2/3 - Book Synchronicity 2.0

The "book" synchronicity. It never fails at grabbing my attention. Read a new, obscure word for the first time in my life, in some random book I bought months ago, and then read the same word in my next sequential book, also bought and read randomly.

I've detailed several of these on this blog, and experienced many, many more. But yesterday, the phenomenon came with a twist.

V.S. Naipaul and Indira Gandhi, two Indian folks of a certain fame. Not knowing India and its figures, I'd never heard of these people until I read of them in a book, In Spite of the Gods: The Rise of Modern India, which introduced me to both of them within the course of a day's reading. Then, approximately 12 hours later, I encountered these names again, in a separate, unrelated book -- pretty unlikely. When all variables were taken into consideration (including the fact that the recurrence fit the distinct pattern I'd seen established over several years), the incident appeared to defy any reasonable chances of happening.

A classic book synchronicity, right? Wrong.

See, the second book that I encountered the names in came to me in the most remarkable of ways, different than even the accidental-on-purpose fashion which usually characterizes these incidents. Rather than the names recurring in a book I read, they arrived in a book I hadn't read.

The book, a paperback copy of Such a Long Journey by Rohinton Mistry, was given to me some years ago in a free box of books from a family member. For whatever reason, the book didn't interest me, and so it went on my shelf, where it would stay. I'd never opened this book, or so much as read its back cover. Maybe the cover image turned me off, I don't know; but the point is this: I had no idea what was in or on this copy of Such a Long Journey, nor did I have any plans to find out. The book was an ornamental fixture on one of my shelves, collecting dust.

So, when I needed a book to hide some money in, this one fit the bill.

Why was I hiding money in a book? I was putting together a "go bag," a backpack filled with clothes and other necessities, to be grabbed in the event of an emergency, whenever one might need to "go" in a hurry. One of the ingredients for a bag is some cash; another is a book, for something to do. So I put the two together, naturally. Went I went to choose a book from my bookshelf, my hand went, randomly, to Such a Long Journey. Recognizing it as one of those castoff books that I'd never read, I figured it was as good as any. So I put my emergency cash cleverly inside, then stuffed the book into my finished go bag.

Another ingredient of a good go bag: some food. This is what would instigate the synchronicity.

I regularly eat the food and water stored in my go bag, and immediately replace it, to keep it fresh. A couple weeks ago, I was overdue for this changing of the guard -- however, as it so happened, I didn't immediately eat the food. Either my menu wasn't friendly to the nuts and seeds in the go bag, or I was just too plain lazy to unpack the bag and dig out its food. Regardless, I didn't get around to it until yesterday -- the day after I read of V.S. Naipaul and Indira Gandhi for the first time in In Spite of the Gods.

When I unpacked my go bag, I had to take out my cash-filled copy of Such a Long Journey.

This time when I saw the book, it grabbed me. I don't know why: just as it had fallen flat and uninteresting on me years before, it struck me as interesting yesterday. So, as is natural when interested in a book, I turned it over and read its blurb -- which mentioned two Indian names, V.S. Naipaul and Indira Gandhi.

Had I read the book's blurb when I first got it, there would be no synchronicity. Had I read it two weeks ago, when the emergency food was overdue for replacement and before I read In Spite of the Gods, the synchronicity would be much less notable, since reading two new names, two weeks apart, could foreseeably be chance. But by "discovering" Such a Long Journey when I did, it recurred those two, specific, new names to me within a twelve-hour time frame, upgrading the unlikeliness to synchronicity levels.

Upon recognizing the names as those I'd been introduced to just a half-day before, I laughed out loud.

And that's not all: I got not only a new entry in my synchronicity log, but another book about India, to read when I finish In Spite of the Gods. I don't know enough about India to be familiar with two of its figures, but after reading these two books, perhaps that will change somewhat.

More Book Synchronicity

The book was echoing my present reality, it seemed.

It wasn't the first time I'd experienced this phenomenon, certainly. However, this latest instance of book synchronicity was probably the most surreal, with it seeming to directly reflect my life's events and circumstances at the time, even as they unfolded from day to day. Talk about a head-trip.

For starters, consider the context of my actually buying the book.

My copy of States of Confusion by Paul Jury, around which this incident centers, was bought from a library sale, as a discard, and it was synchronistically notable from the get-go. Just before the library-visit in question, while in the parking lot after making an important phone call, I'd decided on a long roadtrip West, with the goal of a cross-country journey beginning in coastal South Carolina and ending in California or thereabouts -- and, surprise surprise, the States of Confusion book, which I would buy just minutes later, was about just that: a big, meandering, cross-country roadtrip.

Just a coincidence? Not inconceivable ... until we consider the completely random circumstances of my buying the book (which, as it were, are doubly notable when it's considered that they fit the pattern of so many other synchronistic incidents I've experienced in the past). Namely, I'd first been illogically Compelled to browse the discards on sale, despite not needing any new books to read (I had a whole stack at the time). Next, I'd been strongly attracted to the States book, though I could only see the spine of it on the library rack, reading "States of Confusion" with "jury" underneath it -- that is, absolutely nothing about roadtrips or travel, or anything at all relating to the trip I'd just minutes previously decided upon, as to rule out any sort of subconscious influence. (And, that's not even considering the fact that I was at the library at all, with my having zero plans to go there that day, nor any overt reason to do so ...)

Regardless, the book's synchronistic purchase was just the beginning. As it so happened, I finished my last read and then began the States of Confusion book on the day of my departure, less than 24 hours after my fateful visit to the library. From there, more and more eerily surreal parallels began to crop up:

1) The first couple pages of the book mentioned the author's being a college student, and what transpired after his graduation; however, before I could read any farther, I was interrupted by someone saying "hello" to me. The person was a totally random stranger, approaching me at the bench outside the coffee shop where I was reading/eating at the time, and, somehow, we ended up in conversation about ... college and college graduation, along with several other subjects, almost all of which were exactly what I'd just read in the book, seconds earlier. What's more, these subjects all came up from the stranger's end, and with zero prompting on my part -- that is, I said absolutely nothing that would've subconsciously suggested that this person broach these subjects. In fact, the subjects were entirely offhand, awkwardly so, without any bearing whatsoever on anything we were discussing; the stranger literally just kind of tangented onto her time in college and how she'd graduated with a certain GPA, completely out of the blue.

2) Soon after, a couple states into my roadtrip, I was struck by a random, vague (yet very distinct) thought: of how an inordinate number of businesses are incorporated in Delaware, thanks to certain laws there. This thought was, as best as I can remember, apropos to nothing I was experiencing or thinking about at the time; I wasn't in Delaware, or reading of Delaware, or considering visit Delaware -- nada. And then, just hours later, while reading more of the States book, I came across a passage that mentioned precisely what I'd thought of that morning: Delaware's incorporation-friendly laws, and the glut of corporations headquartered there. As it were, it was the first the book had mentioned this, or anything Delaware-related (and, the last it mentioned it ...).

3) Towards the middle of the book, the author makes mention of how he was by then driving around the country foul-smelling and unshaven -- which, by the time I'd reached that part of the book, described my condition exactly. As it so happened, I'd been unable to steal the time to shave before departing, despite being visibly overdue; and, likewise, I'd developed a spontaneous and mysterious body odor just before leaving, such that, despite taking regular showers (unlike the book's author), I stayed smelly (and had an uncharacteristic five-o'-clock shadow). Just like I was reading about ...

4) On the very day I was passing through Atlanta, GA, I Just Happened to reach the part of the book where the author passes through ... Atlanta, GA. And, it bears saying: the book had, like the Delaware reference, made absolutely zero mention of Atlanta before or after this part, nor did I have any plans on even being in Atlanta on this day or ever in the trip -- such that I couldn't have possibly orchestrated the coincidence, even had I read the book beforehand, with the correlation hinging on so many objective elements and chance variables ...

5) My roadtrip was conducted in a van, in which I slept in at night, "van-camping"-style -- which, halfway through the book, is precisely what the author ends up doing: trading in his sedan for a van, in which he sleeps, van-camping-style ...

6) Several days into my trip, I decided, totally randomly and illogically yet strongly and distinctly (the same way I'd felt about buying the book upon first seeing its spine on the rack ...), to head south, to Florida, hence abandoning my Westerly ambitions. And, likewise, the day after taking this caprice, I'd been struck with a similar notion: to seek out a hot mineral spring in Florida, the kind that are soaked in for their purported therapeutic effects. Then, just a couple hours later while resuming my reading of the States book for the day, I came to a part where -- yeah, you guessed it -- the author mentions medicinal hot springs, specifically. Again: for the first time in the book, with no prior foreshadowing, or anything that could've possibly incited my spontaneous Compelling to seek out some hot springs ...

