Why? Not for want of notable synchronicities -- not by any means. Rather, there've been too many, with every day seeing at least one or two incidents notable enough to be merit a full-length post (if not a book, or two ...).
Thus, I've found myself faced with the question of, Which to post about?!?
So, rather than type my fingers to the bone trying to detail all my synchronistic adventures, I will henceforth begin a weekly roundup of highlights (either in terms of "bigness"/profundity, or as an example of a specific, repeating type of incident). Also for reasons of time and energy and finger-health, I will simply provide a brief synopsis, then quote the verbatim log entry in lieu of a full, proper explanation.
* * *
First, a wonderfully cute, and disturbingly surreal, number-related incident from June 23rd, 2018. This one is a particularly vivid example of a certain type I've been seeing a lot of lately, where, immediately after finishing my lunch, I'll encounter the number 37 (or variations thereof) in some notable, conspicuous, and patternistic capacity. As it were, I've been having these almost daily, and nearly identical in form; but that of the 23rd took it to another level of "immediacy." Log entry:
A new record for "immediately after-lunch 37-repeat," this time a "my randomly overhearing a cashier randomly quoting a 37-figure to a customer" one, now from an employee in the kitchen saying "that'll be [something] thirty-seven" to a drive-thru customer, and this coming literally *exactly* as I finished, as in perfectly synchronsitic with my swallowing the last bite of the meal, while I was still seated, etc, ha ha.
Next up, on the 24th, a prime, illustrative example of the classical "thought echo," in which my precise, independent, in-the-moment thought is instantaneously "echoed" in some form, usually by way of the car radio or similar media:
[It happened] when I passed the cardboard dumpster and thought to get out and grab some cardboard from it to cover my food bag and stuff from the sun beating in through the car's windows, but then thought "Can't stop, no time" since I was late for church -- precisely as "I can't stop" sang randomly/singularly from the radio, a classical one in every sense.
Next, another, equally demonstrative radio echo, on the afternoon of the 25th when I randomly turned on my phone to check a web page:
It started when I turned on my phone and, after waiting the few seconds for it to start up and then entering the PIN, I went to tap the icon for the "Chrome" browser -- at the absolute, precise moment the radio randomly/singularly sang out "chrome," in the context of the actual metal rather than the browswer software but still 100% precise literally, and again so ridiculously perfect/intertwined in correlation with my moving to tap the icon and absently/reactively/automatically thinking "tap Chrome now."
Now ... another radio echo. Because, every day, I always have at least one or two (or ten). From the afternoon of the 26th, while rummaging through spice packets in the supermarket:
Another "striking one-word" radio/reading echo at the market, when I pulled up the packet of star anise and thus revealed the big "STAR ANISE" on the label, which I registered particularly because I was looking for the packets of normal anise mixed in, and so had to pay particular attention to whether it was labeled with the "star anise" or just plain "anise," as to take particular notice of the "star" as to make it stand out from the "anise" portion -- precisely as the radio sang out "stars," and this too another of those striking, flawlessly intertwined kind as opposed to the looser, "lazier," "quieter" subtles
And, heck, why not another? This one, however, is of a different, subtler sub-type, "smaller" and simpler in nature, yet no less surreal and notable for it. These, I will often experience a dozen or more times over the course of several hours. From the 27th:
[...]It started when I suddenly remembered to check the mailbox for that letter Mom had sent, thus causing me to absently/automatically think something like "Mom's mail," followed by general thoughts of her -- just before the radio randomly/singularly sang out "Your mother" [...]
Okay, time to change things up, with a lovely little text wall that contains one of the most profound (and messily described) incidents to date. This one was of a kind that I've experienced before, which I've dubbed the "affirmative," where the pattern goes as follows: after my suddenly and randomly experiencing some specific, meaningful life event that brings about personal growth or expansion in some way, I will, a very short time afterward, read something that not only directly echoes that experience, but also affirms that experience in some way, with the affirmation always arising in the most conspicuously random and fully unconnected of forms. That of the 28th, however, trumped even the most-notable of those prior (which becomes evident if you can stomach the rambling stream-of-thought account):
Next up, during lunchtime reading, came the highlight of the day, and probably the "biggest" and most singularly notable incident to date, perhaps one of the biggest ever despite its highly subjective nature. It was another of those enormous, multithreaded, multilayered/multidimensional "affirmative personal-thematic"-type of clusters that I've seen before, spanning the whole of lunchtime reading more or less, but this one excelled previous ones somewhat, due as much to its sheer complexity and precision and notability, and also in its equally notable context/circumstances and its explicit patternistic element. This one not only fit the "affirmative/randomly reading about the exact same meaningful realization I'd just had"-type of pattern, to a T, but it involved realizations that I had *this very morning,* and in no uncertain terms/nothing vague or fuzzy or indirect about it -- a direct, explicit echoing, and of multiple elements/dimensions, in the same context and terms and everything. It all started this morning when I had a big, morning-long battle with trying to silence my mind, particularly that nearly involuntary/automatic/ridiculously strong "background static" mental commentary that will jump up and vocalize/categorize/"logicalize" my thoughts and feelings and general experience, and just pretty much distort my inner reality and perceptions and wreak all manner of