Tag Archives: Intuition

The Process of Intuition: Fandango’s Provocative Question #88

To what degree have you been able to control the course that your life has taken? Or is being in control of your life just an illusion?

I have lived many different lives in my life and have found that the best path to follow is my intuition. I have changed my entire life because of a dream, or because of a chance meeting with someone who told me of a place I’d never been to where he thought I should be living, or because of a book handed to me by a complete stranger as I was leaving a plane who said, “I think it’s time for you to read this book.” Another time, a woman I didn’t even remember meeting at a Bay Area Women Writer’s convention sent me a book that entirely changed my life. Somehow, when I cease doing what I think I should do and instead follow an inkling of what I want to do, even if it seems illogical, it leads me toward another wonderful choice in life.

For Fandango’s Provocative Question #88.

222 and Going with the Flow

222 and Going with the Flow

For the past few months, the number 222 keeps repeatedly showing up in my life. Yesterday it was my ending number of views. Today, I just looked at stats at the exact time that it hit 222 views, and strangely enough, this has happened at least 3 other times this week, purely by accident. I was never aware that I was close to this number when I looked. Finally, for the fun of it, I did some research on the number 222 and here are quotes from several different numerology sites: 

222 represents faith and trust. 222 signifies that one’s life is in a favorable state for finding balance. … The number 222 is a sign to have faith in how life is unfolding. Something positively significant could happen if there is trust in the self, the inner desires, and one’s life purpose.

The occurrence of 222 represents the need to bring people together in relationships of great impact (whether they be existing relationships or ones just starting to grow), especially our relationships with family members.

However, this number could arouse nervous energy since many choose to ignore their capacity for doing greater things.

The number 222 is a sign to have faith in how life is unfolding. Something positively significant could happen if there is trust in the self, the inner desires, and one’s life purpose. Continuing down a successful path may require a little extra effort.

Having an effect on mankind is a goal of 222, and there is a strong desire for everything to be perfect.

Groups of repeating numbers have been called cosmic signals, ways of informing someone that an area of life needs attention whether it be to fill in something that is missing or reduce the frequency of something all too prevalent. (This is especially true of 222 since 2 is all about balance.)

At various times over the past few years, I’ve written blogs about the role of synchronicity in my life and even shared a video where I spoke on this subject 9 years ago.

I first became aware of the impact of intuition when a dream caused me to quit my job, sell my house, put all my worldly goods into storage and to take off to write and to see what the rest of my life would hold when I let loose of rationality and let intuition be my guide. (You can read my account of this life-changing decision as I wrote of it in Chicken Soup for the Soul.) Since that time, it has led me into some amazing adventures and much variety. I can’t help but think that life is once again nudging me and I’m trying to let loose and go with the flow again. We’ll see what happens.

The Power of Intuition

This is a talk I gave on The Power of Intuition at the Lake Chapala Society nine years ago. Amazingly, until someone informed me that they’d seen it on YouTube, I didn’t even remember making the presentation. 


Filmed by Roy Nolan at Open Circle at The Lake Chapala Society, 6/20/2010.

Deep Voice



Deep Voice

The stranger on an airplane in the seat next to me
never said a single word, and so I let her be
until our arrival, when I prepared to stand
and she produced a paperback—put it in my hand.

“It’s time for you to read this,” she said, then went away.
I didn’t say a word to her. Didn’t know what to say.
That book, however, changed my life and attitude and choices—
encouraged me to listen close to interior voices.

Buscaglia, Jampolsky and all of Carl Jung’s books
drew my mind away from appearances and looks
and into that finer world of instinct and of mind;
then drew me westward to the sea and others of my kind.

After a writer’s function, a stranger sent to me
“The Process of Intuition,” which I read from A to Z.
I read it twenty times or so, then sent it to a friend.
Then bought up every copy left to give as gifts and lend.

I don’t remember talking to the one who sent it to me,
but if I need a proof of faith, I guess that this will do me.
For I believe there is some force that draws the next thing through me
and if I follow instincts that hint and prod and clue me,

they are the truths that guide me on the path towards the new me.
The signs are there in all our lives if we choose to see.
No, I don’t believe a God guides our destinies.
I don’t believe in lifelines or spirits within trees.

I don’t believe in any faith that has a name or church.
I do believe, however, that I’m guided in my search
by something that unites us and sets our pathways right
so long as we listen to our own interior sight

that urges us to follow the right side of our brain
even though those choices are logically inane.
I know that it takes many types of brains to run the world,
but for me it’s intuition that when carefully unfurled

guides me best—towards art and words and unplanned days and oceans
and prompts me make a Bible of what others may call notions.
And so to simplify I’d say that I must have faith in
that voice we’re all a part of that speaks to us from within.


If you haven’t already viewed it, Word Press would not let me link to their Weekly Photo site yesterday, so please view also: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2018/02/08/tending-house/

This is a rewrite of a post from four years ago. The prompt today was simplify.