There were more synchronistic parallels -- lots more, actually, to the point that I felt to be in nothing less than a living dream. But, once again, I'll stop there, for the point is made.

The Book-Synchro Returns

For those unfamiliar, allow me to recap.

The "book synchronicity," as I've dubbed it, is, categorically, as follows: I'll read of something in a given book -- usually a rare, new fact previously unknown to me -- and then, very soon after, I'll read of that same thing a second time, in my next sequential book. Usually, said books will have been purchased totally randomly, and read in a similar fashion; likewise, the books will be completely different (subject matter, author, type, etc). Another common component of these incidents: I'll have been Compelled, in a special, illogical way, to buy the books in question, and similarly motivated to read them when I do. Thus, a typical, patternistic reading-synchro would involve me being Compelled, for no particular reason, to buy several books, at different time periods, and then read them randomly, perhaps after they'd been sitting in my stack for weeks or months or longer, just waiting for me to get that illogical green-light to at last crack them open -- only to find that the two books will contain notably similar facts, mentions, or themes, and with a precision and nature that would render such recurrences highly unlikely (sometimes shockingly so, as to be of astronomically low probability).

To see what I mean, browse some past examples, why don't you.

* * *

Now, I've experienced some good, convincing book synchronicities, and plenty of them, such that I've stopped blogging these incidents unless they are truly exceptional.

Case in point.

This one breaks somewhat from the typical book-synchro pattern, in that the incident's first ingredient was a newspaper rather than a book. And, also somewhat unique, the paper came to me, and for free. As it were, the paper was in a supermarket I frequent, though not for sale; rather, it was lying atop a cooler, just beyond the checkout. When I passed, the paper Jumped Out at me, demanding my attention, in that special way typical of Compellings. So I stopped and picked it up, finding myself holding a week-old copy of The Wall Street Journal (from August 23rd, 2016). It would seem that some considerate soul had left it on the cooler after reading it through, to be recycled as is customary. Though not much of a Wall Street Journal-type, I proved to be the paper's savior from that lonely cooler (after I checked with a cashier that, indeed, the paper was fair game rather than just a misplaced for-sale copy). I had little interest in WSJ subject matter, of course, but interests don't factor into Compellings.

That night, we come to this incident's first synchronicity: While reading through this paper, I came across an article that mentioned the recent acquisition of a company called Syngenta, which I had never before heard of in my life. And then, approximately a half-hour later, when reading through my current book at the time (Fast Food Nation, as it were), I came to a section on GM foods, in which it mentioned the company Syngenta.

A classic book-synchro: my learning of something for the first time in my life, in some randomly bought- and read piece of reading material, and then, a short time after, encountering that same thing elsewhere, despite the sources being entirely different in subject matter (and time of purchase, and about everything else). It's only more notable that, in this case, the original source was a cast-off, week-old newspaper, involving news and information for which I had no logical need, and picked up totally on instinct in an equally random place.

But that was just the start. (Remember: the blog-worthy ones gotta be truly exceptional, these days.)

Next up, Exhibit B: the vitamin book, Planet Heal Thyself.

Here, we must rewind several weeks (remember, also, that my book-synchro books are often acquired weeks or months apart). This part, too, comes with a twist: instead of randomly buying this book, I got it for free, unexpectedly, when buying a vitamin supplement. When considering the supplement, I hadn't seen a sign for a free book; I learned of this bonus only upon checking out (the supplement was on sale, too, and I even had a coupon -- my lucky day!). The complimentary book, called Planet Heal Thyself, was about vitamins and minerals and the like, but I wasn't much drawn to it at the time, so it went in my stack, where it would sit for the next few weeks, while I entertained more-attractive books. Only after finishing Fast Food Nation (the book that first echoed Syngenta, thus instigating the whole mess) was I Compelled to read the vitamin book.

This too followed the pattern, with the book just seeming to glow amongst its brethren in the stack, saying Pick me! Pick me! in that special way I've come to recognize.

That brings us to the second synchronicity. Within the first few pages of the vitamin book, it mentioned a website, "23andMe," where one can have their DNA analyzed for various things. I'd never heard of this site before, and despite previously having no real interest in exploring my DNA, I was Compelled to write it down and visit it. However, as it turned out, I didn't get around to actually looking up 23andMe until a few days later, in a fit of determination to clear my desk of notes and other I'll-do-it-laters. Similarly, on the same evening, about thirty minutes later, I got around to finishing that curious copy of the WSJ I'd started reading the other night (I do this, picking through a section or two of a newspaper at a time). In the paper's final section, I came to an article about genetic testing, which mentioned a website where the public can be tested for various genetic conditions: 23andMe.com.

This recurrence, too, fits the book-synchro pattern, doubly so: first, I'd originally learned of the site just days before; and, second, I re-encountered it in the paper less than an hour after actually visiting the site. (And, keep in mind: the paper's mention of 23andMe was in the last, innermost section, totally concealed and out of view when I'd initially snatched up the paper and even after I'd read the first few sections -- so it's impossible that I could've been subconsciously influenced by it, in even the most subtle and imperceptible of ways).

Exceptional yet? Apparently not, because two days later, it happened all over again.

Same deal: another randomly bought book (a heady historical title called DNA USA, this time), read as randomly, just after finishing Planet Heal Thyself -- and, sure enough, this one, too, mentioned the 23andMe website. So, after somehow remaining ignorant to 23andMe for the several years of its existence, I suddenly bumped into it three times within a matter of days, from three sources that couldn't have been more random and misdirected (and, as it were, adhering to the pattern established by dozens of past incidents, which cranks up the notability factor exponentially).

For this third one, though, I can foresee an obvious rebuttal: Weren't you already thinking of genetics and the like when you began reading a book with "DNA" in the title? Ah, a good point, Watson, because this scenario would indeed suggest some subconscious influence in my choice of reading material. Except, here's the thing: I'd bought the DNA USA book before reading Planet Heal Thyself and the unexpected copy of The Wall Street Journal -- that is, before I'd ever first read of Syngenta and 23andMe in the others (and even before I'd come to the relevant part of that first, initial book, Fast Food Nation). As it so happened, just a couple days prior to my receiving the paper on charity, I'd picked up the DNA USA book from a thrift store, despite having a good, full stack of unread books back at home -- being Compelled to buy it, illogically yet distinctly, as is prominent with these things.

So, yeah ... exceptional.

6/27/14 - 'The Roots of Coincidence' (aka Double Whammy)

This post, while containing a synchronicity, and concerning a book about synchronicity, is not a synchronicity post. Rather, it's about a certain type of vindication.

It all started with a book.

The original book, as it were, was of my own creation: Synchronicity: One Man's Experience, which I wrote in the fall of 2013. As the title suggests, the book recounts my experiences with the phenomenon known, more or less accurately, as "synchronicity." Ironically, at the time I wrote this book, I was largely unread on the subject; in fact, the only formal reading I'd done was Carl Jung's monumental paper on the phenomenon. I did, however, have several synchronicity books noted for further reading, if and when I got the inkling to research others' experiences.

One such book was The Roots of Coincidence, by Arthur Koestler.

I don't remember where I first read of Koestler or his book, or why it struck me enough to take interest. Somehow, though, I ended up with a bookmark for its Amazon listing. Lazily, I ignored it for some time, and then, when I did finally follow up on the book, I found it to be far more expensive for my tastes (being an older book, out of print and without an eBook version, prices were inflated accordingly). From there, I checked eBay and Amazon from time to time, hoping to snag a reasonably priced copy, but time and again, no such cheap copies were to be had. I bid on an auction once, but lost out to someone with richer blood.

Thus, The Roots of Coincidence stayed a perpetual presence in my file of bookmarked titles -- until last week.

One night, in a moment of idleness, I again noticed the Roots of Coincidence bookmark, and its stubborn refusal to disappear from my list of must-read books. So I made another halfhearted browse -- and this time, lo and behold, turned up a low-priced copy on eBay. I snatched it up at once, then at last deleted the bookmark, feeling to be crossing off some difficult station from a bucket list. And it was after this, within two days, that the synchronicity occurred: I came across, in the unrelated book I was reading at the time, a quote from none other than Arthur Koestler. The quote, which was placed randomly in the book (to correspond with a loosely relevant story), involved something called "holons," something I'd never heard of before in my life.

