Once again, I asked, then received.
No, it's not the first time. Nor the dozenth. For instance, just recently, I really wanted some ginger with my lunch, to set it off -- but only one helping of ginger, because I was leaving town and didn't want to get a whole thing of it. You know how these things go. Well, when I go to get coffee to have with my lunch, I feel Compelled to ask the cashier if he might happen to have some ginger, despite this not being the kind of place that would have something like ginger on offer -- but, remarkably, he does have some, in these little single-serving packets with Asian characters on the front, which, wouldn't you know it, he'd Just Happened to find lying about the store, the very day before I came asking for some (he didn't even charge me for it, since it wasn't even in the store's system). Yes, I've asked, and I've received.
And today, it happened again.
This time, it involved a ring. Oh, my troublesome rings, always falling off my fingers if I'm not careful. Apparently, one fell off and I didn't notice, because it was missing at the end of the day, and didn't turn up after a search. And I liked that ring, darnit. So I had the thought: Need a new ring, but where? My fingers are an odd size (why my rings tend to fall off, I imagine), plus I'm just picky about my rings.
But, within a day, I had a new ring.
Where? A health-food store, of all places. And, not just a health-food store, where you wouldn't expect to be met with quality sterling-silver jewelry, but a health-food store in a town I'd had zero plans to go to that day. See, also as in the past, today I'd felt Compelled to simply pick up and go, north, to a small town I'd heard about several times but never visited. And, likewise, I felt Compelled to visit a health-food store there -- a store that Just Happened to have a tray of rings set out.
I perused the rings, and I found not one, but two rings that fit wonderfully (and were reasonably priced). But that's not the kicker.
The kicker came, once again, from my servicing cashier. When I mentioned to her my pleasure of finding the store stocked with rings of my size and liking, she said something interesting: she'd just found those rings, kicking about the store, not an hour before my arrival.
I laughed. She laughed. The whole thing smacked of single-serving ginger.
(And speaking of those single-serving ginger packets with the Asian characters: the very first thing I'd seen upon walking into this health-food store, before the rings or anything, was those very same packets of ginger, for sale by the door, the second time I've ever seen them aside from when I was given one when in want of a little ginger for my lunch. Realizing this after buying my new rings, I laughed all over again.)
Friday, August 28, 2015
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Autobiography of a Yogi
A month or so ago, a friend of mine recommended a book, Autobiography of a Yogi. It was the first I'd heard of this book in my life.
Being a habitual heeder of random recommendations, I bought the book.
I planned to read it, really; but you know how plans go, especially when it comes to books. That is to say, I got sidetracked by other books (perhaps "seduced" is more like it). So, weeks went by, and the yogi book went unread, for all its appeal.
Until today, when I finished a long, very un-yogic how-to book. With that, I thought, decisively, that it was time to read about the yogi.
Before I could start it, however, I had to take some trash to the dump.
Yes, there is a synchronicity lurking in this story, as anyone who's read this blog could guess: that very same day, I randomly came across a copy of none other than Autobiography of a Yogi, there at the dump, in a little area called the "Swap Shop" where folks can leave stuff that someone might want. However, there's more to the incident than the simple coincidence of my finding a copy of the book I was intending to read.
A battery led me to it.
That battery. It had been kicking around for years, going with me through several moves, without ever being thrown away. A cheap, non-alkaline double-A, it had always escaped disposal because, like any battery, you don't just toss it in the trash; at my local dump, the dead batteries have their own special bin, which requires its own special few steps from the dumpsters, which, therefore, required me to separate the battery from its fellow garbage. Too much to ask, it would seem. Annoyance is the best deterrent, indeed.
But I digress. Back to the book.
I decided to at last get rid of the battery, is what happened. I was going through some stuff; I happened across this ancient dead battery; I was going to the dump anyhow. And so I took it with me, despite the tremendous/miniscule effort required to do so. It brought a rush of power and accomplishment; if I could get rid of this battery, I could do anything.
Then I forgot about it.
Wrapped up in disposing of the normal trash and recyclables, I very nearly left the dump without tossing the battery. On top of being distracted with the other trash, I was also in a big rush, trying to get to a doctor's appointment. In fact, I was in such a rush that I neglected my usual visit to the Swap Shop to see if any interesting freebies awaited me there. Only as I'd gotten back in my car and started driving away did I remember the battery; and only because it had been spared disposal for so long did I take the time to stop, get out, and march it over the bin.
As it were, the battery bin was right next to the Swap Shop. So I stopped in, after all.
And there I found the book -- the very one I had decided to begin reading that day, after weeks of neglect. And, of course, it was the second time in my life I'd come into contact with Autobiography of a Yogi in any way, just like dozens of other remarkably similar incidents ...
I left the Swap Shop copy of the book where it lay. Someone else could grab that one; I already had mine.
Being a habitual heeder of random recommendations, I bought the book.
I planned to read it, really; but you know how plans go, especially when it comes to books. That is to say, I got sidetracked by other books (perhaps "seduced" is more like it). So, weeks went by, and the yogi book went unread, for all its appeal.
Until today, when I finished a long, very un-yogic how-to book. With that, I thought, decisively, that it was time to read about the yogi.
Before I could start it, however, I had to take some trash to the dump.