That Tiny Seed

That Tiny Seed

That tiny seed
in the garden of your being
plants itself
in a corner where you might not notice it.

Unplagued by your thousand obligations,

it gathers moisture unused by your arid life.

On that internal table,
its petals open to a visceral sun.

You can feel the flutter

feel its opening
and see it in your
dreams perhaps
or in a daydream, as a reflection in a shop window.

What you are inside of you
is something you should feel the wings of,
smell its faint aroma, be at least a bit discomfited
by that tiny annoying growth of petal
that is a message from yourself.

Sign language.

If you don’t listen,
it will whisper.
Then it will shout.

The prompt today is visceral.

Unnatural Ending


Unnatural Ending

What if we always chose to do
what our instinct told us to?
Perhaps by holding it at bay,
it’s reason that leads us astray.
When we leave our natural self behind,
it seems to get us in a bind,
inventing things I fear will tend
to bring about our eventual end—
like nuclear bombs and autos and
devices getting out of hand.
Our instinct prompts us to have enough
while minds lead us to other stuff
like avarice, gluttony, greed
wherein we want more than we need.
If mankind descended from Adam’s loin,
its end began with the first coin
stamped out in gold or other metal
better used for plow or kettle.
That granting of a value to
what we couldn’t wear or drink or chew
gave birth to what we are today—
ready to blow it all away.

The prompt word today was instinct.

Too small


That Small Feeling That Something’s Wrong

My intuition sounds its gong.
I have an inkling something’s wrong.
I look  around  for what’s amiss,
but cannot tell what signals this.
My arm and neck hairs stir and rise,
as if to warn me of surprise.
This tiny hunch keeps me alert,
but insight is a fickle flirt.
When nothing happens, it goes away
and I live out my normal day.
That tiny niggling little prickle
might lead to nought, for insight’s fickle,
and sometimes things are just so small
that they aren’t there at all.


The prompt word today is “tiny.”



Here’s a smaller version so you can see the shape on a smaller device.  I’ve been working on this shape for seven hours.  Sheesh! how time flies.  I have versions of four different birds, but I think I like the duck best.


In case you are curious, here is another version of “Aimless.”  Same poem, different bird–a plumed exotic with its wings extended.

Screen Shot 2016-06-19 at 5.29.02 PM

And, for those who haven’t had enought, here is the first view I did:

Screen Shot 2016-06-19 at 7.46.53 PM



This is a piece I did a few years ago entitled “The Circus.”  It deals with that part of us that wants to run away and join the circus.  The porcelain doll has my mother’s face superimposed on it.  Over my mother’s face, I put several layers of Frida Kahlo’s face, peeled off in varying degrees.  Over Frida’s face is a miniature antique paste mask that can be pulled aside or allowed to fall into place.  In her hands are a tiny pair of silver scissors and around her waist is a tiny bag woven of morning glory vines.  She rises out of a toy chest decorated with Loteria cards.  On the chair to her left is a small clown figure with wings.  He is painting a portrait of Frida. Many discarded portraits of her lie crumpled and discarded on the floor. They are all the same. Below him are circus animals and a juggler who have spilled from the pages of a tiny journal that has a story written inside about creativity, sides of the brain, intuition vs. reason and imitation vs. unique inspiration. The overall piece is about the importance of coming from a unique place in ourselves rather than depending upon judgement and imitation. For me, the purpose of art is that experience of going into new realms of ourselves—to allow ourselves to do what most of us couldn’t do when we were young—to run away to join the circus!



This Poem is a Sort of Street

(Click first photo to enlarge, then click on arrows.)

This Poem is a Sort of Street

This poem is a sort of street.
I wonder who I’m going to meet
as I walk down the dust of it––
plod along the “must” of it.
I do not know where I am going.
I follow it while never knowing
what’s around the next blind bend.
I do not know how it will end.

Each line is a new adventure
leading to acclaim or censure.
The GPS that’s guiding me––
determining what I will see––
is lodged so deep and far inside
a road stretched out so long and wide
that it must guide or I’ll get lost
in ruts of words and pay the cost

of trying to control by mind––
a street that’s meant to twist and wind
guided by a force within
that is intuitive and yin.
It is a guide that’s mostly lost
in this world so tempest-tossed.
The drop of it that I infuse
in rhymes that others then may choose

to read and ponder is the way
that I have chosen to try to pay
the toll for this tremendous gift
of life where I have learned too well
the lessons of the school bell.
I’ve learned to turn a deaf ear to
what pedants say I need to do
and take each day a road that’s new.

I’m led by dreams and intuition
down streets with no thought of fruition
but instead careen and ramble
without an outline or preamble
into places I’d never go
if I just reported what I know.
Then I record all that I see
so you can learn along with me.