I read the Koestler quote just two days after ordering The Roots of Coincidence, after putting it off for nearly a year. Funny, I thought, sniffing the synchronicity to come. I got fifty bucks that The Roots of Coincidence will Just Happen to be the source of Koestler's quote regarding holons.

Sure enough, The Roots of Coincidence does indeed contain the quote I'd read in the wholly random and unconnected book I'd Just Happened to be reading two days after placing the order (that book, a collection of travel stories I'd checked out randomly from the library, bore no overt mention of Koestler or holons on its cover or blurb, the quote occupying only a small space 400 pages in). And yes, I do count this as a solid incidence of synchronicity, considering that I ordered the Roots book just two days before reading of its "holons" for the first time in my life; and, furthermore, I consider this a rather notable synchronicity, due to the fact that it fits perfectly the pattern established by the dozens upon dozens of similar incidents I've experienced. And yes, I rather enjoyed the irony added by the book's subject matter, for The Roots of Coincidence is, after all, about synchronicity (though, this is not the first time I've experienced synchronicities surrounding a book about synchronicities, nor is it the second time). However, as interesting and enjoyable as this incident is, it is not what inspired me to write this post.

Instead, I was moved to blog about this experience due to what Koestler's book contained.

That is to say, The Roots of Coincidence reinforced my own experiences, and in a somewhat objective, verifiable fashion. More or less, Koestler echoed what I wrote in Synchronicity: One Man's Experience. Not only was there a general repetition of the same underlying patterns and phenomena I experienced and then described, but Koestler and his references also reached many of the same conclusions as in my book, at times with the same wording and models of action -- all of which I was unaware of until reading The Roots of Coincidence over the last couple days, only after I'd written my account and speculated on what it might mean. Sometimes, there is no better confirmation than seeing one's thoughts and experiences corroborated by a complete stranger, decades in the past (which goes double for subjects as speculative, mysterious, and empirical as synchronicity).

And it was this, in the end, that I enjoyed most about my purchase of The Roots of Coincidence: not the highly improbable "coincidence" it triggered, nor the laughter incurred by same, but instead the simple-but-rare vindication I experienced upon seeing the essence of my experiences recounted in a forty-year-old book I'd read only after the fact. That feeling can't be bought, or it would cost a fortune if it could.

Enter the "Thematic"

And still my synchronistic adventures continue to evolve, now with the emergence of yet another sub-type: the "thematic" incident.

This particular species of the phenomenon is defined as follows: a "theme" somehow presents itself in my life experience, often with the same specific elements popping up here and there in some capacity, spanning the course of a day or two in most cases, and always in the most random, yet coherent, of ways. For instance, one morning I might read of something ridiculously strange, rare, or obscure, only to encounter that exact same curiosity in the afternoon, entirely randomly and perhaps in a different form or manifestation, but always discreet enough to be observed as a pronounced repetition, however different in appearance or source or detail. The result is something of a subtle psychic "echo," similar in effect to the echo-type of incident, but differentiated in behavior (and, usually, in the "texture" of the ultimate experience, in a way difficult to convey in writing).

Case in point: one morning I ordered a certain supplement, a pituitary glandular, made from porcine and bovine sources (yeah, the brain-stuff). And then, that afternoon, in a random novel that I'd begun reading just the day before, I came to the description of a monster that fed on the pituitary glands of its victims, which was not announced previously in the text (or on the cover or in the blurb or anywhere else visible to me when I'd purchased this book) -- thus echoing perfectly the underlying theme of "carnivorous consumption of pituitary glands," in a way that could not obviously be explained by any "normal" causation.

I had experienced several of these over the years, to be sure. However, only lately have they become frequent enough, and distinct enough, to deserve their own classification.

This was seen most strikingly, once more, in my reading. More than once now, I've had my current book -- often as random a book as could be, bought and read "blindly," without foreknowledge of the contents or often even the subject matter -- thematically echo my life at the time, in varying ways and with varying accuracy and frequency, but always to the degree of being unmistakably relevant (and damn eerie, in a special way that even the most surreal of my synchronistic experiences can't rival).

Over a period of about a month, these type of incidents began to increase in frequency and distinction, slowly coming into my awareness and establishing themselves as a sub-type. However, it wasn't until a particular book, 'The Guinea Pig Diaries' by A.J. Jacobs, that I saw just how drastic the life-echoing thematics could be.

It started one day when, over the course of a particularly eventful morning, I'd undergone a series of random thoughts, images, experiences, and other specific real-life miscellany -- and then, no more than an hour later while reading the book at lunchtime, I found the text echoing nearly my entire morning, and in a coherent manner, sometimes even using the exact same terms and references. It was, in every sense, like being in a living dream, having my life echoed so explicitly from a piece of literature.

And then, the next day, it happened again.

Same exact deal: after a particularly eventful morning filled with specific, unique, memorable experiences, I sat down to enjoy a quite, uneventful lunch with a good book ... only to find it to once more echo, more or less exactly, my morning, and again even reflecting specific events in similar or identical terms.

And would you believe that, the next day, the pattern repeated itself? The word "trifecta" comes to mind. (And "wow.")

* * *

Indeed, quite surreal. And new, too. But this "thematic" business wasn't finished, nor fully developed.

After that milestone 'Guinea Pig' book, I did come to experience several more stark instances of such activity -- never quite so intense or explicit as that marathon three-day run, though close to it, and always in the same, now-recognizable pattern. However, it was only November 28th, two days ago as of writing, that I was introduced to the latest iteration of the thematic synchronicity, the first that could be described as a noticeable, more mature version of the sub-type.

This one, too, began with a book -- or, rather, my lack of one.

I forgot my book at home, is what happened. Somehow, literally for the first time ever, I walked out the door with absolutely everything I needed for the day ... except for my current read, to be enjoyed over lunch. And, worse, I discovered my blunder only when I had actually sat down and set the table and taken my vitamins and laid out every utensil save for my cherished book -- when I was past the point of no return, as it were. But, resourceful as I am, I went to my one available means of recourse: my phone.

Now, I don't normally read on my phone, as a rule. In fact, I make as little use of my smartphone as possible, leaving it turned off 99% of the time, and for a dozen different reasons. But, hungry for the written word as much as lunch, I made an exception and quickly went online and Googled "free ebook," looking for a book, any book. And, as it were, after tapping through the first page that came up, I had soon downloaded a free HTML copy of the first remotely interesting book to catch my eye: The Metamorphosis, by Kafka (which I'd never read, believe it or not).

Thus outfitted, I finally blessed my food, took a bite, put the phone in airplane mode, and began reading. Not perfect, surely, but it worked.

What's the point of my little tale? Simple: that the book I ended up reading throughout my lunch hour that day was about as ridiculously random and unforeseen as humanly possible, with the development arising from a surprise circumstance unknown even to myself. In other words: there's no way I could've known, even on a deeply subconscious level, that I'd be reading a different book than that I'd had planned, and especially not Metamorphosis in particular.

Need I tell you what happened next?

It was the 'Guinea Pig' book all over again, from the very first page, with Metamorphosis echoing, either essentially or overtly and literally, my morning, which just happened to have been another unique, un-routine adventure filled with abnormal-for-me events -- except, now the thematically-echoing text was from a book that hadn't even been on my radar until seconds earlier. This batch of thematic echoes ranged from vague-but-identifiable (I'd woken up uncharacteristically late that day, throwing off my whole schedule, despite my being a chronic late-morning insomniac, when the Kafka character had woken up uncharacteristically late, throwing off his whole schedule) to the unmistakably explicit (these were, unfortunately, all too complicated or subjective to quote with any degree of coherence, but, nonetheless, were there, and no less head-spinning for their lack of objective notability). And, like previous instances of these thematic-reading sessions, there were more than just a few parallels there, with at least a dozen or so by the time I'd finished lunch.

Living. Dream.

Afterward, I was left feeling that my morning had been gathered up, put in a blender, and poured into this book.

* * *

And need I say that it didn't even stop there, with the thematic-type incidents?

That is, there were other, "normal" kinds of synchronicities that involved my uber-random reading of the Kafka book -- those of the instant, in-the-moment variety, all of them notable in themselves but also upgraded in unlikeliness due to their dependence on my Just Happening to be reading that particular book.

For instance: reading certain passages of the text that coincided, with absolutely perfect timing and accuracy, with fully random and objective events occurring around me, such as coming to "pouring" precisely as someone hit the dispenser on a drink machine and sent out a distinct "water pouring into a cup" noise. Or, similarly, when I caught my head slumping down and straightened it up (after reading on my phone for over an hour), for the first time, precisely as I came to some equally random and singular text that described exactly that (yet couldn't have influenced me subconsciously, with my head-straightening depending on the objective, independent event of my muscles fatiguing at that precise time). Etc. Etc.

