What If I Were Always in Touch with My Intuition . . . ?

I Don't Make New Year's Resolutions, but If I Did, This Would Be It!

I’ve been eyeing the bushy front lawn for weeks now, praying my landlady doesn’t drive past the house. My blue-collar part-time job, necessary for survival, is kicking my ass, and I just haven’t been able to muster the energy and impetus necessary for me to mow a Gulf Coast Florida lawn (wet, heavy, and tall—not to mention having to watch for hidden baby rabbits in spring).

The pressure of the guilt of the undone chore reached its zenith a few days ago, and I was thinking—no, feeling—how unburdening it would be if I could hire a lawn-mowing being and pay a fair price I could afford.

Comes a knock on the door yesterday, and young Marcel (not his real name) is there, undeterred by my shriek-barking dogs. I opened the door a crack to speak with him, this boy of maybe 10, 11, 12? I asked for his card (he forgot the “n” in “lawn,” so I remind myself now to matter-of-factly, unemotionally point it out to him).

I asked Marcel how much it would cost to have the front lawn mowed. He told me twenty dollars. I gave him a friendly side eye and said, “I don’t think that’s enough. I’ll give you twenty-five dollars,” and I already know I’m going to give this enterprising young boy thirty and be grateful.

Win-win.

But how the heck did he show up out of the blue? I had hoped for exactly what happened: the magical appearance at my doorstep of a motivated young American boy or girl, showing up with initiative and making the cost of the service affordable for me and profitable for them.

And me being elated that kids like this still exist.

Of the events leading up to this serendipitous moment, I recall following my intuition when thinking about searching online for a lawn-mowing being. That still small voice said, “Nope. Do nothing.”

Next day, knock-knock.

How the hell did that happen? I remember having decided that I would shoot for Monday as the day to mow the lawn myself. But wouldn’t it be nice to save my body the excruciating pain. Ah . . . the feeling of the wish fulfilled.

Then I “let it go” (not a fan of that phrase, as if it’s always a snap to do so and you’re a jamoke if you don’t or can’t).

Then Marcel appeared.

Is one’s intuition/third-eye wisdom/higher self/Christ consciousness/whatever you may call it always correct, or the best direction to follow?

I suspect that it is—if in fact it’s pure intuition, a cosmic rather than subjective download.

I’m thinking now that instead of wishing for a “miracle” (likely or far-fetched) to happen, I’m going to ask to be ever connected to the afore[head]mentioned grouping, whose “spoxperson” is the still small voice.

I’m going to train myself to focus on that pathway to the pineal that’s situated between my brows.

I’m going to feel the feeling of doing so as making manifest everything I want and need.

Then I’m just going to go about my business and be sure I answer the door.