Because their brainmass is weighted toward the parietal region, they express this nonverbal intelligence primarily in symbols intelligence, statistical reasoning, game theory calculations, and abstract intuition…
Though they are reserved about their religious opinions, they run heavily to mystical thinking as a result of their extraordinary intuitive faculties. They have an uncanny ability to sense the ebb and flow of something that might be described as “destiny” or “fate”.
Here’s a concrete example from an old Scott Adams blog post.
I was in Reno this weekend with some friends and family, one of whom is widely recognized as the luckiest gambler in the universe. Let’s call her Jane. Jane has reportedly won so many jackpots at slot machines that her track record seems to defy all reason. She’s a gambling legend. I decided to put Jane’s skills to the test in front of two witnesses: my wife, Shelly, and me. I gave Jane $50 and asked her to combine it with her own $50. Her assignment was to score a big win for our collective investment while my wife and I observed her technique.
Shelly pointed at the high roller slot machine room, where the $100 wouldn’t last long without a win. Jane needed to feel the right vibe before picking a winning machine, so she asked us to follow her while she felt out the room. Jane is like the slot whisperer. I think the machines actually talk to her.
As you might expect, the high roller slots area was relatively empty. Far off in a darkened corner was a lone, bearded, creepy gambler. Jane walked straight over to the machine next to the creepy guy in the darkened corner and declared it to be a winning machine. I tried to wave her off, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in a darkened corner with a creepy guy, especially since the entire rest of the room was empty. Shelly stepped in and insisted that we let Jane pick the machine that spoke to her, without our unlucky influence. I reluctantly agreed. Jane sat down, inserted our $100, and started hitting win after win. Two minutes later, we split $600. WTF?
I took my $250 net profit and gave it to the control group for this experiment, i.e. me. I lost $200 on a variety of different slots in less than ten minutes. I didn’t see another jackpot, big or small, that night. Jane had won about five jackpots in two minutes. I won none.
If you recall, Jane picked the slot machine that no one else would have picked. Even if the creepy guy hadn’t been in the far corner, how many of you would have entered a square room full of available slot machines and picked the one that was almost in the corner? Most people would probably play something nearer the middle of the room. If you preferred the corner, like the creepy guy, you would take the actual corner, not the machine one over from it. In other words, Jane picked one of the least attractive machines in the room, and it turned out to be “lucky.”
From a business standpoint, it makes sense that the least attractive machine would pay best. If you’re designing a casino layout, you know you can get suckers to play the losing machines in the best locations, and the ones with the most attractive lights and sounds, all night long. The casino can maintain whatever gambling odds are legally required over the entire body of slot machines while using psychology to steer people away from the ones that pay best. All of my losing spins involved machines that somehow appealed to me on a visceral or spatial level.
You may want to read the rest of the post if you’re interested in synchronicities because it indicates Scott Adams has some latent low-level melon magic.
Presumably Jane is relying on a sense of visuospatial “weightiness” that she can quite articulate herself, but would recognize instantly as correct if someone spelled it out for her. This lends more credence to my suspicion that owl melons tend to be ENTPs.
Rather than thinking to themselves “I need to split my forces into a pincer attack” they’ll daydream briefly about water in a river breaking around a rock and coming back together. Without knowing precisely why this is the correct principle to apply in the particular context, they’ll follow it.
That’s why their external life is something like a waking dream state. The appropriate principles simply appear as these intuitive daydreams in an actionable form, and most of the time they don’t bother to articulate the principle. That’s because it’s already in an actionable form, and they don’t (typically) have a strong extraverted thinking function so when they socialize they’re going to talk about the vision of the water parting around the rock. (That is, extraverted intuition is both their socializing function and their acting-in-the-world function.)
Intuitions don’t describe the general principle, they describe highly representative special cases and illustrative metaphors.
The best artistic representation of this that I’ve seen was a random two-second scene from Evangelion 2.0 at 55:57, where Mari observes a foreboding omen just after Touji’s double entendre that he “didn’t win anything”.
There are brief moments in the Dark Tower series that produce the same aesthetic, where everything begins to start pointing toward the Dark Tower as Roland gets closer to it, but I’m not autistic enough to go digging through those books to find it.