I could go on and on, but my fingers hurt (and so does my head, still, from all the spinning it did two days ago when this all happened). Make of it what you will.

... And the Book-Thematics Continue

A quick follow-up to my last post, about my recent book-thematic incident involving Kafka's Metamorphosis.

It happened again. And, this time the circumstances were even more improbable.

In short: instead of forgetting my book and being forced to grab one randomly from the internet, I finished one unexpectedly and was left without a replacement or a place to buy one, after which I eventually unearthed one from a random mound of trash along a random city street in the middle of the night -- yet, it turned out to be as synchronistic and life-echoing as the first one (and, as I would discover, quite a good read, too).

My rambling 12/6/17 log entry describes it best (and is oddly appropriate, given the sheer craziness at play), so I'll let it speak for itself, verbatim:

"[...] It started yesterday when the fasting book proved to be shorter than I'd expected, and thus left me finishing it at dinnertime last night and not having a replacement lined up for lunch today, and so last night I'd gone searching for either a free book somewhere, or one thrown away as trash, or a book store -- and, in the end, all I found was a trash book, and at the end of a hugely random search that I won't bother trying to detail other than that it contained a lot of Compellings, and eventually me getting lost and having to double back through several blocks of the city several times -- and then, at the end of this headspinning ordeal, I Just Happened to come to a big pile of 'someone moved out of their apartment'-type of mounds of trash, in which was a big bag of books, and in which I found this "Short Eyes" book (which, besides being notable itself given the chances of getting any books from random trash, this one was actually one I had on my list that I wanted to read, after hearing about it somewhere several months ago -- a little ask-n-receive in itself, pretty much standout quality in itself). So then, just like the Kafka book from last week or whenever that happened, I ended up reading this ridiculously random, couldn't-have-been-less-likely "Short Eyes" book at lunch today, yet it managed to echo not only my life/thoughts in longwinded thematic/parallel fashion, but also to echo a bunch more of those small in-the-moment thought/environmental events -- just so incredible and living-dream, even after it had happened before, haha."

* * *

And then the next day, it happened again, identical in nature and insane unlikelihood, but now involving a random eBook I'd downloaded years ago, partially read, and then abandoned ... only to return to it out of simple necessity on 12/7, and find it to echo my life and circumstances and surroundings at that particular date and time.

Another befittingly messy log entry:

"[...] And today was identical even in the book being yet another 'ridiculously/impossibly random book read only because of finishing one without having another one ready,' this time, after my looking for a book or a bookstore or even a good magazine to read on the way to lunch and finding nothing, I found myself looking through my Kindle, even though logic would say this was pointless since all the books on there were logically ones I'd already read. Except that I did finally come across one (Compelled to keep looking despite all appearances/logic) that I'd totally forgotten about, a book I'd read the first chapter or two of and then decided I couldn't keep going with it at the time, but still left on there, unfinished. So I ended up reading this random old ebook, and even the chapter I chose to start at was totally random, with my having no memory of where I'd left off (the Kindle had since reset the reading position for some reason) -- and yet, despite all these layers of randomness, it still managed to echo all sorts of things that had happened last night, this morning, and also several small 'in the moment'-type incidents during lunch (such as my coming to 'he was halfway out the door' precisely as a man randomly walked through the double sliding doors directly in front of my table at the market I was eating at, not only echoing the 'out the door' but also the 'halfway,' since the man was going through the first of two doors/halfway out, etc). Again incredibly notable despite its subjectivity/subtly, for all kinds of reasons ..."

* * *

I will again bid the reader to make of this what they will. But, after a triple play like this, I gotta admit: it's hard not to lean toward the obvious conclusion.

The Book Synchro, Re-revisited

Once again, I must share a reading synchronicity, thus revisiting a thoroughly visited phenomenon.

Actually, "revisit" isn't quite right, because I've already touched upon this particular flavor of synchronicity several times. In fact, I've devoted so many posts to it, even inventing a word like "re-revisit" isn't right, either. No. Poke through this blog, and you'll find it riddled with book- and reading-synchro posts, with a new one coming each time the phenomenon evolved or shifted or complicated -- so many I can't even insert a clever little link to point you to them.

Well, it's happened again: I've experienced the newest iteration of the book synchro. And though I'm hesitant to add another book-synchro post to the stack, I must, for this last one was a whopper.

* * *

Picture this, if you will: you sit down to read a book, and things in it start to happen. The book describes your surroundings. Echoes your thoughts. Corresponds with stuff happening to other people, even. Surreal, right? Right. It would, really, leave you quite unhinged, were you not ready for it (or even if you were).

But it's also impossible, too. Right ...?

Wrong.

Yes, that scenario is exactly what I've experienced -- or, at least, in the book synchro's latter incarnations. The phenomenon started out quietly enough, albeit not unnotably so (nor much less surreal): I would, say, read of the exact same, unlikely things in two random books, back to back, when the chances of such a recurrence were incredibly low (and there were no outward indicators of the books' contents, or any parallels of subject matter, or anything else that might have resulted in such a coincidence). Or, later on in the timeline, the phenomenon might've become a little more active and dynamic, such as reading exactly what I'd just then been thinking, in the back of my head (in a separate, independent chain of thought that was in no way related to the text). Or, later still, to send me deeper into this particular rabbit hole, the book might echo the speech and actions of those around me, visible and nearby but in no way connected to my book (or connected to me at all, beyond being in my proximity).

But these were all just coincidences, right? Even though they were hugely unlikely, and even though they happened again and again and again (and again), dozens of times and in the same basic, coherent pattern -- all just coincidence. Because, Mr. Garrison, that sort of thing is, simply, impossible.

But, I repeat: wrong. It is possible, and it has happened to me, a great many times. And, likewise, the book synchros (and all kinds of other, similar incidents) continue to happen for me, daily.

But, enough of the old "is it or isn't it real?" debate. Nothing I can say will convince the unconvinced (which, to be fair, is how it should be, considering that I am without objective evidence and can only give my word as to these events' reality -- got to show discernment, and be healthily skeptical, after all). So, let's just move on to the latest string of incidents, those which have demanded this post.

Shall we?

* * *

It started routinely enough, if mind-bending synchronicities can be at all routine.

A few days ago, I sat down to read, and almost immediately, as if on a switch, I started getting the hits: one sentence after another, echoing my reality in some respect, be it random thoughts or something I'd recently been thinking, or unlikely topics of inquiry I'd been exploring just hours or minutes earlier, or something going on across the street just right there-that-wow! Etcetera. But, at this point, not too big a deal (can you believe that I've really gotten used to this sort of thing ...?).

Soon, however, things got interesting.

First, there was just more: more echoes, more frequency, more parallels. But then it all graduated in intensity, as well as in timing, with things coinciding in a "perfectly synchronistic" fashion that is as impossible to describe as it is to consciously orchestrate. Next, as I read on, experiencing this rheostat-esque intensification like a passenger on a shuddering aircraft, I noticed a qualitive difference in the incidents, with the echoes and such beginning to overlap and intertwine, as to gain a multidimensional character that, also, I haven't the words to convey.

And that was just in the morning.

Fast forward to that afternoon, at lunchtime, when I sat down to read again, and had the "storm" repeat itself. By the time I'd finished eating and closed my book, the text had been spitting out a running commentary of what was, more of less, happening in my head and immediate environment. Right as I thought of getting some extra coffee, then decided against it because Starbucks double-brews their drip coffee and, thus, would be too much caffeine -- "too much coffee," reads the book. A long, random chain of thought that ended in my thinking of "1999" by Prince, and its lyric "the sky was all purple" -- "beginning to purple the sky," reads the book. Etcetera, etcetera, again and again, until even my sky-high tolerance for wow was in danger of being reached.

At the storm's tail end, the phenomenon even gained some irony, when the book's narrator began questioning his sanity and whether his experiences were objectively real (because the guy in the book had been presented with irrefutable proof of psychic experiences) -- when I'd been thinking that exact same thing (down to the same terminology, "objectively real"), in regards to this very phenomenon. More echoes, sort of. (Irony, or mockery?)

Oh, and the name of this particular book? Stir of Echoes. And what was it about? A man who experiences all kinds of weird, "impossible" stuff and has to reconcile with it. (And did I know this the day before, when I'd felt so strongly Compelled to buy it at a thrift store, totally randomly, like all the other book-synchro books ...?)