Yes, there is a synchronicity lurking in this story, as anyone who's read this blog could guess: that very same day, I randomly came across a copy of none other than Autobiography of a Yogi, there at the dump, in a little area called the "Swap Shop" where folks can leave stuff that someone might want. However, there's more to the incident than the simple coincidence of my finding a copy of the book I was intending to read.
A battery led me to it.
That battery. It had been kicking around for years, going with me through several moves, without ever being thrown away. A cheap, non-alkaline double-A, it had always escaped disposal because, like any battery, you don't just toss it in the trash; at my local dump, the dead batteries have their own special bin, which requires its own special few steps from the dumpsters, which, therefore, required me to separate the battery from its fellow garbage. Too much to ask, it would seem. Annoyance is the best deterrent, indeed.
But I digress. Back to the book.
I decided to at last get rid of the battery, is what happened. I was going through some stuff; I happened across this ancient dead battery; I was going to the dump anyhow. And so I took it with me, despite the tremendous/miniscule effort required to do so. It brought a rush of power and accomplishment; if I could get rid of this battery, I could do anything.
Then I forgot about it.
Wrapped up in disposing of the normal trash and recyclables, I very nearly left the dump without tossing the battery. On top of being distracted with the other trash, I was also in a big rush, trying to get to a doctor's appointment. In fact, I was in such a rush that I neglected my usual visit to the Swap Shop to see if any interesting freebies awaited me there. Only as I'd gotten back in my car and started driving away did I remember the battery; and only because it had been spared disposal for so long did I take the time to stop, get out, and march it over the bin.
As it were, the battery bin was right next to the Swap Shop. So I stopped in, after all.
And there I found the book -- the very one I had decided to begin reading that day, after weeks of neglect. And, of course, it was the second time in my life I'd come into contact with Autobiography of a Yogi in any way, just like dozens of other remarkably similar incidents ...
I left the Swap Shop copy of the book where it lay. Someone else could grab that one; I already had mine.
Saturday, August 1, 2015
The Cards Resume
So, I found another playing card.
The playing cards were from an earlier epoch of my synchronicity adventures. In summary, I found several, about a pinochle-hand's worth, all in variously unlikely ways (at times remarkably so, in the way these things happen, as to demand, and keep, my attention). This long-winded incident spanned several months; then, without prelude, it suddenly stopped. At the time I received the last card, I had made no real sense of it all. When no more cards came, without yielding their meaning in a big, Hollywood-style reveal, I felt to be on the other end of a rudely clicked phone.
And then today, two years later, here comes another card.
It arrived as abruptly and unexpectedly as the originals' arrival and departure. The card was in a parking lot, lying directly in my path as I exited my vehicle and made for a store (just like the others had been, more or less). Need I say that I'd felt absolutely Compelled to be at this shopping center on this day, despite it being far out of my way and a general pain in the butt to reach? By now, that goes without saying.
But, you might be thinking, how do you know the card wasn't just a random piece of litter?
A good point, and not at all wrong, since I'm sure that perfectly good playing cards get thrown away every day, and for perfectly logical and unfantastic reasons. However, there are reasons why I felt my find to be notable. Besides its arriving in a similar, patternistic fashion to its similar, multiple predecessors, there is one striking fact about my finding this particular card: it bore a striking resemblance to not one, but two of its previously-found siblings. Namely, these three cards (all found randomly, separately, and in conspicuously similar ways) depicted a knight with sword, mounted on a horse.
When I first picked up this latest card, I smiled. And then, seeing the unmistakable "Knight of Swords" archetype in its image, I laughed, quite loudly. To anyone else in the parking lot, I might've looked to have picked up a winning lottery ticket.
The playing cards were from an earlier epoch of my synchronicity adventures. In summary, I found several, about a pinochle-hand's worth, all in variously unlikely ways (at times remarkably so, in the way these things happen, as to demand, and keep, my attention). This long-winded incident spanned several months; then, without prelude, it suddenly stopped. At the time I received the last card, I had made no real sense of it all. When no more cards came, without yielding their meaning in a big, Hollywood-style reveal, I felt to be on the other end of a rudely clicked phone.
And then today, two years later, here comes another card.
It arrived as abruptly and unexpectedly as the originals' arrival and departure. The card was in a parking lot, lying directly in my path as I exited my vehicle and made for a store (just like the others had been, more or less). Need I say that I'd felt absolutely Compelled to be at this shopping center on this day, despite it being far out of my way and a general pain in the butt to reach? By now, that goes without saying.
But, you might be thinking, how do you know the card wasn't just a random piece of litter?
A good point, and not at all wrong, since I'm sure that perfectly good playing cards get thrown away every day, and for perfectly logical and unfantastic reasons. However, there are reasons why I felt my find to be notable. Besides its arriving in a similar, patternistic fashion to its similar, multiple predecessors, there is one striking fact about my finding this particular card: it bore a striking resemblance to not one, but two of its previously-found siblings. Namely, these three cards (all found randomly, separately, and in conspicuously similar ways) depicted a knight with sword, mounted on a horse.
When I first picked up this latest card, I smiled. And then, seeing the unmistakable "Knight of Swords" archetype in its image, I laughed, quite loudly. To anyone else in the parking lot, I might've looked to have picked up a winning lottery ticket.
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