mental mischief if I don't keep it in check -- a constant battle always, but especially so during the intense headsickness and mental fuzziness/headfog/general inner-deadened state of this last week or so, with it all pretty much intensifying and climaxing somewhat last night and especially this morning. Then, late morning, it all sort of climaxed when I first got some good perspective/feel for the patterns of it all, then had a lucky, strong lifting of the headsickness, thus enabling me to fully silence that "inner voice/commentary" strongly enough and long enough to really contain it and thus enter into the present/the moment/return to myself somewhat -- all of this bringing about what I internally referred to as "release," specifically, and bringing with it a big rush of the general sentiment involving all the benefits of doing so and how radically it shifts perception/whole being/wellness, etc, etc, etc. In a nut: an enormously powerful experience, not a new one by any means but to a new order/level, etc, such that I carried all my observations and such about it into lunch -- and then, through the entire 1.5 hours of reading then, the book echoed *the whole of that exact experience exactly,* and right from the start of the book, the author describing how he bought an RV and went out into the desert to "silence his inner voice" and the mental/perceptual distortions it brought and so "get back into the present moment" -- and that was just the start, with the man going on to echo all sorts of specifics not only of that general subject but of the exact same observations and practices involved in some way or another in my morning-long experience, and in the exact same terms and such, such as how I'd reflected specifically this morning on how silencing the mind and getting fully into one's stillness and such is, in my personal terminology/lexicon/subjective reference, "going to Heaven" -- which the author echoed *exactly,* in the exact same context and terms both, describing the exact same practice and its disciplines as being the "gateway to Heaven," and explaining it as that exact same thing such that there was no mistaking it. And the same for the "moment of Release," his wording verbatim, which is exactly how I'd internally described my returning to the present moment upon successfully/climactically silencing my inner commentary this morning, as "release" specifically, and in that same pronoun-like sense. And such it went on for probably upwards of a *dozen* such explicit, same-term echoes regarding this general subject plus others entirely, including some vague parallels and recurrences in the mix if I remember right (and another patternistic element I've seen before with these: an absolute silence of other type of activity/incidents during the reading session, again as if intelligently orchestrated so that I could focus purely on the affirmative elements of the thematic cluster ...). And then there's the fact that I was reading this book at all, which was a random ebook I'd discovered and then bookmarked months ago, maybe upwards of a year if I remember right, and only just a few days ago dug out and decided to buy and read as my next book (this once again despite my already having bought another book to read, 100% patternistic with many of these, ha ha). And, equally: the fact that I finished the 'Martian' book last night and then Just Happened to buy, download, and beginning reading this new one today exactly, just hours after I'd had the exact experience that the book would echo in multiple ways exactly (and, of course, the book's overt blurb/description made zero mention of any of this, only describing how it was about a man's experiencing while living in the Slab City colony in the desert, making zero mention of the "stillness" or silencing the mind or any of that -- 100% objective, without the slightest question). Even now, after everything, even past such affirmative echo-clusters ... this one just stands out, nothing less than a living-dream in every way ...
Next, another exemplary case of the sub-type I refer to as the "everyday little thing" recurrence. These incidents go like this: I will encounter some specific, yet not-uncommon, thing that I've not been exposed to in some time -- be it an object, a thought, a feeling, a person, an idea, whatever -- and then, soon after, encounter it again, perhaps only vaguely or indirectly or in a different form than the original, but always the same in essence, and demonstrating the same patternistic elements (and, often, these too occurring perhaps a dozen or more times within the course of a day). On the 29th, this phenomenon manifested, initially, by way of a cartoon:
Another classical cartoon-type of "little thing" echo, today beginning when I read a random cartoon during the mornings clippings where a plumber makes an emergency house-call and charges triple the money (the first I'd encountered this not-exactly-uncommon situation/sentiment in some time, patternistically), and then, in the 'Paris' book at lunch, it mentioned this same damn exact thing to the letter, in a part about this general thing, with the exact words of "nobody ever rings these 24/7 plumbers" because they were so ridiculously expensive/known to charge exhorbitant sums, etc (this coming by way of the author describing how he'd had to call a locksmith in an emergency and ended up being charged $2,000).
Now, finally, another echo-type incident, this one, also, arriving by way of music, except now from a live, human performance rather than a recording on the radio. And, this one is from the 29th, as well, because today, the 30th, was the rare day that saw no singly notable incidents (oh, there were incidents today, just none objective and coherent enough to be described ...):
[It] happened at the farmer's market where the man was playing music for tips, and precisely as I took out the $20 to pay for the pollen, the man randomly/singularly sang out "The devil loaned me twenty bills," in the context of "twenty dollars," again perfectly synchronistic/intertwined with my finding the two ten-dollar bills in my wallet and absently registering them with the thought of "that's $20" or something to that end, perfectly patternistic. Plus, notable context: I'd meant to buy only the $10 bag of pollen, but the lady was out, thus causing me to get the $20 bag and thus pull out $20 instead of $10, ha ha.