Yes, surreal. Surreal indeed.

* * *

"But surely it stopped there?" you say. I mean, after all, even the guys in books like Stir of Echoes get a break after such a crescendo of their impossi-weirdness. Right? Right ...?

No, didn't stop there.

The next day, the same thing happened, for the most part. If anything, the phenomenon just kept intensifying, for it not only continued through the rest of Stir of Echoes, but right on into the next sequential book I started on (plus a random magazine I read in between the two). And, throughout, it was the same deal: stark, explicit reflections of my inner and outer reality, coming in big, minutes-long bursts that left my head spinning. Dozens of individual "echoes," each wow-worthy enough to merit its own blog post.

"Living dream" says nothing, friends. Nothing at all.

 

All in all, these reading-synchro whirlwinds happened for three sequential days, spanning several books and other assorted reading material, and all following nearly the same pattern. On the fourth day, when this long-winded meta-incident finally ceased, it wasn't without another note of irony: it stopped only when I began expecting the phenomenon, anticipating a repeat when I sat down to read that day.

Oddly, a part of me knew that would happen -- and was expecting that, too, as to add yet more irony to the stew (along with some humor).

* * *

Good thing I'm just a guy on the internet, though. Just another faceless voice making fantastic claims without a shred of proof.

Yes, good thing. Because books just don't behave that way, thank God.

4/27/13: 'Cosmic Trigger,' Part Two

First, the context: last fall, I read the book Cosmic Trigger by Robert Anton Wilson. This triggered (no pun intended) several remarkable synchronicities, detailed in this post.

Now, the latest: the synchronicities involving this book did not stop there.

For starters, there turned out to be several subsequent synchronicities related somehow to Cosmic Trigger in the week after 11/15/12, when I made the original post on it. The first were some striking similarities between it and the next sequential book I read, Neuromancer, where there were various concepts shared between the two (floating space colonies, amongst others) even though the books couldn't have been more different and were bought separately and read in completely random order. Also, there was the classic: I learned a new term in Cosmic Trigger, having never seen it before in my life, and then read the exact same term in Neuromancer (when the books were bought and read randomly, etc, etc). Similarly, I was introduced to a Zen proverb in Cosmic Trigger ("There is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is"), having never before seen it in my life, etc, etc -- and then, in the second sequential book I read after Cosmic Trigger (11/22/63 by Stephen King), it contained the precise same proverb, this happening within the space of a week.

However, as notable as these recurrences were, they were nothing compared to the latest.

This new wave started last month, when I decided to eBay a bunch of books I'd bought and didn't see myself reading again. One of these was Cosmic Trigger. It took a month and several re-listings to sell, but sell it did, earlier this week. When I fetched the book to ship off, I looked at the cover artwork, and in doing so noticed the Sirius constellation there (because Sirius, and the author's real-life synchronicities surrounding it, is an integral part of the book). Except, I didn't just notice it, but Noticed it, in a loud, distinct way, as if the cover were blank but for it. I've come to associate this phenomenon with things I'll soon be seeing again.

I wasn't wrong: just an hour later, I encountered Sirius again.

It came in the form of another book, Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas by Tom Robbins. I had started reading Frog Pajamas just the evening before I went to ship off Cosmic Trigger and noticed the Sirius constellation on its cover, so I was only several pages in when I sat down to read Frog Pajamas the afternoon in question. On just the second page I read, there it was: Sirius, mentioned for the first time in the book. And, not only did Frog Pajamas refer to Sirius, but it referred to the mystery surrounding the African Bozo tribe's unexplained knowledge of Sirius -- when this was also mentioned in Cosmic Trigger. This was notable in itself, considering that 1) I read this section of Frog Pajamas just an hour after packing up Cosmic Trigger and Noticing its Sirius constellation, and 2) I'd been sitting on Cosmic Trigger for nearly five months before deciding to sell it, and, similarly, been sitting on Frog Pajamas for over a month after I bought it. Yet, these two completely unrelated occurrences coincided within the space of an hour.

Of course, these two books were bought randomly and read randomly, etc, etc. Likewise, I had no prior idea what Frog Pajamas was about, and had never heard of the book until I bought it randomly at Goodwill because it was a Tom Robbins, and the book had no external indicator of anything regarding Sirius or Cosmic Trigger. Etc, etc.

But, still, it was not over. Far from it.

As I read more of Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas, I would find that Sirius was a central theme of the book -- exactly like Cosmic Trigger, the book I packed up just an hour before I came to Frog Pajamas' first Sirius reference. As it were, I actually sold Cosmic Trigger on the very day I started reading Frog Pajamas; I just wasn't able to ship it that day, therefore having to wait until the next, therefore enabling me to see the Sirius constellation just before I got to Frog Pajamas' first Sirius reference, etc, etc, E T C.

Seeing this, I thought: At this rate, the damn book's going to mention Robert Anton Wilson [Cosmic Trigger's author] by name.

The next day, Frog Pajamas mentioned Robert Anton Wilson by name.

I laughed madly when I saw it, feeling like a combination Nostradamus and Woody Allen. Not only did Frog Pajamas literally, explicitly name Robert Anton Wilson, it also mentioned Timothy Leary and a couple other people who were featured in Cosmic Trigger.

There's more, actually. But do I really need to say any more?

More Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Faster and Faster)

Recently, I had a distinct thought: I need a new book.

Approximately a minute later, I found a book, abandoned on a random park bench.

Sound incredible, perhaps impossible (or, perhaps fictional?) Wait'll you read the circumstances in which this occurred ...

* * *

First, the context on my latest ask-and-receive adventures (in case you don't see the post immediately below this one).

As for the circumstances of the event itself, this "receipt" occurred on a pleasant winter afternoon in a city park -- a city which, as it were, I did way too much walking in, for I ended up irritating an irritable knee, leaving me unable to walk even the short distance back home. Thus, I was forced to seek out a bench, on which I collapsed and then began calling up a ride on my phone.

Halfway through, however, I stopped: I needed a new book. About to finish my current read, I needed a new one lined up. And, I needed it before I retired for the evening (gotta have my reading material, as breath).

Need a new book, I thought then. I'd planned on stopping for one on the way home, but were I to hail a ride, a stop-off wouldn't be possible (unless I wanted to pay for two rides, and just complicate the whole thing in general).

With that, I decided to try walking again, if only to a bus stop. After all, my knee had spontaneously healed up in the past, after a short rest. And so I got up, walked several feet ... and promptly winced in pain as my knee screamed out, refusing to go further.

Ultimately, I made it only as far as the next sequential bench.

And it was there that I "received": when I began to sit down, something was in my way, occupying my intended bench-space. Of course, it was a book -- and not only a book, but one that actually appealed to me, of an appropriate length and type, and of a subject matter that engaged me at this particular time (I'm really picky about my books, with my tastes changing from day to day ...). And, it bears mentioning: this book, though resting just one bench down as I'd done my silent "asking," was completely invisible to me then, being tucked out of sight behind the second bench's arm rest -- such that I couldn't possibly have seen it and been "tipped off" to its presence, even subconsciously in my peripheral vision.

In this blog's previous post, I'd said my ask-and-receives were getting faster. Well, apparently this quickening process isn't yet finished.

* * *

But wait, there's more (as there almost always is with my synchronistic experiences).

The next day, it happened again, almost exactly the same: while walking down a random street, needing to stop randomly to sip some water and adjust my bags, I sat on a random bench -- only to find another book preceding me there. Just like the first one, less than 24 hours earlier. Déjà vu, big time.

Though, it wasn't exactly the same, for this time my discovery was not asked for; instead, I just ... found another book. All the same, it still makes me wonder: was this also a synchronistic incident, just of another kind? That is, perhaps rather than being a second "ask and receive"-type of incident, this one was, simply, a recurrence of yesterday's discovery of a book left randomly on a bench -- as a typical, "normal" synchronistic recurrence, one that just happened to "echo" a respectively different synchronicity.

Then again, maybe this repeat was just chance, however unlikely (is this a common practice, leaving books on benches for others to find? I mean, I've done it myself, setting out books in conspicuous places after I've finished them, in bread-on-the-waters fashion; but I had no idea others did this). But, to again go the other way, I'll say this: in all my life (and in the many flat surfaces I've graced with my rear end), I've never once found a book on a bench ... and then it happened twice, less than a day apart.

