As a woman, I’ve been both blessed and cursed with intuition. It seems some men possess this sense as well, but most women have this internal and innate compass. Often ignored by some, the feeling is tuned out or toned down. When intuition surfaces for me, it’s far too present and paralyzing to ignore. Have you ever had the feeling of something being “wrong?” It hovers and becomes quite physical. I feel it stretch my skin with each shallow, shaky breath. I know something is amiss even though I can’t explain it. In my twenty-eight years, I’ve never been wrong. It reaches deeper than knowing the next song bound to play on the radio. It’s as though I have a small peephole into unknown but I can’t see what lingers peripherally.
Have you ever dreamt of a lover cheating only to awake angry? I’ve been fuming freaking mad over a fictitious event. Where does the imagination conjure up such heartache? Does it stem from one’s own guilty action? Can it be blamed on watching “Desperate Housewives” (which I don’t watch) prior to entering sleep? I don’t consider this as true intuitiveness, though I believe it is similar enough to mention. Do men have dreams of this nature? Even more bizarre is when reality mirrors the dream. This isn’t good for the psyche. It leaves me pointing a finger (and you know which one) every time, regardless of whether or not it really
happened. It's been a long while since I've had a dream of this nature, then again...
Even more damning is the absence of that rib-breaking gut feeling. I’ve found myself in this situation a time or two and it left me feeling stupid. Stupid, heartbroken, soul shattered, and whatever other colorful and poetic description(s) one would use to define this empty ache. Maybe this is the very reason I insert distance with every relationship. It’s like standing at the edge of a mighty tall ledge and feeling an overwhelming urge to jump. The resolve lies in staying away from heights.
I think of past scenarios involving intuition. Each time I confronted the monster immediately and in most instances, truth stared back at me. Most ex-lovers admitted things that would most certainly have been left unsaid otherswise. Is ignorance bliss? I don’t think so. I’m often brutally honest, honest to a fault. I couldn’t conceal the truth if I tried. The few times I opted to conceal rather than confess, I got away with it. Trust me, my heart is still a little heavier because of it. My imagination is my own worst enemy so I wonder of what others have gotten away with unbeknownst to me. In this case, ignorance IS bliss.
I also know there is a fine line between intuition and insecurity. I’m big enough to admit this out loud. For example, I’ve never liked a man I am dating to frequent a strip club. Call it jealousy. Attribute it to my age. I don’t like it. I’ve been a time or two with male friends and in most cases it has proven to be an innocent experience. I still don't like it. I suppose I struggle with the idea of a man I’m dating finding it entertaining to spend ridiculous amounts of money on naked women. In recent conversation, I’ve learned the right price can turn these dancers into… well… you know the word I’m omitting. And yuck. This is a whole new tangent destined to receive a separate blog entry.
Bottom line, intuition is strikingly similar to conscience. It’s an extension of one’s thoughts and appears to have a life of its own. What fuels the knowing? What inspires it in the first place? For me, it is immediate. It doesn’t get bigger and bigger like a snowball down the mountain. It arrives large and feels like an avalanche.