Ah, an anthem by Sting, recalling the mid-Nineties, the Vogue, Sunday nights at 10, “Boing! – but I called it Church – where all the men were beautiful, light was the metaphor, and all the songs were about love. And the very sleepy Monday’s afterward, but I digress. Being an intuitive type, guided by an inner vision, is tough in our technological, analytical world. I’m a happy amiable, certainly not an expressive, but put me under pressure and I become hell’s own driver. I have to be a driver around here, which is sad because all I want to do is hang at home. In Myer’s-Brings terms I’m an INFP, a rare type, especially for a man.
I’ve followed my intuition my whole life, and largely punished for it. Because it is so essential to satisfy the intuitive part of me employment has been tough. Finding an employer that is going my way is hard. I found technical writing to be such and avenue, and writing in general as an avenue into a deeper part of myself. With the debris of my life around me I am wondering what is next. The solution is probably not outside of me but within me, to follow my instincts, my heart and my intuitive vision, manifested in the world. Something beautiful is within me still and my job is to find it and give it flight.
To me intuition is about art, and art is damned hard. For nearly twenty years I have written a journal, soulful words, when one day the journal wrote back. “I love you” – I did not write those words. The paper, the ink, the pen, my hand and body wrote me the one thing I needed to hear, that I am in a caring universe. The psychopathology of things is in play in this experience, that action with intent is soulful and the Universe communicates its pleasure.
In my urban reverie I see this city not only a capital or even the center of the Universe, but the recipient of Divine favor. It is a place of light, of song and story, of deepest passion. This place has stirred my heart and soul, Maybe it is time for me to write stories and poetry like that again, and to find a place to dance.