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Essay: Privacy or Secrets?
Essay: Intuition and Love
This one floored me when I saw it. What do you think?
The first question I asked myself was “Why is this true?” The quote is attributed to Graham Greene. There are several to be found online and I’m not sure which one he is but those listed are all artists of some type.
I personally agree that we cannot love without intuition because intuition has its source in the unconscious mind, the Id, sex, chaos, passion, wild emotion, dreams and so forth. When we really love someone it’s a powerful draw, magnetic, a longing. In my case, it’s possible destiny. Sometimes the person shows up in our dreams. This is a psychic event as in psyche and not simply lust. I have experienced this. Have you? I want to know if you have. Tell me about it.
There is no rational reason why you are so drawn to this person. But many times there are synchronicities. I’ve blogged on here about my twin flame which was highly surrounded in synchronicity and still is. We’re still in touch, talked a lot last week, and he is being a little warm but nothing major. And another man is in my psychic space that I haven’t fleshed out yet. We haven’t met but I’d like to meet him. I’m not in love with him though as I am with my Twin Flame. Both of them have been in my dreams and are not just issues of lust so I know they are hooked to my psyche.
The Id, which is below the subconscious ego is also basically the lower body, below the navel. From a man’s perspective, of course, you cannot love without intuition because, for them, they cannot love without sex. That begs the question, “Is sex the seat of a man’s intuition?” I never thought of that but it makes sense. Let me know if you think that’s the case. Women will be floored if that’s true. I need the men to let me know if sex is intuitive for you. I better stop there. As a woman, sex is not intuitive for me. The seat of my intuition is chakras 6, 5, and 4 (third eye, throat, and heart)
I hope I hear from you.
Lisa T.
Body; Being that is not Visible is QI
“We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the center hole
that makes the wagon move.We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable.We WORK with being,
but non-being is what we USE.–Tao-te-Ching #11
Many Rivers To Cross; Annie Lennox
Many Rivers to Cross
Many rivers to cross
But I can’t seem to find my way over
Wandering I am lost
As I travel along the white cliffs of Dover
But I can’t seem to find my way over
Wandering I am lost
As I travel along the white cliffs of Dover
Many rivers to cross
And it’s only my will that keeps me alive
I’ve been licked, washed up for years
And I merely survive because of my pride
And it’s only my will that keeps me alive
I’ve been licked, washed up for years
And I merely survive because of my pride
And this loneliness won’t leave me alone
It’s such a drag to be on your own
My woman left me and she didn’t say why
Well I guess, I have to try
It’s such a drag to be on your own
My woman left me and she didn’t say why
Well I guess, I have to try
Many rivers to cross
But just…
But just…
Source: LyricFind
Prose; Getting Lost
I loved that, as soon as I walked in the time-honored door, profusely late, you were concerned that I’d gotten lost, in trouble, or something else.
Melt. Kiss.
Mmmmm. That’s the good stuff. I’m going there and staying in that sterling feeling. It’s a crack memory in my brain. No one can take it away. I keep a pile of those in a festive drawer for a rainy day.
Protected: Prose; Skin
Intimacy; Fantasy
If you can feel your body and your heart, the physical reality is far better than the mental fantasy.-Lisa T.
October 2019
Protected: Essay: Heartset; If You Don’t Give Him Sex When He Suggests It, You May as Well Not Exist.
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Protected: Mindset; What does “In Your Face” Mean from a Woman?
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Prose; Life in Between Writing
Does the life inside my head, when I’m not writing, count as my Life?
Or do I have to go outside and be around people to observe and participate in that stuff in between writing for that to count as my Life?
Or does the time I’m just being empty-headed, doing and thinking nothing and not writing count as my Life?
I think it all counts. Thoughtforms tend to be phantasms but they’re really not ya know. The preponderance is on the action in our society but it’s not that way for writers. Thought forms are picked up by the mind and manifested into the cells of the body.
When the sky is gray, like today, or it’s snowing, all of nature brings a variation that causes lip licking and nose blowing with a temperamental euphoria that distinctly tastes like the air. I love the smell of the crisp air in Michigan winter. This is my life in between writing.
I just want to drink my Earl Grey tea and sit in my chair writing my latest musing. When my mind is swirling, my body won’t.
For now, watching the rhythmic drips from my roof out my window will do.
Protected: Essay: Heartset; We Can Get a Room…
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Protected: Essay: Heartset; Take Good Care of My Heart?
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Essay: Can She Be a Human Being?
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Protected: Essay: Heartset; A #Female #Intimacy Myth Revealed
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Protected: Prose; Fact or Fiction
Prose; Liquid Saturday
©️Lisa K Townsend
I roll around in my warm bed by myself like a dulcet silken bag of potential poetry spoken into an imaginary lovers ear. Or I could sing to him. I haven’t had that opportunity yet.
I’m happy…really. It’s abundant, nurturing, warm, and close to the earth.
I find the peacefulness of being by myself in a relationship with myself to be magical. I can surf the waves of words that sit below my navel and bring them up into my stomach to digest with my breakfast, then into my heart where my son, cute animals and gentle firemen reside and express it through the voice in my fingers.
Put me on a secure raft in some warm tropical waters and that’s where I am.
Sure, I have to cook, chew my food, do the dishes and take out the trash, but that is atmospheric seasoning to where my percipience is really focused.
My perception is in my body which is still feeling the dream I had last night like a crab secure in its loose-fitting, restful shell.
Only the inspiration of a local tree could suggest I stand up and walk out the door made from it’s relation. The trees get used and splintered for our delight with the fantasy of solid things. My world is really liquid, empty space full of potential.
Protected: Prose: Why Can’t I See You?
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Protected: Essay: Everyday Intuition; Competition at Home
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Essay: Intimacy balances out by…Part I
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Essay: Social Media Shows Our Veneer
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