Volume 1, Number 1                                                                                                                                                           June 1998


"Lynda's Lines"

"Journey of an INFJ"

To an INFJ, the journey has no beginning and, therefore, no ending.  But much time and energy are spent examining the journey - to the point where one can get lost in the myriad of encounters, thinking of the significance of each event, the message each person brings who crosses our paths:   Did we get 'the message'?  Was it the 'right' message?  Did we say the 'right' things?  Deliver the message we were to give at that particular time?  Did we monopolize the conversation?  'Go on' too long?  Were we forceful enough?  Too forceful?  Hurt someone's feelings?  But I digress.... Where was I?  Oh, yes - the journey!


"The Journey" is not always fully embraced by an INFJ.  Theoretically, they find life exciting, pondering all its possibilities - mentally playing out anticipated situations with alternating consequences and outcomes, each vividly viewed in the home theatre of the mind.  But when the time comes to actually live, the INFJ finds each event fraught with hidden dangers.  Anticipated excitement can turn into anxiousness, for one knows that the other shoe WILL fall.  INFJs spend their lives waiting for the inevitable THUD.



It is unsettling to have "intuition" - insights, answers that come out of nowhere.  For we know that one day, someone will discover what we've known all along - that we are a fraud.  We have no idea where these insights, those moments of clarity, come from.  We just KNOW - it isn't from us.



To see with blinded eyes
To hear with deafened ears 
To touch shrouded in latex

Embrace the Shadow 



I stare at you across a chasm
    ever-widening, never-ending
    the years of isolation, talking to a head
    with no connections, no realization
    of what has happened, is happening.

I watch while you chisel, ever chipping away
    at the mountain you think entraps us.
    I scream and rage, in the tunnel
    in the darkness, groping towards
    the light that doesn't flicker, isn't there.
    It must be there.

I see you--sculpting a form: you're smiling
    triumphantly, joyfully.
    It is a replica of me you say
    made with your loving, proud hands.
    And as I await, my anticipation turns to sorrow
    for the face you are creating





You–with your annoying ways 
Your white to my black 
Your cold indifference 
To my weeping affections 
Your never-bending logic 
To my bleeding heart emotions 
Your detailed, precise drilling 
Never flagging persistence 
To my panoramic, cosmic drifting 
On waves of possibilities 
Your feet solidly rooted in traditions 
My wings rising to futures imagined 

Before us lies one narrow, untrodden path 
Through the shadowed depths 
And up to the mist-shrouded heights 
The eyes of our souls pierce the darkness 
Our hands reach 
Tenaciously clasping 
Our breathing becomes one breath 
Wholeness-- embracing the journey. 
                                       by Lyn