* * *

Oh, and just so there's no confusion: yes, this really happened. Proof? I have none, beyond my word (of an anonymous internet blogger, no less); but, then again, I pass along my experiences for informational purposes only. This post, like everything I write here, comes with the standard disclaimer: take it or leave it, believe it or don't, for what it's worth (whatever it's worth).

9/21/13: Independent Events

"There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics."

We've all seen the quote, it's certainly made the rounds -- but that makes it no less true. Statistics are rascally things. They seem to prove an argument or point, when they could, in reality, harbor hidden flaws which render them invalid -- but only if you look closely. On the surface, they can appear every bit sound. And, considering the surface is where the examination of many people begins and ends, we see the potential for abuse.

When I first read of the term "independent event," as used in the context of probabilities, it dug up my grievances with statistics all over again. When an event is classified as "independent," probability-wise, it means that it has no connection to any past events, as to be free from influence on its probability -- but what if there is a connection between these events, it's just not obvious or known? Say, some hidden, unseen force which connects events with no overt connection? Then, the statistical reality will differ from actual reality, because that connection is not expressed within the probability's calculation. This is one way in which statistics can achieve their deceit.

As it were, I was introduced to the probabilistic concept of independent events in a book: This Book Does Not Exist. Though I'd understood the concept for life or close to it, I'd never, until then, been aware of its formal term. So the book was educational for me, however I disliked the concept's rigidity.

I read of "independent events" in the afternoon, finished This Book Does Not Exist that evening, then moved on to another book that night.

My new book was a random investment book sent to me by a friend, in the same shipment as This Book Does Not Exist. The two books are very different, one being about investing in stock-market index funds, the other being about paradoxes and other logical head-scratchers. Yet, this investment book I started contained a paragraph on none other than ... independent events, used in a probabilistic context.

After being unaware of the formal concept of independent events for all my thirty years, I was exposed to it in two back-to-back books, read entirely randomly (and sent to me as randomly by my friend). A classic book-synchronicity, as has happened to me many times.

But here's the clincher: the synchronicity demonstrates the limitation of the traditional definition of "independent events." On the surface, the recurrence of the concept between the two books would appear every bit to be a chance coincidence, though a somewhat unlikely one. Only when the context is considered (that I'd never before known the term, and that I've experienced enough nearly identical "coincidences" involving random books read back-to-back to establish a distinct pattern of phenomenon) do we see the potential for some connection in the term's recurrence, albeit an obscure, hidden, unknown connection.

The recurrence of "independent events" wasn't an independent event, it seems. The irony.

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.

The "Nearby Stranger" Synchronicity

Imagine this, if you will:

You are in a restaurant, alone, immersed in a book as you tend your meal. Seated one table over, two fellow patrons sit in deep, passionate conversation, which you can't help but overhear as you read. Then, suddenly: you come to a random word in the text, totally at random -- at the exact moment that one of your next-door neighbors speak that same word, as randomly, yet with a perfect, seamless timing. There's no hint of complicity on the peoples' part, with the echoed word being a simple, natural part of their conversation, completely relevant to its flow and subject matter. What's more, the people are fully oblivious to you and your book; they are, in fact, both facing away from you, such that it's physically impossible for them to see what you're reading, in any case.

You blink, struck by the echo. Did you really just hear that? You give pause ... then return to your reading. Just a coincidence.

However, moments later, it happens again. Different word, but as randomly, and with that same impossibly precise timing.

Then, before you've sufficiently convinced yourself of the last one's insignificance, a third echo occurs -- and this time it's two words, and these more specific, obscure, rarer, not heard in everyday language. And with that same, synchronous overlap.

Now, take that scenario and multiply it, so that the theoretical strangers' conversation repeatedly echoes the exact words and phrases you encounter in your reading, five, six, seven times -- a dozen, and now reflecting even more nuanced qualities, such as words and objects in the exact same contexts and usage, and thematic, non-literal (but no less explicit) parallels, and profounder details still. Over the course of the couple's thirty-minute discussion, there are so many hits, and with such identical, patternistic behavior, the chances of simple coincidence grow astronomically high. With each new repetition, it gets harder and harder to reasonably consider any notion of a purely "rational" explanation.

That's the "nearby stranger" type of synchronicity I speak of, and it is one I have experienced, to date, several dozen times.

* * *

This category of the phenomenon speaks for itself, even within the scatterbrained writing of my personal incident log. So, rather than explain further, I'll let the entries doing the talking, verbatim, through several choice instances that exemplify the various intricacies and sub-types of this particular animal, taken at random from 2016:

8/24/15

"[It started with me] holding up an 'XL' tank top at the thrift store and determining that it was a child's extra-large (it was very small, no way it would fit me) precisely as a nearby stranger said to her child, 'It's for little people'"

9/14/15

"Precisely as I reached for the butter container holding my lunch, a nearby stranger said 'margarine,' in perfectly synchronistic fashion. Interestingly, I'd thought the container was for margarine instead of butter"

6/23/16

"A cool one at lunch, another of those 'nearby stranger echoing my book' ones, today a lady at the Hot Springs coffee shop saying 'old age' precisely as I read 'eighty-year-olds' in the "Sunburned Country" book -- another of those precisely imprecise ones, with the same underlying archetype of 'old,' etc, and again fitting that same pattern of the person being engaged in conversation with another stranger and being unable to even see my book, etc, etc."

6/29/16

"[...] right as I read 'cries of delight,' a random car passed with a child calling out the window, making a high, loud, cheerful noise that can only be described as a 'cry of delight.' Wow."

7/5/16

"Also, a cool and somewhat unique 'nearby strangers talking'-type one at lunch. While I was reading about general music stuff and specifically how Jerry Garcia had to be taught to play music again, two people at a nearby table were undergoing a job interview where a guy was getting a job as a musical instructor as some kind, with their conversation echoing what I was reading in the book but only in vague and subtle ways, as to only really be notable when taken into account collectively, rather than those more explicit ones like before. The most explicit/synchronous it got in this regard was when the man at the table said 'Nashville' precisely as I read 'country and western' in the book (and, it bears mentioning, the man was referring to Nashville in the same musical context as the book)."

8/31/16

"[...] And then, at Dr. Scaffidi's office, a really cool and striking one where precisely as I turned a page in a random magazine and revealed 'TRACK' written in big letters on the fresh page, Dr. Scaffidi said 'track' to his patient, when both were in the other room and entirely out of view of me, etc [...]"

11/4/16

"Precisely as I read 'See that?' in the 'Zeitoun' book, a nearby woman said 'No, haven't seen that part' -- not 100% precise literally, yet was in essence, and also sort of like that thought/reading one from yesterday with the house, in a 'question and answer' format"

And so on and so forth. Again, I'll avoid overstatement, and end the post here. Make of it what you will.

(For the curious, there's plenty more incidents where those came from, beginning before August of '16 and running right up to the present. Read 'em at the log.)

The Eating-Echo Synchronicity (aka, "Yeah, this really happened ...")

And the phenomenon continues to shift and evolve: another new kind of synchronicity has announced itself to me. This time, a sub-type of the last sequential newcomer, the "thought-echo."

As with about all the synchronistic variants I experience, this one is pretty straightforward, for all its profundity: I'll be eating, and, precisely as I experience some particular effect from the food, I'll read something shockingly similar in the book I'm simultaneously reading at the time (I almost always read while eating, since the two compliment one another so well, and since reading while driving ... doesn't).

Take, for example, my initial experience of this curious phenomenon.

Log entry from 6/12/17, quoted verbatim:

"[...] It started when I began eating the avocado-and-ginger dish and noticed distinctly that it was missing that distinctive gingery zip that I expected, which is always present the way that I fix up this dish. At first I thought it might've just been a particularly un-gingery bite, but after a couple more that were the same, I then thought that maybe it was the fact that I used that different ginger tonight, the roasted markdown stuff I got at Lowes that triggered the $7.37 receipt-total incident, instead of the unroasted and presumably stronger stuff I usually get. But then, on the fourth or so bite I took, after reading several pages of the "Dangerous Eating" book, the gingeriness finally kicked in, distinctly and notably, as to make me think 'Oh, there's the ginger' -- seconds after I'd started a new chapter in the book, that on New Mexico and, after a couple paragraphs in, hot chile [sic]. As it were, the gingery heat finally kicking in corresponded almost perfectly synchronistically with my suddenly reading about hot chile [sic] and a discourse on hot spices, etc, in general over the first page or so of that new chapter (when, previously, it hadn't been discussing anything remotely hot-food-related). This one wasn't too precise and wasn't perfectly timed (with maybe 2-3 seconds between the ginger kicking in enough to trigger my recognition/registering/thinking of it and the book going into hot foods, and it's not like the book mentioned "hot ginger" in particular), but still just precise enough and closely timed and patternistic enough to be notable, and damn surreal in any case."

Not convincing, you say? I don't blame you, since this particular incident wasn't the most compelling (for anyone not myself, at least). However, at lunchtime the very next day, it happened again, and in such an eerily similar fashion that a pattern began to emerge:

"Also, had another of those 'reading about more or less exactly what I was eating at the time' almost exactly like the ginger incident last night at dinner, this time at lunch with garlic. It started when, again, the first couple garlic-containing bites I took were distinctly mild and ungarlicky, as to make me note it, just like with those first few weird dud-ginger-bites last night -- and then, about halfway through lunch when I took the first good, pungent, sinus-clearing bite of garlic, the book went into a passage where the character in it ate a bite of super-spicy chile [sic] and had it clear out his sinuses/water his eyes/bring that 'good fire' -- all of which was more or less exactly what I was experiencing, and almost perfectly synchronistically to when it hit me, maybe 1-2 seconds between my registering the sensations and then encountering the passage in the book, just so ridiculously surreal and damn cool. Wow ..."

Okay, so you're still unpersuaded about this eating-echo business. I still don't blame you; after all, it's not outside the realm of chance coincidence that such things would occur, even twice (and less than a day apart, after my never having experienced such a thing in my years of eat-reading). But, considering that it happened again, and just at dinnertime that same day ...

"And then, a very similar, albeit smaller/briefer, one at dinnertime. This time I was on the second or third bite of that weird mash-up bowl of stuff I'd thrown together, and I bit into one of those weird probiotic chews I'd got from VS, which despite listing no artificial/chemical flavoring, it tasted a bit too intense/"crisp" to be flavored with nothing but natural orange oil as it said, which made me thinking [sic] something along the lines of 'chemicals in here/unnatural flavor in those chews' -- precisely as I randomly read 'artificial flavoring' in the 'Eating Dangerously' book (and in that same context, and for the first time). And, again, though the text was visible to me when I'd had the thought, I can distinctly, 100% trace my thinking about it just then to the objective event of my taking that bite of the chews just then and registering its artificial-tasting quality, haha."

From there, the phenomenon took a day off (everything needs a break every now and then, I suppose, even unidentified forces that influence my meals). But then, on the 15th:

"[...] This time it was even more precise, and precisely timed: a few seconds after I took the first bite of that weird coconut dish at lunch, and right as I was registering the taste and texture of it and thinking of how the coconut manna was just fatty and succulent enough to even out the raw/powdery spices and stuff in it and make it deliciously creamy -- precisely as I registered this final, conclusive thought of 'good texture/creamy/pleasing,' I came to the middle of the first page I'd been reading and this sentence: 'My first bite plops neatly into my mouth. Bliss. With just enough fat to make the mouthful succulent ...' -- all of which echoed more or less perfectly my initial judgment of my lunch, right down to it being the 'first bite' (and that it was good/'bliss,' and that the coconut's creamy fat was just enough to make it "succulent"). It also bears mentioning that, a second or two before this, I'd paused in my reading to hold the coffee shop door open for the old man who'd stumbled out and dropped something, which therefore paused my reading a little bit, yet my registering the texture/succulence of the bite still aligned almost perfectly synchronistically with my reading that key paragraph (I'd had the bite in my mouth chewing while holding the door open for this man, haha)."

* * *

I'd like to say that I could go on and list more; but, unlike other variants of the phenomenon, this one has yet to repeat itself beyond that sudden foursome. As of writing, these eating-echoes were confined to a single, days-long period (just enough to cement a recognizable pattern, as it were). Of course, it's only been less than a week since the last in the sequence; so, perhaps I haven't seen the last of this strange animal.

In any case, make of it what you will.

No I'm Not Making These Up (I Promise)

Just when I thought myself schooled in synchronicities, knowing all their variants and species and subspecies ... nope.

The newest to establish itself: the "involuntary bodily function" synchro.

What're these? Just what the name implies: my body performing some involuntary function at the exact instant that that function's essence is expressed elsewhere, externally from me (in, say, a book or a sign or some independent event). Example: my bowels churning  precisely as I randomly read "churn" in a book (this exact one has happened to me, multiple times, as it were). Besides the synchroshock value of the whole thing, these incidents are exceptionally noteworthy due to their involuntary nature -- which is to say, their objective nature, as to almost totally rule out chance coincidence as a reasonable explanation. After all, even if the "churn" I randomly read were visible to me, in my peripheral vision prior to directly reading the word, it could not have conceivably influenced the synchronistic corollary event, except perhaps on a deeply subconscious level (though, more often than not, this happens when the word isn't visible beforehand at all).

Try consciously making your bowels churn. It's like trying to wriggle your ears, but exponentially more difficult (and more awkward). Personally, I cannot make my bowels churn on command, however loudly I yell at them.

No I'm not kidding. I've actually had this happen to me, and not just a few times, either.

* * *

Take the afternoon of 10/20/16, for instance.

I had just sat down to lunch and a book, minding my own business -- when, a couple bites in, a weird (yet wonderful) energy shot up my spine and into the left side of my head, leaving me feeling like a Christmas tree with its star turned on. Then, coinciding perfectly with this phenomenon, I read "left side of the brain" in the book I had open. The phrase registered with precise, keen timing, as to correspond seamlessly with my thought of, "Energy in the left side of my brain."

And, it bears mentioning: I'd had no such weird/wonderful energy-jolts prior to that one, nor did I have any after. Likewise, the book's mention of the left side of the brain was as random and singular, not occurring before or after my physical phenomenon -- which is to say, I hadn't been having these all day, nor had the book devoted an entire chapter to the brain's left side. Instead, both of these single, fluke incidents Just Happened to coincide, and at that exact instant ...

* * *

Or, how about another, from a couple weeks earlier, on 10/6/16.

Same deal as before, except this time it involved my spleen rather than my head. Precisely as I randomly read "twitched" in a book -- my spleen twitched, in a distinctive (and irksome) way that I experience from time to time (but, on that day, I'd not had happen for hours).

* * *

Or, how about this one, also of recent note (10/14).

Just like the last one, basically, except that this time I was writing rather than reading, in a personal health-journal I keep. Precisely as I wrote about my spleen evacuating the night before (yeah, spleens do, when upset, evacuate gas and the like, if you've never had the pleasure of spleen dysfunction) -- BAM! -- it happened again, my typing out "spleen evacuated" 100% synchronistically with my spleen gurgling empty, as to coincide perfectly.

Ah! you might say. But this time, you were writing about the involuntary function, and thus thinking about it, and so the thought could've just acted as a subconscious trigger. Yes, good point -- and, perhaps, that was indeed the case. For this one, at least. (Then again, considering I've experienced several others which would fail to be explained in this manner, but were, pattern-wise, nearly identical ... perhaps this one wasn't just some subconscious tomfoolery.)

* * *

Here's a nice little pair, which occurred back-to-back, on the evening of 9/13/16.

Straight quote from my log:

Had a couple of late and highly notable reading synchros this evening, both of that "involuntary bodily function corresponding to something read" type. The first was when I was in the sauna and got a sudden surge of that bad upset deep in my left guts, a couple seconds before I read "a vicious congestion of the chest" -- a perfect description of this phenomenon in the guts of mine, couldn't have put it better myself. [...] And then, a little less notable but almost identical in nature: "not so tense" almost precisely as my shoulders visibly/palpably relaxed, causing me to slump, again not quite perfectly synchronistic but certainly close enough to be of note.

 * * *

Once more, I could post additional examples ... but I won't. If you're unconvinced (or curious), go to the log and search for "involuntary" in the 2015 and -16 sections. (Not that my log constitutes objective proof of the phenomenon, of course; if nothing else, it's good for a laugh.)

7/1/14 - 'The Roots of Coincidence,' Part Two

Just days ago, I composed a long-winded entry on a synchronicity involving The Roots of Coincidence, a book about synchronicity. Well, apparently I spoke too soon, for a sequel incident occurred today.

