Living by Intuition

On Living by Intuition: Walking the Edge of the Known

“There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.” – Rumi

In a world built on data, forecasts, and five-year plans, I’ve come to trust something far less visible: intuition. That quiet nudge. The sensation in your chest before a big decision. The “no” you feel before you can explain why.

For most of my life, I lived in my head. Strategic. Thoughtful. Analytical. That served me in business and even in art. But healing—the real kind—didn’t come through logic. It came when I learned to listen to the part of me that knew before I did.

We call it instinct, intuition, sixth sense. These words blur at the edges, and maybe that’s the point. They’re not meant to be defined but felt. Felt in the body, in the dance, in the pause before action.

Beyond Logic: How Instinct, Intuition, and the Sixth Sense Guide Us

Instinct. Intuition. Sixth sense. Different names, different textures, but all pointing toward a way of knowing that bypasses logic.

Instinct is primal—hardwired into us. The kind of knowing that makes your body tense before your mind catches up. The fight-or-flight surge when danger enters the room. It belongs to every creature on earth, ancient and universal.

Intuition feels more layered. It’s not a reflex—it’s a whisper. A knowing shaped by experience, by pattern, by the way we’ve watched and felt and absorbed life without needing to spell it out. You feel it when you meet someone and sense something’s off, even if you can’t say why. A soft, internal tug toward yes—or away from no—without a spreadsheet to prove it.

Then there’s what we sometimes call the sixth sense. A wider field. A sudden jolt of knowing that a loved one is in pain across the world, or a quiet certainty that you’re not alone when no one else is in the room. Some call it mystical, psychic. I don’t try to name it too tightly. It’s enough to feel it.

These ways of knowing often blur together. They live in the same neighborhood of the body. They bypass the rational mind, slipping in through the back door when we’re not overthinking. In my experience, they aren’t separate so much as they’re different expressions of the same inner compass.

And honestly, sometimes I use the terms interchangeably—not to be imprecise, but because this knowing isn’t about precision. It’s about feeling your way through the dark and realizing your hands already remember the shape of the room.

On the Nature of Intuitive Living

Living by intuition means choosing to trust that subtle, internal nudge—the feeling in your gut before your mind has time to catch up. It’s not about ignoring reason, but about letting something deeper lead the way.

William James once wrote, “The deepest principle in human nature is the craving to be appreciated.” That longing often pulls us outward—to be seen, to be validated, to be told we’re making the right choices. But intuition doesn’t live in the applause. It doesn’t need a witness. It asks us to turn inward, to listen to the place in us that already knows, even when we can’t explain why.

This way of living isn’t always tidy. Intuition doesn’t draw straight lines. It weaves. It surprises. It often whispers when we’re still listening for a shout.

I think of the artist who picks up a brush and lets color move through her hand without a plan. She doesn’t follow a template—she follows a feeling. That’s intuition at work. And not just in art. Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” He wasn’t just being poetic. His theory of relativity didn’t start with a proof. It started with a question and a feeling—an inner sense of how space and time might work. That sense turned out to be right, even before the math caught up.

Van Gogh painted the sky not as it was, but as it felt. His bold colors and swirling strokes didn’t follow convention. They followed his pulse. “I am seeking. I am striving. I am in it with all my heart,” he wrote. That’s the essence of intuitive living: fully in, heart first.

Whether it’s physics or paint, the real breakthroughs—those flashes of truth—don’t come from chasing what’s already known. They rise up from a place inside, one that speaks in images, in sensations, in silence.

And when we follow that voice, not for approval, not for perfection, but because it feels true—that’s when something real begins to move.

On How Cultures Relate to Intuition

Not every culture places intuition in the same light. Some revere it. Others downplay it. But wherever you go, there’s a trace of it—guiding, whispering, shaping choices beneath the surface.

In many Eastern traditions—Buddhism, Taoism, Zen—intuition isn’t a fringe idea. It’s central. These paths don’t demand you think harder; they invite you to listen more deeply. To trust the moment. To stop reaching for logic and start noticing the silence underneath it. Enlightenment, they say, doesn’t arrive through proof—it emerges when you stop needing one.

Indigenous wisdom holds intuition close, too. In Native American traditions, what we call a gut feeling is often seen as ancestral knowledge—the quiet guidance of those who came before. In Aboriginal cultures, intuition is inseparable from “dreaming”—a timeless space where past, present, and future blur into meaning. It’s not a metaphor. It’s how they move through the world.

