There is a kind of intelligence that doesn’t ask permission from logic.
It doesn’t build.
It doesn’t argue.
It doesn’t prove.
It arrives.
Whole.
Immediate.
Unreasonably certain.
And when it does, you don’t feel like you figured something out—
It dawned on you. Fully formed.
I spent years worshiping logic.
Clean lines. Clear steps. Evidence. Structure.
If it couldn’t be explained, it didn’t count.
If it couldn’t be defended, it wasn’t real. Or at least, wasn’t important enough to be relevant on a daily basis.
And intuition?
Cute.
Occasional.
A little bonus when it happened to show up.
I had no idea.
Because when you actually sit still—
not to think, not to solve, not to optimize—
but to allow…
Something else starts to move.
Not louder. Quieter.
But deeper. Just needing space to Be without effort. Without a narrative.
And the ideas that come there…
They don’t feel like guesses.
They don’t feel like effort.
They feel like:
Oh.
There you are.
And then one day, I had this thought—this completely absurd, completely beautiful thought:
I know I’m not supposed to fill the silence. What if I could offer it?
This is a cool meditation exercise that has become something I do at least once a day. Try it if it resonates. Whatever works best for you is best for you. This is just something that works for me that you can try on and see if it fits.
I give my Higher Power a minute.
Just a minute.
Not metaphorically—literally.
A finite, human, bounded minute.
(I don’t set a timer, I just guess. If I feel like going past a minute, I do, but there is no pressure. It’s just a conscious decision, followed by action with at least the one minute. You should absolutely adjust with what aligns with you.)
This is how I frame it… my reasoning that I think God delights in a juicy little minute.
If I were infinite—
if I existed outside of time
outside of sequence
outside of beginning and end
also a part of it
also experiencing all of it at once…
what would a minute feel like?
A real one.
With a start.
A middle.
An end.
A container.
Just a delicacy, right? Not necessary, but a fun little relaxing rush.
What a gift that would be.
So I sit there, and I say:
You can have this.
Come experience this minute.
And I try—gently, imperfectly—to stretch it.
To widen the space between seconds.
To make room inside the moment.
Not to get somewhere.
But to let something be here.
And whether that’s “real” or not—
whether anything is actually entering or not—
Doesn’t matter.
Because something changes. I believe it’s my personal Higher Power, but if it’s just inspiration chemicals, it’s all the same to me. Whatever your Entity is, be it ‘Spirit of the Universe’, or ‘One Who Designed All the Cool Physics”, The effect is still wonderful.
The silence stops feeling empty.
It starts feeling occupied.
Alive.
Shared.
…enjoyed.
And I’m not going to lie, there’s a little tiny theme of… a little girl giving her parent a present she proudly made all-by-herself and it doesn’t matter how much I colored outside the lines (i.e. mind wandering), my Higher Power loves my careless minutes. And I am so grateful for the love I feel sometimes in these meditations.
The reason I started doing this, is to give something back to my Higher Power for the amazing… just stunning… most hand-crafted gifts that arrive right on time and rarely in the form I expect. How could I ever show my gratitude? It doesn’t matter if He actually receives it in the way I imagine He does.
(‘He’ is used for the sake of convenience/brevity. I really mean He/She/It/They, you fill in what resonates.)
And, silly as it sounds, what might I have a ton of that He might rarely get to experience? What else do I have to offer? Some linear time.
While I very lightly imagine holding back time and feel every delicious millisecond slip through into this reality, I acknowledge my HP in this blissful little treat…
and I wait.
I wait as if I’m going to hear Him talk any second now. No different from waiting for your friend to speak if you’re in a conversation (and you’re not just thinking of what you’re going to say next; you’re really listening for their response). How long would you wait for your friend to respond before you jumped in with a thought or a question or an irritation that they’re taking too long. I just wait for Him to respond. It’s hard sometimes.
But I only have to wait a minute. A full minute.
It’s a great practice. But what works for you is best.
What happened after I started this practice as a daily discipline is what blows my mind every time I think about it. It’s mind-blowing when you realize intuition has a real seat at the table when it comes to living a thriving, joyful, serene life.
Logic still stays. Logic is really helpful when evaluating effectiveness of these interesting little inspirations.
Skepticism is well placed.
But that’s no reason to disrespect intuition’s power.
The inspirations just flow when this disciplined is practiced (softly but on a consistent daily basis).
Ideas are different.
Softer, but clearer.
But sometimes heavier but never in the guilt-laden-way… in the, this problem is easier to see, even if the truth is painful, it’s still lighter somehow.
Less forced, but more precise.
But sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a breadcrumb. A path of illumination that won’t be shown all at once but … the glimmer. A feeling to notice throughout the day until the words come into focus.
No pressure, just being.
Observing, adjusting track, noticing.
It works.
I am, quite literally, today years old realizing:
I’ve been using maybe half of my mind.
All. This. Time.
Not because logic failed me.
But because I never let anything else lead.
There is an artistry to intuition.
A kind of elegance that doesn’t explain itself
because it doesn’t have to.
And if you’ve never sat long enough to feel it—
not chase it, not force it—
just meet it…
Try it. May I suggest you stop trying to meditate perfectly and just offer anything you have (a minute, a sense of warmth, a word of comfort) to whoever you honor in your Soul (a Higher Power, a Cherished Ideal, the Designer of Physics). For just a minute each day. Do it more than once. Challenge yourself to a week. See what happens. Comment back your experience, if you feel so moved. I’d LOVE to hear it.
Epilogue into the next Part!
(And somewhere much later—after the awe, after the beauty, after the what is this?!—
you realize:
Seeing it is not the same as becoming it.)
Part II coming soon!
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