It started last week, when I read The Roots of Coincidence. Involving quantum physics to some extent, the book briefly outlined Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, that koan-like concept which states that there exists a relationship between subject and object, so that, basically, the observer affects the observed (and vice-versa). Though I was not unmet by the Uncertainty Principle, I did have a minor revelation upon reading of it in The Roots of Coincidence: I drew a parallel between the Principle and human perception, for the first time. Because of the subjective nature of perception, no two people perceive the same object in the same way, so that, practically speaking, they are seeing two different objects, each in the respective mind's eye of the observer -- a perfect demonstration of Heisenberg's Principle, as it were. Perhaps this parallel isn't so mind-blowing to other folks, but for me, it struck me deeply, for it wedded a bizarre physics concept to real-life experience, placing it in living terms that I could understand. In any case, my little insight stuck with me, vividly so, the way any well-rounded understanding will adhere to the mind and gel into everyday thinking.

Then, just days later, the whole thing recurred.

The recurrence came knocking today, while I was reading another book: The Petting Zoo by Jim Carroll, the next sequential book I read after The Roots of Coincidence. In one scene, two characters are discussing perception and empathy, and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle comes up in their dialogue -- synchronicity strikes! I found the incident somewhat notable: after going months (years?) without reading of the Uncertainty Principle, I read of it in two books, back to back -- books which, as it were, couldn't have been more different or random, one being a forty-year-old nonfiction head-scratcher about coincidence and synchronicity, and the other being a modern novel about an artist living in New York City. What are the chances that I would randomly pick these two wholly disparate books to read (one purchased online after I'd been putting it off for almost a year, the other an unfamiliar book bought for no logical reason from Goodwill a month prior), only to find them referencing the same physics concept? (And never mind that this fits the pattern established by dozens of prior incidents, where my choices of reading material seems to reflect each other in subject matter ...)

Unlikely? Yes. However, the recurrence of the Uncertainty Principle was only the first part of the incident. The second was a whole other ballgame.

The second part of the recurrence: not the Uncertainty Principle, but the comment, by one of the Petting Zoo characters,  that the Uncertainty Principle was just like human perception -- exactly what I'd thought when reading The Roots of Coincidence. Dig it: not only did the Uncertainty Principle recur between two different books randomly read by me, but the latter echoed, in the exact same context and similar wording, the minor revelation I'd had regarding the Principle and its parallels with human perception. If the chances of the Principle's original recurrence were somewhat low, I can't fathom the chances of my thoughts regarding the Principle recurring.

Now, I must wonder: is this a common comparison, perhaps well-known to academia? Is it routinely pointed out by professors to their students, that Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle can be understood in terms of human perception? Perhaps it is, and I'm just ignorant of it, so that it comes as a surprise for me to see that precise sentiment echoed in a book. But even were it common, even to the point of being cliche, what are the chances that I would see it recur in this manner, in a second, random book, days later, back-to-back with that which originally led me to make the comparison for the first time in my life ...?

As I've said many times before, I'm no mathematician. However, it seems to me the chances of this two-tier incident would be astronomically low. The first, original recurrence seems about as likely as having a bag of money fall from the sky and land at your feet; with the second part taken into consideration, however, it seems about as likely as the bag of sky-money having a note inside with your name on it.

Regardless, the incident succeeded in making me laugh.

6/27/13: Communication

So, I'm writing a new book.

A few days ago, I started a chapter called "Communication." Around the same time, I started reading the book Alive, a non-fictional account of people who survived a plane crash in the Andes mountains.

Yesterday, toward the end of Alive, the book mentioned how the survivors found a flight manual which contained in it a chapter entitled "Communications." The chapter's number was thirty-four, mentioned specifically.

"Huh, that's about the same name as the chapter I'm writing in my book," I said aloud (not nearly as dorky-sounding as it reads).

Chapter thirty-four, I thought afterward. If I wasn't mistaken, my "Communication" chapter was in the thirties. I made a mental note to check it out.

That night, I checked it out: my book's chapter was exactly thirty-four, just like that in the flight manual mentioned in Alive -- which had the exact same title except for the addition of an 's.'

I laughed out loud.

(It bears mentioning that I am not writing one book, but three, the original having run on long enough to be split up. I had made the decision for the split while writing the "Communication" chapter, but decided to finish the chapter before going through the logistical work of splitting the text into three separate files. As it so happens, I finished the chapter last night, so this morning, on the 28th, the day after I read the aforementioned passage of Alive, I finally got around to splitting the text, so that chapter thirty-four became chapter ten of the third book. Had I read that part of Alive today, less than twelve hours later, there would be no synchronicity to speak of.)

3/2/13: Ciao, America!

My friend and I like thrift stores. We like them so much, in fact, we've made it ritual to visit them when we meet. Invariably, Things Happen when we visit these thrift stores.

Namely, things tend to repeat themselves.

Take, for instance, my friend's February 4th visit. We first went to a Goodwill store, in which we both noticed a book for sale: Ciao, America! Why did we notice it? There's no saying, but it stood out enough, for each of us, to have recorded it mentally.

Then, an hour later, we hit another Goodwill, located some twenty miles away. Interestingly, this one also had the book Ciao, America! My friend and I, both attuned to these recurrences, both noted the book being there also. We got a laugh from it.

But then, a month later, it happened again.

This time, it occurred some hundreds of miles away, in North Carolina's Outer Banks. It was my friend's next sequential meeting, and so we'd undertaken our usual sweep of the area's thrift stores, starting with a non-Goodwill. Well, it had the book, Ciao, America!

Three in a row. We laughed more.

Then it happened a fourth time.

Another Goodwill, now. We went there immediately after leaving the day's first thrift store, some miles away -- and it had the book. We marveled at it. Four in a row, a month and hundreds of miles apart.

Still, neither of us bought it. The book just didn't appeal to us.

(Note: it bears mentioning that Ciao, America! was only one of several recurring items between these and other thrift-store visits, to uncanny levels. If it was just Goodwills, I would say they got a stock of certain items and distributed them. But it's not just Goodwills ...)

4/27/14 - Public Service Announcement

This isn't a synchronicity report. Nor is it to promote new writing. Rather, it's a public service announcement: that the phenomenon known as synchronicity is very, very real.

Not that I wasn't already convinced of this (many times over). It's just that, today, I read a book, There Are No Accidents by Robert H. Hopcke, and it independently reinforced everything I've experienced repeatedly for years now, in no uncertain terms. But, again, this post isn't a synchronicity report, despite the interesting and "random" means by which I came to read Mr. Hopcke's book. Instead, I would just like to remark on the stark similarity between it and the book I myself wrote on the subject (Synchronicity: One Man's Experience). The two describe explicitly similar phenomena, both in nature and in pattern, and even follow similar lines of reasoning in regards to what it all means. And, of course, I wrote my book last year, before ever learning that There Are No Accidents existed.

But that's all just coincidence, right? Because experts have agreed that such fantastic phenomena as synchronicity cannot exist.

Likewise, it was just a coincidence that the two books would cite not only remarkably similar phenomena, but near-exact incidents. The first chapter of my book details how, starting some years ago, I began repeatedly seeing the number 1111 and its variants, eventually in fascinating and highly unlikely ways (and numbering in the hundreds, if not thousands). For me, a typical "sighting" would be Just Happening to glance at a clock at 11:11, with a more notable version of this involving complicated logistics (such as driving past an electronic sign at the precise moment it changed to 11:11, or being distracted by a "random" noise and having my attention drawn to an 11:11-displaying clock, etc). As I recounted in my book, the phenomenon matured with my mounting skepticism toward it, until I was encountering 1111 in configurations and frequencies that I couldn't reasonably write off as chance (such as discovering a document on my computer that was created on November 11th, 2011, at 11:11 PM, so that it's time stamp read 11/11/11 11:11 -- with my chance discovery of the document Just Happening to coincide with the peak of the repeat-number phenomenon). Also, there are fun, multidimensional ones such as this email snapshot. Now, I quote from a case report in There Are No Accidents, written years ago by someone I've never met or heard of:

"'The number 11 began to surface after I began dating my ex-girlfriend in late 1992. It was then that she said to me, "I always look at the clock at 11:11" ... I immediately noticed, however, that this number didn't go away with our breakup. There were just too many strange and random encounters with 11 for me to simply label them coincidence ... I once came home in the evening and sat down in front of the TV, only to glance at the VCR which was recording a program, and noticed that it displayed 11:11 P.M. on channel 11 with the recording time being 11:11:11.'"

But, I repeat: all coincidence. Just like there are, in fact, accidents, apparently there are coincidences, too, including really, really, really-really-really unlikely ones.

Okay, enough with the sarcasm. The point of this post: yes, synchronicity is real, and I have been systematically stripped of any luxury of denying that fact.

End public service announcement.

Weekly Roundup

Check the dates, and one will see that posts on the blog have slowed.

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.