Yep, another new kind of incident: the "thought echo."
I've been experiencing these for some time, more or less. However, as of late, this particular kind has been predominant, and refined itself into a reasonably consistent pattern, for whatever reason. My first few months of 2017 have been something of an "echo chamber," you could say.
In my personal synchronistic lexicon, the echo-type is simple in concept, yet quite striking in effect: the recurrence of my inner reality in external reality, often in real-time. Usually, this will involve a thought or feeling of mine, or an event I'm currently experiencing, being somehow doubled in the outside world -- as to be "echoed" (or, sometimes the more appropriate description might be "reflected"). Thus, a typical thought-echo would be, say, randomly thinking of "balloons," at the exact instant that, from out of nowhere, a windblown balloon sails across my vision (and, usually, it would be the first balloon I'd seen in months or maybe years, and my thinking of balloons in the first place would arise due to some separate, totally unrelated event, such as hearing "balloon" on a nearby radio).
Here's an actual example.
This incident, which occurred amidst many similar ones on the afternoon 4/18/17, personifies the "thought echo" -- and doubly so, as it were. It began rather subtly: when, while driving down the road, I suddenly stopped for a car trying to enter traffic, feeling utterly Compelled to do so -- and, right as the car came forward and the driver gave a friendly wave, my radio randomly sang "let it all out." And there you have it: at the exact instant I "let out" the car, the radio "echoed" this event, and with reasonable precision, both literally and essentially.
Now, at this point, there wasn't much of an incident to speak of. Yes, the theme of "letting out" was echoed pretty coherently, and the timing of the two coinciding events couldn't possibly have been tighter (and, what's more, I'd experienced many nearly identical incidents just that day alone, as to establish a pattern). But, all the same, it's not impossible that this was, simply, a traditional coincidence, and not even a hugely unlikely one.
But then the soda popped.
The can of Pepsi was lying beside me in a plastic bag on the floorboard, put there after I'd picked it up as trash in a parking lot several minutes earlier. Apparently, the can had been in the sun for some time, for it was warm to the touch, and swollen and deformed with pressure. And then, apparently, after being further cooked on the hot floorboard when I'd begun driving, the poor can just couldn't take it anymore -- and so it popped, spraying caramel-colored foam with a serpentine hiss.
It popped, at the exact instant the lyric refrained on the radio: "let it all out."
And, indeed, the soda was quite entirely "let out," as to fill the extent of the trash bag (which, thankfully, I'd tied closed after dropping the can inside).
Not just one "echo," but two, back to back, within the space of seconds.
After pulling off and successfully dumping the soda-filled bag before it could despoil my car's carpet floorboard, I stood by the trashcan for some time. Synchroshocked.