Whispering Angels

Another Word for Intuition

Intuition sneaks up on you — on wordless feet and whispers: Alive

The strange and often surprising validity of intuition. It is more than merely an odd phenomenon. These days it’s pretty much universally acknowledged as fact, as existing — though science, the slowpoke, has yet to stand up and declare it so.

Still, there are too many affirmations.

Too many testimonials.

Too many tributes.

Too many supporting witnesses.

Is intuition our human word for angel, I wonder.

Einstein said that his Theory of Relativity came to him in a dream. Mendeleev’s Periodic Table, ditto.

Angels are very wise.

In 1968, when I outlined my oven-fresh theory of thought-spheres for a friend and looked at my drawing of the sphere of free thought, that sphere we reach after death I reasoned, I asked myself: Was there perhaps another sphere beyond this? and the angel answered, very clearly, in a voice that sang my whole body: “Nirvana.”

At which point I flooded with light and light and light and have not looked back since.

Angels are very wise.

On a more mundane level. A few months ago I felt a little irked by how much time I spend each day preparing and consuming my large green salad. Also, my teeth are getting older and older (as in “kinda long in”) and there are some worrying signs that I’m wearing them down — not least by my daily hour of salad-chewing.

This was on my mind as I sat on my wooden bench looking out over the Pacific Ocean during my afternoon airing. Then, wordless feet approached from behind and whispered: “Blender.”

Blender?

The whisper did not repeat but I had heard it clearly enough. Blender. Meaning, don’t finely chop and chew, but blend and drink.

The salad?

Yes, why not?

Why not indeed? The more I thought about this on the way back to my cabin the more sense it made. Find myself a blender that will take my salad ingredients and whip them into a green smoothie.

I found the blender. I discovered the right blending (so much water, so much blending). I discovered how to “drink” the not quite drinkable.

I have not looked back since.

I think of my green blend as Soylent Green, just for the brilliant and reviving nourishment of it. And there is no doubting this: when I sat down to look out over the ocean, the word “blender” was as far from my mind as a word could be.

And then, on wordless feet: “Blender.”

A clear word, a clear concept, a beautiful solution — out of “nowhere”.

Intuition.

I am another in a long line of witnesses.

© Wolfstuff

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