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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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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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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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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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