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Intuition
Articles and Reports
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ARTICLES
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REPORTS
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Intuition Helps You Save Time, Money and Energy in Business
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Everyone is born with
intuition—an inherent ability to obtain extended information about people,
places, things and situations without using logic, physical senses and prior
knowledge. Seven intuitive senses of intuition help you save time, money and
energy in business.
1) Intuitive seeing flashes, pauses or rolls images
in your mind’s eye or “out in space”, without using your physical eyes. The
images appear in visions and dreams. You rush to an important meeting and
intuitively see a vision of a truck driver swerving next to your vehicle on an
interstate. Twenty seconds later, the event transpires. You slow down, avoid an
accident and reach the meeting in time to close a profitable deal.
2)
Intuitive feeling rocks feelings or sensations within your body, without
external stimuli. You meet a potential business associate for the first time
and intuitively feel good vibes, without knowing much about her. Good vibes
indicate a successful association, whereas bad vibes indicate a troublesome
association.
3) Intuitive hearing drops sounds in your head,
throat, heart or “out in space”, without using your physical ears. You
intuitively hear sounds cluing you to accept or reject financial investment
opportunities. A “hand clapping” sound means yes—it’s right for you. A “door slam” means no—it’s not right for you or it’s a scam.
4) Intuitive knowing pops information in your head
“out of the blue.” You intuitively know what clients will request before they
speak. You get a minute or two to strategize your response.
5) Intuitive tasting emerges tastes in your mouth,
without you ingesting any substance, such as food, liquids or medicine. You
intuitively taste sweetness and sourness while creating a competitive ad
campaign. Sweetness signifies when you’re on target. Sourness signifies when
you’re off target.
6)
Intuitive smelling infiltrates scents in your inner nose or “out in space”,
without using your physical nose. You intuitively smell fresh roses or rotten
eggs regarding product shipments. Roses indicate promptness. Rotten eggs
indicate delay. The latter scent notifies you in advance to find alternative
methods.
7) Intuitive speaking erupts truthful, inspirational,
wise, prophetic and problem-solving sayings without you thinking about what to
say. You abruptly joke about your computer crashing near a project deadline and
it happens. Fortunately, you backed up your sales and inventory records.
Intuition
helps you save time, money and energy in business through one or multiple
intuitive senses that daily communicate intuitive messages to you. Heed your
intuition and reap the savings.
©
2006 Published in the Fall
2006 issue of the Smyrna Community Guide
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Intuition Discerns Deception
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We are daily inundated with news stories filled with
analyses, opinions and speculations. Videos, audiotapes and photographs are
often altered or hoaxes. What is truth and what is deception? From deceivers’
perpetual thirst for job security, notoriety or entertainment, seasoning or
sifting the truth is acceptable. They awake and fall sleep with the intent to
deceive for as long as they can get away with it. Seasoned or sifted truth is
not acceptable because anything less than the truth is a lie—deception. White
lies, tiny lies or delicate lies are still lies—deceptions. The world deserves
the truth, even if it infiltrates our comfort zones. Deception does not help or
protect anyone, not even deceivers for their motive is tainted and their
gratification is temporary.
How do we discern deception? Each of us has
intuition—an inherent ability to obtain extended information about people,
places and things, without using logic, five physical senses or prior
knowledge. Logic seeks facts, which can be manipulated or missing. Physical
senses observe outer appearances, which can be camouflaged or counterfeit.
Prior knowledge can be off point or obsolete. Let your intuition be your
deception detector. Intuition communicates the truth whether we like it or not.
So, when you come across someone presenting news stories over the airwaves or
in print, consult your intuition by asking, “Does this person speak or write
the truth?” Then, notice the intuitive messages you receive. If deception rules,
see inner and outer visions of fraudulence circling their face. Feel distrust
or emptiness alarming your body. Hear alerts, such as “liar” or “trickster” in
your head. Taste saltiness or sourness in your mouth. Smell polluted or acidic
scents in your inner nose. Heed all these intuitive messages and others
regarding deceptive news stories. Let us be deceived no more.
©
2005
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My Empathetic
Journey
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Empathy burdened me
for over 30 years. I defined empathy
as the ability to feel and understand
another person’s thoughts, emotions,
characteristics, experiences,
motives, situations, health problems,
spirituality, etc.
At first, I never
heard the term or a linking
description, but it generated extreme
nervousness, which contained other
people’s contagious belongings. Their
spirits merged with my spirit and
whispered hidden truths without
permission. I didn’t need to adjust my
posture or perspective to sense people
as they truly are and see the world
through their eyes. This innate
ability hasn’t diminished with age.