In contrast, much of the Western world—where I’ve lived—asks for evidence. Data. Double-blind studies. We’re taught to value the measurable, the repeatable, the logical. And yet, even here, intuition still finds a way. In creativity. In entrepreneurship. In those moments when you can’t explain why, but you know. Steve Jobs said it best: “Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”

Some African cultures, especially those rooted in communal life, see intuition as part of Ubuntu—the idea that “I am because we are.” Here, intuitive knowing helps guide relationships and decisions, informed not just by reason but by a sense of connectedness and care.

In Sufi mysticism, intuition is the heart’s knowing—wisdom that surpasses the mind and emerges from communion with the divine. It’s not irrational. It’s more-than-rational.

These differences matter, but they’re also softening. As our world grows smaller and cultures interweave, what once lived on the margins—meditation, presence, body awareness—is becoming more central. Even in science and leadership, people are beginning to speak openly about instinct, insight, and inner knowing.

It gives me hope. Because I believe the future won’t be decided only by what we measure. It will be shaped by how we listen.

On Embracing Uncertainty

Living by intuition means living with uncertainty—and learning to be okay with not knowing. It’s a soft kind of courage. The kind that doesn’t roar, but whispers: trust me, even here.

Jean-Paul Sartre once wrote that “existence precedes essence.” In other words, we’re not handed a blueprint. We live first. We make meaning later. For those of us used to clear plans, measurable outcomes, and systems that promise security, this can feel like standing on shifting ground.

And yet, this is where intuition thrives. Not in the predictable or the planned, but in the murky spaces where logic hasn’t quite arrived. It asks us to step forward without proof. To choose without a map. That can feel wildly uncomfortable. But often, discomfort is the doorway to something deeper.

If you want to feel this tension—this dance between fear and trust—👉 watch this short video. It captures that liminal space between control and surrender, and how presence, more than certainty, becomes our anchor.

It’s important to name the difference between intuition and fantasy. Fantasy offers escape—a curated dreamscape where nothing unexpected happens, and everything goes your way. Intuition, on the other hand, is fully rooted in reality. It deals with what’s present, but invites us to see below the surface. To act, not to drift.

I think of someone launching a new venture—not because the numbers guarantee success, but because something inside says, this is the path. Elon Musk comes to mind. He risked everything to build rockets when failure seemed all but certain. The data wasn’t on his side, but his instincts were. He stepped into the unknown and made meaning through movement. That’s living by intuition.

On Trusting the Inner Voice

Trusting our intuition doesn’t happen all at once. It builds—quietly, slowly, like a thread weaving through the fabric of ordinary life.

It starts with the small things: a subtle pull to take a different route home, even if it adds ten minutes. A nudge to reach out to someone you haven’t spoken to in a while—only to discover they needed exactly that. These are not grand epiphanies. They’re gentle taps on the shoulder. Easy to ignore, but rich with meaning when followed.

Each time we listen—and act—we strengthen a bond with that inner voice. We begin to tell ourselves, I can trust me. And over time, we learn to tell the difference between fear, fantasy, and genuine inner knowing.

Fear often rushes. Fantasy seduces. But intuition… it arrives with a quiet confidence. It doesn’t demand. It invites.

The more we follow its lead in small ways, the more we can rely on it when the stakes are higher. What begins as a flicker becomes a kind of compass. One that doesn’t point north, but inward—toward alignment, toward authenticity.

It’s not about being right all the time. It’s about being real. And real, I’ve found, is always worth trusting.

On Dance as a Pathway to Inner Wisdom

Gabrielle Roth, the visionary behind 5Rhythms, taught that the body holds truths the mind can’t always grasp. For her, intuition lived not just in thought—but in movement, in rhythm, in the breath between steps.

She believed that when we surrender the need to choreograph every moment of our lives, something deeper emerges. That when we let our bodies move without instruction, we meet ourselves—not the curated version, but the raw, instinctual self that’s been waiting all along.

I’ve felt this. On the dance floor, logic quiets down. My body leads. Sometimes it trembles. Sometimes it soars. Sometimes it stands still. The five rhythms—Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, Stillness—aren’t just stages of dance. They’re stages of becoming. Of undoing. Of remembering.

Freeform movement, spontaneous gestures, even the act of shaking out tension after a long day—all of it can reconnect us to that deeper well of knowing. The one that lives beneath the noise.

