tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50272640628965407932024-02-19T02:12:30.929-08:00Synchroshock*_ A COMPENDIUM OF STRANGE WRITING AND STRANGER COINCIDENCES _*A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-63500318721575637422018-12-05T15:11:00.001-08:002018-12-05T15:11:14.501-08:00Fallen BehindI've fallen sorely behind on updating this blog, due to a lack of time rather than a lack of synchronicity (of which there's been so much, in fact, that I've been spending all my computer time simply logging the activity, even just in brief/summarizing, so that I don't have time to properly document it on the blog ...).<br />
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So, for anyone who might be interested in my continued synchronistic adventures, you'll have to settle for the raw, scatter-brained log (which I do still update regularly), under the "Log" tab on the book's website: <a href="http://synchronicitybook.com/">SynchronicityBook.com</a>.A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-11352717470351963462018-08-03T18:25:00.001-07:002018-08-03T18:32:00.170-07:00Weekly Roundup 7/13-7/20/18The 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 ...):<br />
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Here, from 7/13, we have a highly notable example of the "<a href="https://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=reading+recurrence">reading recurrence</a>" 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:<br />
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[...] 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.</blockquote>
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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 "<a href="https://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=echo">echo</a>" effect. The long-winded, scattered-brained entry:<br />
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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.</blockquote>
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Next up, from 7/15: a similar "instant random-thought echo"-type incident, except this one recurred by way of the radio:<br />
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[...] 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</blockquote>
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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):<br />
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[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</blockquote>
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):<br />
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[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</blockquote>
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Now, from the 19th, another echo, but of a different, even more-surreal kind, that which I've termed the <a href="https://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=nearby+stranger">"nearby-stranger" variant</a>, 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):<br />
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[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]</blockquote>
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And, finally, from the 20th, a pair of echoes (yes, more, because I just experience that many):<br />
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[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 [...]<br />
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[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 ...</blockquote>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-27642017400908282812018-07-12T15:36:00.001-07:002018-07-12T15:36:50.462-07:00Weekly Roundup 7/4-7/11/18Keeping with <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/2018/06/weekly-roundup.html">the weekly roundup of various notable synchronicities that I started last week</a>, here's the next installment, from 7/4-7/11/18 (yeah, I'm a few days late on this one -- a week-and-a-half roundup, then).<br />
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First off, from the 4th, an incident that is only mildly notable in itself, but is, instead, a good example of a specific, especially subtle kind I've been seeing a lot of lately: the "everyday little thing" recurrence, where I'll encounter some random, relatively common thing in a specific, patternistic fashion and timeframe. I'll often experience a dozen or more of these over the course of a day, and all with the exact same "feel" and behavior, as to be collectively notable when seen in this context.</div>
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[It began] last night in the Indian magazine when I read, again totally offhand, [an] article about “Carvel cakes,” which I again absently-but-specifically noticed, if only because it was either the first time ever or the first in a long time I'd ever encountered this – and then today, in that super-random market I'd been Compelled to go to after lunch, another where I had absolutely zero plans to be there, I happened across a cold case with Carvel cakes in it, and this happening due to a similarly random/absent wandering about in the deli/bakery area of the store, despite needing absolutely nothing along those lines from there – again fully patternistic, however “small” and common.</div>
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Next, from the 5th, a classic "radio echoing exactly what I was writing on a piece of paper, exactly as I made to write it"-type incident.</div>
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Had another of those single, stray, coherent echoes, this time a radio/”writing a note”-type one. It started when I went to write “hope” on a note I was about to leave, and then, precisely as I started the “h,” the radio randomly/singularly/patternistically sang out “I hope,” with the “hope” corresponding perfectly both with my starting the “h” and with my random/absent thought of “hope”</div>
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From the 6th, another of the many radio-echoes I've experienced, this one of a variety involving the actions of a random, totally separate person, such that the question of my own actions/psychology/biases doesn't even factor into it.</div>
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[It happened when] "out your window" [sang] from the radio precisely as I watched as, from the car directly in front of me, the driver put an arm out the window [and] tamped a cigarette, which I registered with the thought of something like "out the window," and again perfectly patternistic/precise in timing</div>
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And, from the 7th, yet another radio incident (I know, this is starting to read like last week's post -- there's just so <i>many</i> of these ...).</div>
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[It happened] literally immediately as I got in the car and began backing out. It started when I looked around before backing from the driveway, which I did in a weird, exaggerated way, sort of erratically swinging around in a way that surprised me, thus causing me to absently think "weird movement looking around like that/erratic looking-around" -- just before the first words over the radio sang out "look around you," less than a second later, as to not be perfectly synchronistic but to still echo the thought as it was crossing my mind, 100% patternistic of these as it were.</div>
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And ... another, the next day, and this one included because it was, more or less, <i>exactly</i> like the last one, right down to the type and circumstances and my actions at the time.</div>