My
progressive awareness of its power
leaves me in awe. One empathetic rule
declares that nothing, positive or
negative, is impossible to absorb. I
used to envy those who live lacking
intimate knowledge of everyone
encountered. How did they remain
detached when I sweated during
one-to-ones or in crowds? My
concentration scattered, conversations
jumbled, energy collapsed and nerves
tangled. I’d ask, “Why?” Then,
insecurities, mood swings, phoniness, disappointments, lust, treachery,
migraines, psychic
leakages--no
limits--pounded me. I
inwardly spoke the word, disconnect,
to sever the onslaught. I stopped
asking, “Why?” Floods of exhumed facts
would eventually land me in an
emergency room and lead to a
misdiagnosis. I doubt any recognized
illnesses can be associated with an
empathetically overwhelmed individual.
I clearly remember several
incidents:
Many years I inched
in rush hour traffic on the
Washington, DC beltway when I lived in
Northern Virginia. Often I grew
angrier each gridlocked moment for no
obvious reason. I hammered my horn and
yelled over the slightest issue. I
realized drivers’ rage invaded me like
swarms of killer bees. Their seething
thoughts mixed and multiplied within
me. I deeply inhaled and exhaled or
blasted the radio to eject their anger
from my being and visualized my car’s
windows as emotion blockers.
Along
corresponding roads, I attended
job-related meetings in various
conference rooms throughout the United
States. The rooms are reserved in
various timeslots by government
organizations and corporations.
Sometimes previous meeting attendees’
vicious exchanges choked me as I
entered the doorway. The sultry air
caused me to fold my arms over my
solar plexus to halt the suffocation.
I witnessed colleagues duplicate my
protective technique and knew they
weren’t bored or annoyed, but
atmospherically empathetic like me. My
breathing remained shallow, until
laughter cooled the
atmosphere.
Caution consumed me
upon meeting a human resource
representative for first time. My
vigilant energy immediately repelled
her deceptive energy. I questioned
another co-worker concerning her
personality only to hear pleasantries.
However, I remained observant.
Sometimes proof requires patience,
which I practice because I grew tired
of hindsight regrets. A few weeks
passed before she defrauded another
co-worker out of $3000. I restricted
my professional association with her
and visualized a brick wall between
us.
On another occasion, an attractive
man distressed me days after
introducing himself. His calculated
conversations and kindness attempted
to mask his real intention of using my
vehicle for his own self-interests.
Phone hang-ups, not Caller ID
monitoring, discharged his disturbance
from my heart.
Later on, distrust
signaled me upon hearing an auto
mechanic’s inflated repair price of
$400 to replace my car’s left axle.
Empathy redirected me to call another
repair shop, explain the problem and
receive a lower estimate. I smirked as
I notified the mechanic I’d found a
special deal. I sped to that shop and
saved $250.
I unwillingly stepped into
these three manipulators’ shoes and
endured their greed in progress.
Still, I pity them. The corruption
they circulated will boomerang back to
them someday. No one “gets over” as
they think they do. My empathetic
solution avoids such swindlers or
terminates their scams targeting
me.
Sadness crushed me
while watching a TV
documentary,
LaLee’s Kin: The
Legacy of
Cotton,
depicting one family’s dire
destitution in the Mississippi Delta.
Their
21st
century existence
echoed my ancestors’
mid-20th century existence,
and I felt close kinship with the
Wallaces. Their heartache, struggles,
illiteracy and legacy of
discrimination followed me into a
night dream where I read the hopeless
belief, “Waiting is not so bad, but
there is nothing to wait for.” I woke
up trembling and prayed prosperity for
them and serenity for me. Movies, such
as Cooley
High, Roots
and
The Green
Mile,
similarly impact me, regardless
whether the characters are real or
fictional. I cry to ease the suffering
of their on-screen
persecutions--my off-screen
persecution.
An acidic taste
sickened me once I touched a
stranger’s lower stomach in a
hands-on-healing class in Atlanta, GA.
I withstood her ulcer as if I had an
ulcer, which I didn’t. Curious, I
asked her about it. She replied, “I
used to have one, but it’s gone.” I
knew her ulcer hadn’t healed, but said
nothing more to prevent an argument. I
washed my hands to cleanse away her
medical condition brought on by
excessive family responsibilities and
repressed resentment.
In a parallel
episode, stomach cramps attacked me as
I happily shopped at Pearl Art and
Crafts in Alexandria, VA. I quickly
departed the store, drove home,
swallowed two aspirins and rested.