This isn’t about performance. It’s not about getting it “right.” It’s about listening—really listening—to the language of the body. And in that listening, finding a kind of clarity that thought alone could never give.

If you want to feel what I mean—not just read about it—watch 👉 Gabrielle Roth in her own rhythm here. Her presence, her energy, and the way she moves through the five rhythms say more than words ever could.

The Fine Line Between Intuition and Fear: How to Tell the Difference

It’s not always easy to tell the difference between intuition and fear. Both speak through the body. Both can feel like a gut punch or a whisper in the chest. But they arise from different places—and they carry different energies.

Intuition comes quietly, like a ripple across still water. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t clench. It just knows. Often, it offers a soft sense of “this isn’t right,” even when everything looks perfect on paper. You can’t always explain it, but it’s grounded. Centered. It feels like truth.

Fear, on the other hand, tends to tighten. It floods the system, makes the breath shallow, and the options small. Fear distorts. It turns shadows into monsters. It urges you to act fast, to retreat, to freeze. Often, it’s rooted in past pain—echoes of wounds that haven’t fully healed.

I’ve learned to ask myself: Is this feeling expansive or contracting? Does it open my chest or curl it inward? Intuition, even when it warns, carries a kind of calm. It feels clean. Fear often feels messy, buzzing with urgency, like it’s trying to protect me from something that may no longer be true.

There’s wisdom in both. But only one leads me toward growth.

The Role of Mystery in Personal Growth

Living inside the mystery—without needing to solve it—is often where the deepest growth happens. It invites us beyond the edges of what we know, into parts of ourselves waiting to be discovered. Carl Jung once said, “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” That kind of becoming rarely unfolds in a straight line. It’s often messy, nonlinear, and uncertain. And that’s the point.

This journey mirrors 👉 the visionary path of William Blake, whose art and poetry delved deep into the mysteries of existence.​

When we choose to trust instinct over certainty, we soften the grip of who we think we’re supposed to be. We listen inward. We take one small, trembling step toward the unknown.

Take J.K. Rowling, for example. In the early ’90s, she was a struggling single mother, scraping by on welfare in Edinburgh. By all accounts, life had closed in. But somewhere inside, a quiet certainty persisted. She kept writing—scribbling scenes in cafés as her daughter slept beside her. No agent. No guarantees. Just a deep sense that her story mattered.

She faced rejection after rejection—twelve publishers turned her down. Still, she trusted what lived inside her. Eventually, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone made its way into the world. The rest is history. But the real story isn’t the book’s success—it’s her willingness to follow the voice inside, even when the world offered no applause.

Rowling’s path mirrors Jung’s wisdom. She didn’t just become a best-selling author. She became herself.

That’s the invitation of intuition—it leads us not just toward decisions, but toward a life that feels aligned. Sometimes, following that thread means leaving the map behind. But the reward is wholeness—a life lived not in imitation, but in truth.

Practical Steps to Develop Intuition

In a world run by algorithms and optimized outcomes, it’s easy to lose touch with something far more ancient—our own intuitive knowing. We’re trained to outsource our decisions to data, to defer to devices that seem smarter than us. But the deeper wisdom? That lives quietly within. And like a neglected muscle, it strengthens through use.

Reclaiming intuition begins with simple practices that bring us back to ourselves.

Start small. Pay attention to those subtle nudges—those barely-there feelings that say “call her now,” or “take the long way home.” Trust those gut whispers enough to act on them. Over time, you begin to recognize the difference between a passing thought and a deeper knowing.

Silence helps. Whether through mindfulness, meditation, journaling, or simply sitting under a tree with no agenda—these moments clear the static and invite clarity. Nature, in particular, has a way of dissolving noise and returning us to rhythm.

The body, too, knows. Try a body scan. Notice what contracts and what opens. Notice the tension before saying yes to something that doesn’t feel right. Notice the exhale when you make a choice that aligns. Our bodies speak the language of intuition fluently—we just need to remember how to listen.

Let your days hold space for spontaneity. Not everything needs a blueprint. Allow room for the unplanned, for detours, for pauses. That’s where intuition often waits.

And when in doubt, I return to Rumi.

“There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.”

To me, that voice is intuition. The quiet companion that doesn’t shout but guides. It doesn’t demand proof—it asks for presence. It leads not with certainty but with invitation.

Living this way isn’t always easy. But it’s honest. And it’s human. And it’s how I’ve come to make peace with mystery—by walking with it, not against it.

October, 2024