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It happened at the exact same time, when I began backing from the driveway, this time beginning with my then being faced with deciding where to go to church since I had time to go to either one, thus causing me to think about the two and something like "got to choose now, since I'm leaving" -- precisely as "time has come to make a choice" sang randomly/singularly from the radio, with the only difference from yesterday's incident being that, first, this one was perfectly synchronistic rather than slightly delayed, and, second, the lyrics weren't quite the first over the radio, preceded by another, brief stanza.</div>
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Okay, no more radio stuff. From the 9th:</div>
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[It happened] when I got into the car after being outside in the heat and letting it idle with the A/C on, and upon getting hit with the drastically colder, contrasting air upon getting inside, I had the automatic/absent/registering thought of something like "Wow that's cold/I'm so suddenly cold" -- precisely as the very first words to come over the radio as I got in were "I feel so cold," another classical echo.</div>
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(I lied)</div>
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For the 10th: another radio-echo here, too, but only because it was the best, most "standout-ish" incident of the day.</div>
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It happened as a work truck pulling a long two-wheel trailer pulled out in front of me, first demanding my attention since I had to slow down for it, etc, and then, precisely as the truck completed its turn-out and its trailer hit a pothole, thus causing it to bounce conspicuously and thus causing me to absently/automatically register this with a thought of something like "bouncing," the ad on the radio randomly said "bouncing houses," and again such that the "bouncing" and my instantaneous, heat-of-the-moment thought coincided in that perfect, intertwined fashion, also 100% patternistic of these.</div>
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Alright, this last one, on the 11th, is another echo-type incident, but now involving a nearby stranger and the text of a book.</div>
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Towards the end of lunch, started to have a few super-super-subtle-type of those same extremely fuzzy and indirect/fleeting echoes as I've been having, and then, just before I was done, had a cool standout. It started when I randomly came to "two to two" in the book, and Noticed this in particular, patternistically and illogically and subtly but distinctly -- a split second before a man sitting nearby randomly said, "two point two," another of those with a slight delay but less than a second, just long enough for me to distinctly Notice the "two to two" and register it, then get "smacked" with the man's reasonably precise echo of the "two twos" underlying sentiment (which also jibes with the general uptick of 22s I've still been seeing off and on the last couple weeks or so, which would continue on today here and there as well).</div>
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(And, for anyone interested in the many, many other incidents not singled out in this post: read the full, unedited log of my experiences, at <a href="http://synchronicitybook.com/">synchronicitybook.com</a>.)</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-79534969399437640242018-06-30T18:46:00.000-07:002018-06-30T18:46:05.174-07:00Weekly RoundupCheck the dates, and one will see that posts on the blog have slowed.<br />
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Why? Not for want of notable synchronicities -- not by any means. Rather, there've been <i>too many</i>, 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 ...).<br />
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Thus, I've found myself faced with the question of, <i>Which to post about?!?</i><br />
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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.<br />
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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:</div>
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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.</div>
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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:</div>
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[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.</div>
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Next, another, equally demonstrative radio echo, on the afternoon of the 25th when I randomly turned on my phone to check a web page:</div>
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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."</div>
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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:</div>
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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</div>
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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:</div>
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[...]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" [...]</div>
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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 <i>affirms</i> 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):</div>
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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 ...</div>
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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:</div>
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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).</div>
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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 <i>were</i> incidents today, just none objective and coherent enough to be described ...):</div>
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[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.</div>
</blockquote>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-35593347206058545012018-04-07T15:30:00.000-07:002018-04-07T15:30:17.852-07:00This Is My NormalIt happened in a supermarket parking lot.<br />
<br />
I was walking through the rows of cars, occupied with troubled thoughts of ill-health and car issues and other things rooted in the past and the future -- that is, anything but the present moment, which involved a particularly lovely Spring day that my internal conflict had blinded me to.<br />
<br />
Realizing this, I silenced my mind and, thus, soaked in the priceless weather and its bounty, with a thought of <i>Just live now, in the moment. Let it be</i>.<br />
<br />
Not two seconds later, the scrap of paper caught my eye.<br />
<br />
It was feet away, a random piece of litter in the gutter of the sidewalk I'd just mounted, just one of the multitude cast off by folks coming and going to a busy supermarket as I was at the time. But this one in particular just Jumped Out at me, in a distinct way I've experienced many times before, yet am unable to accurately describe.<br />
<br />
