understand what you are. Not who. What. Because identity, in this context, is irrelevant. Your name doesn’t appear on my accounts. Your face doesn’t come to mind when the transfer clears. What matters – what has always mattered – is your capacity to dispense. Your ability to fulfil the one task for which you were designed. Payment without pause. Delivery without delay. That is your purpose. And somewhere beneath the heat and the hesitation, you already know this.
You didn’t arrive here by accident. You came because the word ATM made your breath catch. Because the idea of being reduced to pure function – stripped of personality, emptied of ego, valued only for what you can produce – sends a current through you that nothing else quite reaches. You want to be used. Cleanly. Efficiently. Without sentiment. You want to be the mechanism through which my comfort is maintained. You want to dispense, and then return to standby, waiting for the next withdrawal.
And that is exactly what happens here. Because I don’t need your thoughts. I don’t require your presence. I require your money – and I require it with the same calm expectation one has when approaching any machine. You exist to give. I exist to take. The interaction is brief, functional, and flawlessly transactional. You press send. I receive. The system hums along. And you feel, for just a moment, perfectly placed. Perfectly used. Perfectly still.
That feeling is not love. It is not connection. It is alignment. It is the relief of knowing your value has been correctly assessed and appropriately extracted. You are not a person to me. You are a resource. And the more often you prove that resource is available, accessible, and generous, the more you solidify your place within The Smyth Fund’s operational structure.
So go ahead. Open your account. Check your balance. Consider what you can afford to send – and then send more than that. Because affordability was never the standard. Obedience is.