I’ve been digging deep into my soul lately, writing about trusting my intuition. However, I notice a trend in my articles.
Thwack! Kick! Pow! Burn…
What about the subtle sensations like tingling on the back of my ear lobes?
Or the slight changes in my vision?
Or the tiny prickle along my scalp?
In this article, I’m writing about subtle Intuitive Prompts. Hit is not the word here. Hang with me as I sniff out how I track my intuition.
We were looking at a map and my friend laughed saying he never trusts his intuition about directions.
“I go the opposite of where my intuition points. If my intuition says right I go left.”
“Does my intuition have a sense of direction?”
When I was pre-teen, I could walk from sun-up to sun-down deep in the woods. I lived outside the city limits of San Antonio, Texas. I never felt lost. I wandered aimlessly in tall grasses and scruffy oaks. There were no streets or human trails, just animal paths to follow. With no outer direction I always found my way back home. I was 16 years old when I quit trusting my sense of inner direction.
To this day I laugh at myself,
“Turn me 3 times and I’m completely lost!”
Until a couple of days ago, I thought my hormones were the reason I lost my inner sense of direction.
Barefoot, I ponder
“What happened to my inner sense of direction?”
I take another step forward. A twig breaks under my foot. Snap!
Something deep inside my stomach twists apart. I can almost hear it click open. I can almost taste it. The sensation of an aluminum can lid twists open deep inside me. That old familiar blood-iron taste coats my tongue. As I put my next bare foot down on the path leading us to Dead Falls, I remember when fear shattered my confidence.
The noise in my ears is a deafening heartbeat BOOM BOOM BOOM.
This time my Intuitive Hit does crack the wall I put up when I am afraid.
What if my intuition is shouting at me?
I remember. I remember when I buried a part of myself in the dirt so no one could sniff me out. I remember from the same dirt, building a wall around me to shield out any predators.
I remember being raped at the age of 16. It was a date rape. I remember feeling so terrified for my life. I shut down and shut out everything. I couldn’t trust sounds or smell. That’s when I didn’t trust my sense of direction. I couldn’t trust anything or anyone. I didn’t trust me anymore.
I covered my tracks so I wouldn’t find my way back into my desecrated body.
All I can conjure up now is darkness. Shadows. Muffled sounds like a pillow is over my head.
Before being raped I hitch-hiked alone in Texas, and nothing bad ever happened to me. Sure, I was careful. I grew up around alcoholic men whose laps were not safe to sit on. I knew when walking alone at night which dark alleys were not safe to enter. I really trusted my ‘6th’ sense. I trusted my ability to sniff out danger.
There really is a crack in the universe that doesn’t respect cause and affect. Twilight zone isn’t just a T.V. fiction episode. I think Twilight Zone really exists.
I didn’t feel safe to say no to the guy who asked me out. He was the top basketball player on our High School team. I felt something edgy about going out with him. He was black and I was a white foster child in a super small Texas town. When he asked me out, I felt seen. He chose me. I was living in a temporary foster home. I was one of 8 foster kids living in a small house with a Mexican American family that had 3 children of their own. I was waiting for a more permanent foster home. I was waiting for a family to choose me to be their foster child.
I do remember in slow motion crawling into the back seat of the car. One of his friends chauffeured us to a bar on the sketchy end of town. I never got out of the car. The driver parked the car in the darkest edge of the lot. He turned off the car and I could hear loud music pouring out of the dark and dingy bar. My date, sitting next to me in the back seat pulled out a knife pointing it at my neck. He forced himself onto me. Then he forced himself into me. I barely struggled. I don’t remember making a sound. All I remember is fear flooding all my senses until I was completely numb. I felt like a stray dog stranded on a highway when he dropped me off on the curb at the house. I didn’t feel human.
Now, shaking and determined, I keep following my intuition. I want to see what else I’ve buried.
I keep my nose, eyes and ears focused on the narrow winding path in front of me. Barefoot, I hop on a cold stone crossing a cold creek while my friend stays close behind me.
Cold penetrates the soles of my feet. My eyes water from light flooding in and my nose drips.
I hesitate before putting my right foot on the next slippery wet cold stone. The creek rushes under my feet.
I remember my therapist saying
“Carola, I want you to know what subtle is. I want you to feel my hand rest on top of your knee. If I’m not pinching or squeezing, can you feel me?”
Intuition can be a whisper. Intuition can be the most gentle nudge. Inner sense doesn’t have to be a ‘thwak!’ against the ear or a ‘bonk!’ on the head.
I’ve done the gross motor movements of bludgeoning the earth to uncover my buried body shame. Twenty-two years of furious ecstatic dancing unearthed me and 12 years of therapy pressed me back together. Now I’m learning the nimble skills of listening to the murmurs of calm, contained contentment.
My intuition gently whispers
“Seduce the subtle, enchant the awkward, and keep moving forward.”