Months elapsed before I understood I’d
empathized with an ill friend on the
phone and ingested her cramping, as if
I owned it. The actuality that the
physical transference occurred hours
after we talked informed me empathetic
pain could strike throughout a given
day. I now shield myself with
streaming white light should anyone
discuss his or her
health.
“What can happen
next?” I dared. I discovered empathy
applies to animals, objects and
locations, as well as people. I
augmented my definition.
Intermittently, nausea rocks me as I
eat steak, hamburger and chicken. I
sense I additionally consume the
torment those cows and chickens faced
upon being slaughtered. It’s the worst
shock I’ve ever digested. I pray and
drink Sprite or Coca Cola to relieve
the haunting intake. I may become a
vegetarian soon.
I recall as a child
in when my mom discarded an
old kitchen table, which I mourned,
even though its use had expired. It
was comparable to losing a relative.
Ultimately, I let it rest in trash
heaven. Now I psychologically separate
myself from material things. Before I
visit historical sites, especially
ones weeping blood, I pray, “Lord,
bless this land that I’ll walk upon
and shelter me from invisible harm.” I
don’t want to be besieged by
entrenched violence, again. It’s not
an endearing memory. Empathy doesn’t
segregate time periods.
I’m a human sponge.
My body swells with so much
information, I often squeeze myself in
mandatory solitude. I visualize a
golden tornado twisting away all the
contagions I unintentionally contract.
The negative outweighs the positive
and is felt more intensely, but I do
experience goodness.
Pure joy envelops
me whenever I’m around certain newborn
babies and honorable healers. I don’t
employ defense mechanisms to obstruct
the ethereal sweetness rushing through
me. I love inspirational writing and
stirring artwork. I automatically tune
into the artists’ creative aims, yet
convey my own conclusions. Touring
places like the Vietnam and Korean War
Memorials in Washington, DC, I
perceive mass appreciation from the
deceased for granite remembrances of
their bravery and sacrifice. Hiking
along Georgia’s beautiful nature
trails strengthens my spirit. The
numerous mountains, trees, lakes and
waterfalls impart solace and healing
energy.
Throughout
my empathetic journey, I learned empathy, also called
clairempathy, is a divine survival gift. Understanding
its immensity bestows nourishment that can never know
hunger. My glass isn't half empty or half full. It overflows
with God's wisdom, protection and grace.
People can and have used my gift
against me whether or not they
realized it. I now handle those who
deposit guilt trips, offer
complimentary items, or display
abnormal kindness--for instant or
future favors. Their ears hear an
unapologetic “no” rather than a
resentful “yes.” I ceased helping or
trying to change others to make them
feel better in order to make myself
feel better. They have life lessons to
learn, too, excluding my
interventions. I don’t take rejections
personally and let go before the dead
leaves fall. It hurts less once I
utilize empathy to comprehend the
release’s higher purpose. I’m more
tolerant and rarely make snap
judgments because I sense what lies
beneath. I no longer envy those who
remain detached because my empathy
alerts me to past, present and future
troubles. Many fearfully distance
themselves when I reveal guarded
secrets--after curious inquiries. It’s
an excellent decision, particularly in
excruciating cases. Their inadvertent
and malicious stings exit my breathing
space. I smile. If an object emits bad
vibes, my hands steer clear. I cease
eating meat products after a bite
grieves me. I won’t explore unbearably
afflicted places.
My empathy provides
an honest self-assessment without
contagions lingering inside me or
mirrored reflections deluding me.
Inner peace transpired as I accepted
and expressed gratitude for who I am.
The world can’t pound me to the same
degree it did for over 30 years. My
humor increased while nervousness
decreased. I arrived back home to
me--unburdened.
©
2002 Published in the December
2002 issue of Oracle
Magazine
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True
Dreamer
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I haven’t always been a true
dreamer—a person who dreams truth and wisdom whenever and wherever he or she
sleeps. For the first 28 years of my life, I can’t recall dreams from my
Tennessee childhood or through eight years of worldwide Army service. I simply
went to sleep and woke up. If any dreams emerged in between my physical eyes
closing and re-opening, they remain adrift in the twilight zone. In 1992, my
life changed forever. I dreamed all six numbers of the Virginia lottery. Upon
awakening, I recalled three numbers, which I played while guessing the others.
I won a free ticket because only the dreamt numbers popped up. The dream
intrigued me, but no similar dream surfaced. Later I realized that dream wasn’t
meant for me to win the lottery, but to announce the arrival of my dreamtime.
In a February 1994 dream, two
angels pushed me through a white light for inner knowledge. I fought them until
I awoke because I originally thought they tried to kill me. My arms ached after
the encounter. The next month, I had an out-of-body-experience after dreaming
my sister told me I had “the gift.” “What gift?” I phoned her the next morning.
She didn’t know and I couldn’t discern it. Deep in the night, deceased
relatives appeared and talked to me in dreams. In June 1995, a deceased
paternal aunt said, “You’ll be leaving soon and Moore will help you . . .
around May or June . . . or whenever you want to. You won’t know what hit you.”
I woke up terrified. I thought I’d die soon. I nervously went back to sleep. In
another dream, my deceased paternal grandmother phoned me. I refused to take
the call. I trembled awake¾and stayed awake. “Weren’t they dead in their graves
until judgment day, as my Baptist upbringing taught?” I asked myself hearing
silence. No matter where I traveled staying with family, friends or in hotels,
I dreamed.
I reviewed my life. I questioned
my beliefs. What I thought I knew blurred. What I didn’t know came to teach me
during dreamtime. I felt attacked by nightly images I didn’t understand, but
knew it wasn’t my imagination or bad food. Each time my eyes closed, I expected
something supernatural. Often I awakened exhausted or with racing heartbeats
due to troubling scenes. I never thought I’d be a true dreamer. I was scared
and confused, but sought understanding because the door to dreamtime opened
wide. I read dream books, including Dreamwork for the Soul by Rosemary
Ellen Guiley, Bedside Guide to Dreams by Stase Michaels, and What
Your Dreams Can Teach You by Alex Lukeman. I studied bible scriptures
pertaining to dreams and listened to dream tapes by John Paul Jackson and Dr.
Mark Chironna. My dreams are literal, symbolic or a mixture of both. Dream
dictionaries prove useful because particular symbols switch meaning each dream. Tornadoes have signified dramatic
changes in my life, visions unseen by others, the rapid collapse of the World
Trade Center after being struck by hijacked airplanes and actual tornadoes on
the ground in the United States. Even with dream dictionaries, an interpretation
has to click or feel right to me, otherwise it’s incorrect. I scanned
numerous Internet articles about dreams, and attended dream workshops and
seminars. Most importantly, I talked to relatives and friends for dream
insights and comparisons. I asked about their types of dreams, interpretation
processes and verifications, and how they felt each morning after. I soaked in
all the information I could handle, whereas in my youth I ignored dream talks
because I couldn’t relate. Now I can. I discovered a rich history of prophetic,
telepathic, advisory and warning dreams on my mother’s side of the family. She
told me that my grandmother, born in 1917, and great grandmother, born in 1875,
were true dreamers, along with several aunts and female cousins. Most recall
dreaming from an elementary age like my sister, but unlike my mother and me who
became adults before entering dreamtime. It’s exciting and nurturing to dream
talk with relatives who’ve had 30+ years of dreaming. We all know people who
don’t want to listen to our dreams due to fear or ignorance, especially after
numerous validations. They think we cause certain predicaments or deviously
uncover secrets when we only convey what has transpired, is transpiring or will
transpire. Once I shared the same dream with a niece to our surprise. Our dream
images matched, but our dream angles differed because we lived in different
states. Our deceased paternal grandmother let us know she was okay in the
afterlife by dancing to loud rap music while wearing a long dress and white
sneakers. Grandmother died in 1994 at age 98 and knew little about rap music,
but used it to ensure we didn’t forget that dream upon awakening. Except for
three brothers and an older cousin, male relatives don’t remember their dreams.
They’re not open-minded to dreamtime.
Early on, I asked myself, “Why do I dream?” My
first answer: “It’s inherited.” I needed a deeper response. My enhanced answer:
“Dreams are messages from God to my soul to ease this journey I’ll only
experience a short time. I wasn’t birthed upon this earth to learn using only
logic and physical senses. Dreams give me spiritual knowledge I can’t grasp
during the day due to a busy mind and schedule. In dreams, God allows us to see and do things that would be too
shocking while awake . . . like communicating with loved ones who’ve passed
on.” This revelation required careful chewing because it meant access to
universal information and dimensions unrestricted by time or space. Spiritual
revelations can paralyze if swallowed whole.
I read that dreams are the soul’s
language. I agree. This language creates soul stories filled with collaged
images generating multi-level meanings for
spiritual awareness and advancement. My dream journals, soul
stories, date back to 1994. “Destruction in Miami,” headlined a May 1996 dream.
