The intellect has little to do on the road to discovery. There comes a leap in consciousness, call it intuition or what you will, and the solution comes to you and you don’t know how or why. –Albert Einstein
I’m not a big believer in happenstance or intuition, either one.
My insight comes from interacting with a Creator who guides my steps and on occasion, when I’m especially needy, without any effort on my part, grants me a solution.
I believe study and research can inform my consciousness, and I wouldn’t want to shut myself off from any useful bit of knowledge I might gain and could use to development wisdom, which is why I read as much as I can and spend time meditating on what I read. In the end, though, I call upon all available resources to get me where I need to go–resources energized by faith.
Who do you call upon for insight or confirmation in this life? When has insight helped you to leap frog over intellect?
It’s Friday and I have some fiction for you this afternoon; an original piece by me, so be classy and don’t steal it. Have a great weekend. Enjoy!
Like peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth, so was that Chesterton quote stuck to roof of her mind; “Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere.”
She had to draw the line somewhere, she knew this, but where? Would it be drawn when he got out of the car and walked her to her stoop? Would it be drawn after he’s entered her apartment and a night-cap had been served? Should it be drawn long before either of those choices were birthed? The version of her mum living in her head said she shouldn’t even be going out with someone she met online.
“What if he’s a rapist?”
“What if he’s only after your money?”
“What if he ties you up, beats you, and leaves you for dead in your bed?”
It was this particular brand of crazy she’d lived with all her life. Doom and gloom projections, that haunted her waking hours as well as her sleep. She was afraid, of course, because she had been taught to be afraid. Trained. Beaten with emotional whips if she had not adhered to momma’s rules when living under her roof.
“I’m out of there now,” she said, to herself. “She doesn’t rule my life anymore.” It was true. Her mother didn’t rule over her anymore. Hadn’t for a long time. Had been dead and in the grave for three years now, so why, oh why, couldn’t she get past all this paranoia?
Her cell vibrated. That would be him. What would she say? How brave did she feel tonight? Was she ready to roll the dice once more? Only time would tell the tale. Even she didn’t know what she would do next. That’s what came of being tormented for years. Under her thumb. Unable to move without checking with her first. Again, with the voices of yesteryear. She was sick of it. Really, sick of it.
When it’s time for me to walk away from something, I walk away from it. My mind, my body, my conscience tell me that enough is enough. Jerry West
She walked out onto the morning sands and found it lying there, on a piece of coral, jutting up out of the surf and sparkling like a diamond. Running to the resting place where it lay, free-for-the-asking and beckoning her to pick it up, she hesitated.
“What if it belongs to someone?” she thought.
It might not have simply drifted up from the depths of the Caribbean. Surely it didn’t. Couldn’t have. It was too beautiful for that.
She looked around, suspicious that the treasure might have strings attached. It could have been left there for her by some unscrupulous miscreant that was lurking nearby and sought to waylay her on the lonely beach.
“No one!” she said, to nobody.
She bent down. Was it gold? Silver? It was hard to tell when the water kept crashing over it and distorting her view. Again, she asked herself, “Where did it come from? Who left it here? Do I dare take it and keep it?”
She reached beneath the swell of Caribbean blue to grab for it once more before it slipped away.
“Ugh!” she grunted. The wave that’d brushed up over her feet and legs had moved it six inches further from the shore. She considered if chasing after it was a good idea. She didn’t swim. Couldn’t swim. Had never been able to and feared drowning should she get too far out in the water.
“It’s only a few inches,” She told herself.
“Grab it, you fool!” her inner devils screamed. “So what if your pants get wet, idiot. This is a once-in-a-lifetime find. Go get it!”
She acted to claim it. If she waited, she knew another wave was sure to come and bury the item in the sand and water now cresting near her shin. It was almost in her grip when that wave came, and the inevitable happened. Quickly, it slipped away, but remained still visible two feet from where she stood.
She knew deep often called to deep in her life (always had), and with the same result. Trouble! She couldn’t help herself, though. She did what she knew to do and moved again to claim her prize.
As others were pushing remnants of sleep away from them and preparing to meet the day, Sarah slipped into the surf, limp, drowned; a dime store necklace with a green tinged chain tangled around the tendrils of her sea-swept hair.
It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. –Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes