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.

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.

7/13/13: Say What?

It was lunchtime. I was eating at the table while reading. People around me were talking.

Halfway through lunch, the book I was reading reached a chapter on the psychology of abusive relationships.

Meanwhile, the people around me began conversing about the psychology of abusive relationships.

I had not spoken a word about what I was reading, nor could the conversing people have read it.

As I reached the chapter's end, which summed up why someone in an abusive relationship might choose to remain in such a relationship, one of the conversing people asked, "Why would someone stay in a situation like that?" These two coincided so perfectly, I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

(Some fun facts about this incident:

1. It was by total chance I was reading this book at all. I had bought a used Kindle, and it had come to me preloaded with several books. It was one of these books I would be reading when the conversation occurred, and I had just started reading it the afternoon in question.

2. After I made it known to the conversing people that their conversation had just mirrored perfectly the text I was reading at the precise time their topic turned to abusive relationships, one of the people said, "Oh, like Patty Hearst, right?" Seconds later, on the very next page of the book, it mentioned Patty Hearst by name -- not too notable, considering this was on the same subject being discussed, but still.

3. The morning before this happened, I'd been editing a chapter of a book I'm writing, which made repeated mention of the "rose-colored glasses" phenomenon. Then, when I started reading the Kindle book at lunch that afternoon, it made mention of the "rose-colored glasses" phenomenon.)

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

Another New "Another New Kind of Synchronicity" Post

Let it be said: I continue to have "synchronistic" experiences, and daily (and, usually, in volume). Likewise, I continue to experience new types of synchronicities.

The latest: the "random magazine page-turn."

This one started just recently, within the last couple weeks (that is, early May, 2017). For these, the MO is as follows: I'll randomly be thinking of a certain, specific thing, and then I turn the page of the magazine I'm reading and -- BAM! -- there's that exact thing I was just thinking of, staring back at me, equally random yet undeniably precise in its echo of my thoughts. And, like all of my genuine synchronicities, there's never any sort of direct, logical correlation between the content of the previous pages and that of the subsequent, "echoing" page (such that I couldn't have been subconsciously "triggered" to be thinking of that specific thing, such as, say, having thoughts of "ice cream" echoed in a magazine about ice cream, where there would be a natural abundance of ice-cream-related words and images, etc). And, yes, my initial thoughts will always come distinctly before I turn the page, when the next leaf is still 100% invisible (yet, only very slightly before the page-turn, just fractions of a second, such that the corresponding "echo" occurs near-instantaneously).

Case in point, verbatim from my log, on 5/12/17:

Started [...] when, right as the niacin began to hit and the first itching of skin came on, I opened that random Good Housekeeping magazine from the library and, precisely as I was hit with the first itching and I thought absently "here comes the niacin itch" or something along those lines, I turned to a page advertising some sort of itchy-scalp shampoo or bodywash or something -- in any case, with a sentence reading "ITCHY SKIN" right in the middle of the page. Though, at this point, I didn't note it since it wasn't too precise/was just another vague/subtle echo if anything. But then, maybe 30 seconds later as the next wave of itching hit, more intense, I again had the distinct thought of "skin's really itching now" -- precisely as I turned another page to another advertisement, this one with a gigantic "WHY IS MY SKIN SO ITCHY?" in the middle of the page, more precise in the "itchy skin" echo, but also perfectly synchronistic in timing (and, again, 100% objective, relying on the "involuntary bodily function"-type onset of the itch from the niacin I'd taken a half-hour before, as to coincide perfectly despite my having no influence over such).

And then, another one, just a day later:

Precisely as I laid down on the leather couch at the parents' and opened that random 2006 Yoga magazine I got free from the library, I felt how comfortable/pleasing the couch was and had a distinct thought of "comfortable couch/I like this couch/good couch" or something along those lines -- a split second before I opened the magazine to an ad reading "Nice sofa" right in the middle, directly in my line of sight after I'd just had that thought (another of those where the thought wasn't 100% perfectly synchronistic but was very close, just microseconds apart, as to just make it more notable since it distinguished the thought as 100% before I could've possibly known what awaited me as I opened the magazine, yet was closely timed enough to make it nearly perfectly synchronistic, etc).

Then, a few days later (on the 17th), another one, pretty much identical:

[...] This time it was my thinking randomly of beets (which I can trace 100% back to a random chain of thought about what I'd put in the lunch I'd fixed up earlier, the last ingredient of which I remembered was two tablespoons of the beet crystals, which thus ending [sic] the chain of thought on "beet"), a split second before I turned a page in the Mother Earth News I was reading to a big full-page article on beets, with big pictures of beets and "BEET ROOT" in the middle of the page -- but all, once again, totally hidden/impossible to see for me until only *after* I'd had the thought (though, again, only microseconds after, as to be pretty much perfectly synchronistic, etc).

And then yet another, and again just a day afterward, on the evening of the 18th. This time, however, it came with a twist (note of clarification: the first ad, which triggered the thoughts to be echoed, was separate from the ad on the next page, as to remain completely random and, thus, to rule out the sort of subconscious trickery mentioned earlier):

[...] It began when I opened that random issue of Coastal Living I got free from the library, and something in an ad on the second page triggered thoughts of our wasteful/throw-away culture, which conjured in my mind's eye visions of landfills specifically, and a general sense of "trash" -- and then, on the very next page, there was a full-page ad for Subaru about how it has zero landfill waste now, with the entire page filled with a picture of a trash-clogged landfill. Though, this one was a little different in that there was a delay of 2-3 seconds before I registered the landfill ad and made the connection to the vague thought I'd just had when looking at the previous leaf with the other ad, unlike the other recent page-turn-types where my I [sic] had the thought, then turned the page a split second after and had saw the echoing material, as to be perfectly synchronistic, etc; but then, the more I thought about it, it seemed that there wasn't so much of a delay in the echo, but instead just a delay in my seeing the landfill ad/registering it/making the connection (because, if I remember correctly, I had the thought about landfills, then turned the page immediately after, but first looked at the left page of the new leaf, rather than skipping it to the right page, where the landfill picture was).

And then comes the second part, which ups the notability even fuller: as I realized that there wasn't a delay in the page-turn but instead just in my registering the echo, I had the thought of something along the lines of "the landfill picture was there perfectly synchronistically, I just didn't at first see it" -- and then, a split second later, I looked at the ad on the next sequential page I'd turned to, after the landfill one, and it was an ad for a car or something reading "Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there," thus echoing my thoughts about the echo, and this one coming in that perfectly synchronistic page-turn fashion.

* * *

And, as a fun little footnote to these log excerpts: they are, indeed, merely excerpts, taken from pages upon pages of entries from the many other variations of daily synchronicity I experience. I'll let that statement speak for itself, in regards to the scope of the phenomenon ...

2/3/12: Onion

Ever realize something that's always been subconscious to you? Call it a revelation, a broadened awareness, eureka; whatever. Last night, I realized I like onion. Like it very much, in fact, as some people do chocolate or a choice drug. Crisp, zesty, domineering -- that's the onion.

This occurred to me over a friend's email and a dinner salad, which had onion in it but only a minority, as to allow only a few choice bites of oniony goodness, the non-onion bites providing the contrast necessary for me to appreciate my bulbed, eye-watering ally. After several sans-onion bites, I came up with a nice, comma-shaped slice of it, and that's when it hit me, all at once: I like onion. Love it, maybe. So count me as an onion lover, even if it one day gets something of a Star of David on my window.

The epiphany, while grand, did not interrupt the reading of my friend's email (my friend trumps onion, it seems). And then, there it was, in the very next paragraph down: "And as a side note. I love onions." My chewing stopped.

Synchroshock.

Now, my immediate response to this was "peripheral reading," a syndrome I am quite familiar with. It happens all the time when I'm writing: I'll come up with a brilliant, original, perfectly fitting word, only realize I'd used it halfway up the page, or was reading it off a web browser tab or something across the room. We do this, involuntarily and subconsciously, and, besides being exploited endlessly by advertisers and propagandists, it is a constant source for synchronistic false-positives, since the "supernatural" inspirations come from a source beyond your conscious awareness.

Except, I was eating onion before it happened. In the salad, my oniony bite, the necessary ingredient for my realization and its "chance" reiteration. Peripheral reading does not manufacture salads and put them in your mouth, oniony or otherwise.

Update, 2/16:

This one happened again, almost exactly the same: me eating dinner while catching up on email, the email written by the same friend, except this time it involved broccoli. I'd just taken a big bite of the stuff when no sooner did I read, " I think I'll go eat some broccoli." There were no thoughts of admiration as I did so, but still ...

6/23/12: Doughnuts

Today I saw a Krispy Kreme box, and it spawned the weirdest thought: Mr. Chihani wouldn't serve doughnuts to his group.

I'll explain.

Mr. Chihani is a character in a novel I'm reading right now. In the book, the man heads a reading group, to which he only serves plain, unsweetened crackers, and other Spartan foods.

That explains why I thought Mr. Chihani wouldn't serve such blasphemous food to his reading group. But as for why I thought this in the first place ...

In any case, an hour after I saw the doughnut box, I went home and read some more of the book. Not two pages in, it described how, because of special circumstances, Mr. Chihani served doughnuts to his reading group.

I stand corrected.

You Just Can't Force These Things

It was one of "those" days.

The synchronistic phenomenon was in full swing: the incidents coming left and right, the world alive with them, as to leave my head spinning in a surreal, living-dream daze. On the day in question, I'd experienced several "reading"-type synchronicities in particular, where my random thoughts and experiences would coincide with equally random phrases read in books or on signs and the like. To my resident skeptic, however, such high levels of "activity" only inspire negative, glass-half-full comments. For example: while I was sitting outside a coffee shop and read "A bell jingled," and no bell jingled in answer.

With that, my mind's resident skeptic spoke up: If you're really experiencing these surreal synchronicities as you think, then why no bell?

Good question, I thought in reply. Absently, I then set the book down to take a sip of coffee. Afterward, upon resuming the book, I picked back up where I'd left off, at "A bell jingled."

Immediately upon reading it this time, I heard a bell sound from behind me -- and not just any bell, but a jingling bell, a Christmas leftover, with holly and mistletoe and all, hung on the coffee-shop door (despite it being August). The door, opened by some random patron exiting the shop, lay at my back, totally out of sight, such that I couldn't have orchestrated its opening and my reading the phrase even subconsciously -- yet the two had coincided perfectly, as is patternistic of this phenomenon (and of the dozen or so similar occurrences that had transpired that day alone).

To this, my inner skeptic had no rebuttal. I sat silently for a moment, then laughed.

But, striking at this was, it wasn't through (whatever "it" is).

A minute later, a couple paragraphs down in my book, the phrase was repeated, exactly: "A bell jingled." And, again, a jingling bell coincided perfectly with my reading the words (albeit from a different door this time).

My skeptic and I shared another telling silence, then I refreshed my laugh.

Meet the Involuntary Bodily Function Synchronicity

Yep, the "involuntary bodily function" synchronicity.

No, it's not a new drug, nor a new band (yet). Rather, the IBF is a variant of my life's ongoing synchronistic phenomena, the latest to repeat itself regularly and distinctly enough to present a pattern (and, to coin a rather icky-sounding term). I've discovered the IBF, you could say; and, thanks to its amusing (and quite personal) nature, it's come to be my favorite. (And, yes, it says much that I have a favorite type of synchronistic event.)

As documented previously, the IBFs I've experienced are just as their dinner-table-unfriendly title would suggest: right as my body randomly performs some automatic function that I couldn't induce if I tried -- that function is somehow echoed in external, objective reality, usually with a randomness and spontaneity that is equally impossible to orchestrate, even using the superhuman abilities of the subconscious mind (or so as the subconscious is currently defined, at least). Whether it's my reading "rumbling guts" precisely as I experience a surprise rumbling of the guts, or more-complex occurrences still ... well, you get the idea.

So, with that introduction made, here's a recounting of my most-recent adventures in IBF Land, in case you find them as eerily amusing as I do.


As quoted verbatim from my log:

2/11/17

"[...] And then, at dinner, another single incident, this one of those 'involuntary bodily function being echoed precisely by book,' when I swallowed a bite of dinner wrong and sort of gulped down air with the food, making me gag and cough a little -- precisely as I read 'sucking air' in the "Blood in the Cage" book, which was exactly what I did when swallowing the food, taking in air and saliva with it in a distinct way, and again with the two events corresponding with such precision that I couldn't see it being any sort of psychological suggestion except for maybe the most deeply subconscious, borderline-esp kind (though even this fades in possibility when the incident's patternistic element is taken into account)."

3/3/17

"[...] Really the only thought synchro I can think of was a pretty cool and notable standout just after lunch, when the headsickness began to lift a little and I distinctly relaxed/felt that morning's traumatic/shocked tension noticeably lifting in that vital and fundamental way -- and then, precisely as this occurred, a car pulled out in front of me, revealing a license plate reading 'AT EEEEZ,' reflecting perfectly both what had just occurred with me along with my distinct thoughts of what had just occurred (sort of a combination 'involuntary bodily function' and 'normal' thought synchro)."

3/19/17

"Had a little cluster of 'late'-type reading/thought synchros at dinnertime reading tonight too [...] One coherent example: randomly and suddenly having my liver churn and thus thinking about bile flowing through it and my gall bladder, and how maybe the liver supplements I've been taking are working -- a split second before I read 'the gall' in the book, haha."

3/23/17

"Did have a pretty cool 'involuntary bodily function'-type standout, coming suddenly out of nowhere almost immediately after I sat down to eat. Once I'd swallowed the second bite of lunch and the ginger in it hit me, giving me a little head-rush and noticeably clearing my lungs and making it easier/'cleaner' to breathe as it often does -- a split second later, I read 'could breathe a little easier' in the "Starvation Heights" book, not quite perfectly synchronistic but very close, and 100% accurate/precise too, not to mention totally objective, with it hinging completely on the external/independent event of my eating two particularly gingery bites and having its effects hit me precisely then."

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.

Weekly Roundup 7/13-7/20/18

The latest bunch of some select standout incidents of synchronicity I've experienced, for 7/13/18-7/20/18 (written after the fact, as it were, but better late than never ...):

Here, from 7/13, we have a highly notable example of the "reading recurrence" variant of the phenomenon, in which I somehow encounter a fully random, yet specific, thing, almost always for the first time in months or years or ever, only to have it recur soon after, as explicitly and randomly. Log entry:

[...] This one started, rather than ended, with that same magazine and that same article about the American Latinos, in which it talked about a man who, first, had become a city council member at notably young age (19), and then, second, was a minority at that (Latino), and then, third, the article also mentioned offhand how the man wanted to be president someday. Then, at lunch in the book, I came to a chapter that introduced a character that was a minority (black) who'd become a city council member at a notably young age (23) and had aspirations of becoming president someday, and was even in a club called The Future Presidents of America or something like that -- all totally objective, totally random and unconnected and unadvertised/impossible that I'd previously been cued or subconsciously informed of these things, etc, etc.

Now, from the 14th, another reading-related incident, except of a slightly different variant, this one involving the instant recurrence of something I was randomly, yet separately and independently, thinking or experiencing immediately beforehand, as to create an "echo" effect. The long-winded, scattered-brained entry:

It was a classical "page-turn"/"objective thought echoed a split second later on a previously invisible turned-to magazine page"-type one, this one starting when I had this big long random chain of thought that ended with what I might have for lunch tomorrow, thus causing me to think that I had to have that sweet potato I'd pureed for lunch due to it needing refrigeration and my having to travel tomorrow afternoon, etc, thus causing me to automatically/absently/patternistically visualize the puree in its jar, which, when I'd poured it in that morning, had sort of mounded up into a taper rather than filling the jar from side to side, due to its richness and creaminess, and also I remembered absently how brightly orange it was, coming from that particularly orange breed of potato -- and then, once again at the precise instant that this visualization unfolded in my mind and "crossed" my mind, I turned the page and was immediately struck by a big, detailed picture of a Halloween cupcake with bright-orange icing -- the *exact* same, specific, conspicuous shade of orange that my potato puree had shown in my mind, and, even more incredible, it was *mounded up atop the cupcake,* in the exact same tapered/pyramid shape that the puree had formed in the jar. And, yet again, the page had been 100% invisible to me when I'd had this thought, and with nothing foreshadowing it on the previous page/nothing even about sweet potatoes or puree or any possible subconscious cue however slight or subtle, just a perfect-yet-100%-random/object and perfectly synchronistic/intertwined echo of my exact thought more or less.

Next up, from 7/15: a similar "instant random-thought echo"-type incident, except this one recurred by way of the radio:

[...] Having a long, random, but fully objective and distinct chain of thought end with my thinking about the skin inflammation and that general hellish super-high/uncomfortable body-heat condition I was having particularly bad at the time, thus causing me to think about my dependence on air-conditioning despite my best efforts to tolerate the inflammation and react well, ending with a vague thought of something like “I'll just have to be dependant [sic] on air-conditioning until I can react better or something changes, as imperfect and unsustainable as that is” – just before “You need coolin'!” sang from the radio, and this coming in that loose, ~1-second-delay fashion but still close enough, and literally/non-contextually precise enough, not to matter

And, from 7/16, a behaviorally identical one, albeit with a surreal bilingual twist (of which I've experienced multiple times, in other incidents, as it were):

[This one happened] when I came across the sign for the Dos Amigos Mexican restaurant and registered it with an absent thought of “'amigo' is 'friend' in Spanish,” about a half-second before “a friend” came as singularly and randomly over the radio

 From the 18th: another radio/random-thought incident (this one an exceptionally good, notable example of the dozens upon dozens I've experienced over the years):

[It happened] when I was on the way to the gym and I had the thought of whether I'd be okay wearing my jeans there or if they'd require me to wear some gym-type clothes, thus causing me to automatically/absently/patternistically visualize my black jeans specifically – perfectly synchronistic with the radio randomly/singularly singing out “dark jeans,” again not only perfectly timed and patternistically consistent with the day's specific kind of these sort of echoes, but echoing the “dark” jeans specifically, not only the “jeans” sentiment but the charcoal-colored ones that I was wearing and visualizing at that precise instant, ha ha

Now, from the 19th, another echo, but of a different, even more-surreal kind, that which I've termed the "nearby-stranger" variant, in which the echo arrives by way of a nearby, unconnected person, doing or saying something that directly reflects what I was thinking or saying or doing (or, in this case, reading):

[A] fuzzy/loose/indirect/slightly delayed nearby stranger/reading echo at lunch, when a woman came to the counter just next to me and said randomly to the person there, “That peanut butter smoothie is to die for,” about .5-1 second before I came to the sentence, “The other day, I binged on spoonfuls of peanut butter,” and this one not only echoing the general “peanut butter” sentiment but also the vague additional sentiment of it being luxurious/desirous/an indulgence, also 100% consistent with so many of these that I've been seeing in this latest “chapter” of the [activity]

And, finally, from the 20th, a pair of echoes (yes, more, because I just experience that many):

[It] was a thought/event echo in the market, [when] I was called over to the next line unexpectedly by the cashier opening there, thus causing me to give this delayed/soupy/"wha?"-type response that I automatically registered as something like "dopey/odd response/you sounded weird," precisely as, upon turning to go to the register, I came face to face with a Snickers bar with "AWKWARD" written across it as some of these do [...]

[This one happened] during the afternoon drive on the highway, beginning when the radio randomly sang out about someone who "went off to fight for Uncle Sam," thus causing me to automatically/absently think "military" and "army" and related sentiment, with this coming simultaneously with my changing lanes in order to let a conspicuous tail-gating car pass -- and then, a split second after the lyric and as the military thoughts were still patternistically crossing my mind, the car passed fully and thus "revealed" an "ARMY" bumper sticker directly in the upper-right-hand corner of its rear window, such that it "struck" me/"invaded" the direct piece of space I was looking at at the time, and 100% invisible beforehand, 100% precise ...

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?