Value Jet Flight 592 crashed in the Florida Everglades four days later on my
birthday. “Bomb at the U.S. Olympics!” screamed a July 1996 dream. Five days
afterward, a bomb exploded at Centennial Park in Atlanta. I wondered why I
dreamed about national disasters in which I wasn’t directly impacted. My
answer: “I’m part of a universe where events impact all our souls, regardless
of geographical location. No one is a stranger, even if I never met them on
this earth.” Then, I wondered how I could dream an event before it happens?” My
answer: “The physical realm operates at a slower frequency than the spiritual
realm where one probable future exists. Sometimes the outcome of an event
changes if free will is redirected in the physical realm.” Seeing events unfold
ahead of linear time causes me to live them twice. It’s often difficult, but I
learn much during dreamtime.
Dreams taught me that we physically die, but not
spiritually. We’re all spiritual beings and can soulfully communicate
regardless of when we lived on earth. In a March 1998 dream, a wall calendar
switched to the month of December to foretell the death of a paternal aunt who
had breast cancer. She passed away on December 20, 1998. In August 2000, I took
hospice training without comprehending why. In my heart, it felt like the right
thing to do. I later discovered the training helps me during dreamtime because
the rules and ethics applied guide me when souls communicate their upcoming
transition to the afterlife. It’s like soul-to-soul hospice care. I’ve had
several death dreams that came true in less than a year. Rather than fearing
these dreams, as I initially did, I am grateful because they grant me
opportunities to visit, call or write the person involved before their passing.
They always reappear in a future dream to let me know they’re alright.
Dreams help me comfort and warn distant friends. In
an August 2000 dream, an icy cold bedroom signified the end of a taxing
relationship between a Virginia friend and her fiancé. I reluctantly told her
about the dream to alleviate her pain before the final breakup, which naturally
occurred weeks later. In November 2002, I dreamed a Maryland friend had to be
cautious of a co-worker named Bob and workplace politics to prevent a violent
episode. I warned her via email. She confirmed and thanked me for watching her
back. In May 2003, after dreaming the sky blackened over Atlanta, I forewarned
a Georgia friend who disbelieved me due to the bright sunlight. Tornadic
weather rushed in and blackened the sky within hours that same day.
Fortunately, no destruction ensued.
Dreams
educate me. I met my Guardian angel, Vanessa, and another watchful angel,
Gilder. I knew when not to make career moves. I dreamed of a surprising job
promotion two weeks prior to my manager congratulating me. I received
instructions regarding mediumship and telepathy, how to read clouds as oracles,
imagination power and other supernatural abilities. Dreams displayed beautiful
color and black & white photographs I’d never seen. They pertained to
forthcoming information aiding my ancestral research. I dreamed I’d relocate
from Virginia to Georgia a year before deciding to do so in June 1999. That’s
what my deceased aunt told me back in 1995. The name, Moore, was a pun on the
word, more. More people have helped my spiritual growth since I relocated than
ever before. I didn’t know what hit me because I had a sudden, near-fatal
moving accident, which could have been prevented had I listened to my
intuition. In another dream, I asked famed psychic, Edgar Cayce, why I had
problems giving myself a reading. He replied, “You’re not asking specific
enough questions.
Dreams
alert me to needs and problems. Some dreams are literal: eat more fruit and
drink more water. Once I ignored a dream about a food virus. I ate at a fast
food restaurant while traveling and became ill for three weeks. Now I allow 30
days to pass before eating in particular restaurants after this type of dream.
Some dreams are symbolic: A broken neck after a road accident revealed a broken
car muffler. The dream’s intensity indicated a major accident if the dangling
muffler had fallen off while driving at a high rate of speed. In January 2003,
I bought a new vehicle and soon after dreamed there was a problem to my
frustration. Two weeks later, I received a letter from Toyota noting a cruise
control defect. I drove to a service center and had it repaired under
warranty.
Dreams teach and assist me in many other ways. I
live two joined lives: awake and asleep. This physical-bodied life, with my
eyes open, is a reality I’ll experience for however long I’m here. Dreamtime,
with my eyes closed, is another reality I physically awaken from, but not
soulfully. My body needs rest, but my soul needs to learn or remember 24 hours
a day. Dreaming is “the gift” that continuously gives by allowing me to
truthfully see the world at large and myself. I save time, energy and money. I
love dreaming. I no longer fear any type of dream. I feel off-centered when I
can’t recall dreams, which occasionally happens due to work stress. Dreams feed
my soul night and day. After eleven years of dreamtime, I don’t want it any
other way.
©
2003-2004 Published in the Fall 2004 issue of Dream
Network
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