So I picked it up, finding it to be a fortune-cookie fortune -- one which echoed exactly what I'd just thought, even as the sentiment was still crossing the forefront of my mind.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhK6BKyluFhhC1MGxgTrUn2bF39Ec-OZLzSH9lzqeIJ-RrFuK0tTZKKzzScSFQckr6KVbEn81PttnNa9gswA74HXUi42Xpfve27B-r7oaYp4VG9pLRpxxPC3IHqzXp0ftrCy8Eo50j-vR/s1600/justbe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1600" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhK6BKyluFhhC1MGxgTrUn2bF39Ec-OZLzSH9lzqeIJ-RrFuK0tTZKKzzScSFQckr6KVbEn81PttnNa9gswA74HXUi42Xpfve27B-r7oaYp4VG9pLRpxxPC3IHqzXp0ftrCy8Eo50j-vR/s320/justbe.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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(And, no, I couldn't possibly have read the fortune ahead of time and been subconsciously influenced, both due to the fact that, first, I'd begun the chain of thoughts at the other end of the parking lot, as to be totally objective and independent; and, second, the paper and its text were so small, they only became readable after I'd picked up the fortune and brought it to my face, impossible to have been readable by me even peripherally ...)</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-260201438618494992018-02-28T18:23:00.003-08:002018-02-28T18:24:19.845-08:00The "Nearby Stranger" SynchronicityImagine this, if you will:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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 <i>away</i> from you, such
that it's physically impossible for them to see what you're reading, in any case.<br />
<br />
You blink, struck by the echo. Did you really just hear that? You give pause ... then return to your reading. Just a coincidence. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
However, moments later, it happens again. Different word, but as randomly, and with that same impossibly precise timing. <br />
<br />
Then, before you've sufficiently convinced yourself of the last one's insignificance, a third echo occurs -- and this time it's <i>two</i> words, and these more specific, obscure, rarer, not heard in everyday language. And with that same, synchronous overlap.</blockquote>
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 <i>dozen</i>, 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.<br />
<br />
That's the "nearby stranger" type of synchronicity I speak of, and it is one I have experienced, to date, several dozen times.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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:</div>
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8/24/15</div>
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<br /></div>
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"[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'"</div>
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<br /></div>
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9/14/15</div>
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<br /></div>
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"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"</div>
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6/23/16</div>
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<br /></div>
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"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."</div>
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<br /></div>
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6/29/16</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"[...] 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."</div>
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<br /></div>
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7/5/16</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"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)."</div>
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<br /></div>
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8/31/16</div>
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<br /></div>
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"[...] 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 [...]"</div>
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11/4/16</div>
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<br /></div>
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"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"</div>
</blockquote>
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And so on and so forth. Again, I'll avoid overstatement, and end the post here. Make of it what you will.</div>
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<br /></div>
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(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 <a href="http://synchronicitybook.com/log.html">the log</a>.)</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-73490226954079289382018-01-19T18:26:00.003-08:002018-01-19T18:26:48.116-08:00Snoopy Experiences Synchronicities, Too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBw_AZH_iL19E1KIYOAy4UkDy7riYYEGx_SHbBHntb2GiCa7oMWDKIueJ9vqoCpAtwck2xjCFiqg_vFnG9n8-oHbWZpkIROPk1kd5njP1ZyzN3z4ycSzM9wjMf-51jYDAhpBdARvJ2AO-/s1600/snoopy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="1200" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBw_AZH_iL19E1KIYOAy4UkDy7riYYEGx_SHbBHntb2GiCa7oMWDKIueJ9vqoCpAtwck2xjCFiqg_vFnG9n8-oHbWZpkIROPk1kd5njP1ZyzN3z4ycSzM9wjMf-51jYDAhpBdARvJ2AO-/s320/snoopy.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-61412149136686459302017-12-14T18:20:00.001-08:002017-12-14T18:20:25.193-08:00... And the Book-Thematics ContinueA quick follow-up to <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/2017/11/enter-thematic.html">my last post</a>, about my recent book-thematic incident involving Kafka's <i>Metamorphosis</i>.<br />
<br />
It happened again. And, this time the circumstances were even more improbable.<br />
<br />
In short: instead of forgetting my book and being forced to grab one randomly from the internet, I finished one unexpectedly and was left without a replacement or a place to buy one, after which I eventually unearthed one from a random mound of trash along a random city street in the middle of the night -- yet, it turned out to be as synchronistic and life-echoing as the first one (and, as I would discover, quite a good read, too).<br />
<br />
My rambling 12/6/17 log entry describes it best (and is oddly appropriate, given the sheer craziness at play), so I'll let it speak for itself, verbatim:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"[...] It started yesterday when the fasting book proved to be shorter than I'd expected, and thus left me finishing it at dinnertime last night and not having a replacement lined up for lunch today, and so last night I'd gone searching for either a free book somewhere, or one thrown away as trash, or a book store -- and, in the end, all I found was a trash book, and at the end of a hugely random search that I won't bother trying to detail other than that it contained a lot of Compellings, and eventually me getting lost and having to double back through several blocks of the city several times -- and then, at the end of this headspinning ordeal, I Just Happened to come to a big pile of 'someone moved out of their apartment'-type of mounds of trash, in which was a big bag of books, and in which I found this "Short Eyes" book (which, besides being notable itself given the chances of getting any books from random trash, this one was actually one I had on my list that I wanted to read, after hearing about it somewhere several months ago -- a little ask-n-receive in itself, pretty much standout quality in itself). So then, just like the Kafka book from last week or whenever that happened, I ended up reading this ridiculously random, couldn't-have-been-less-likely "Short Eyes" book at lunch today, yet it managed to echo not only my life/thoughts in longwinded thematic/parallel fashion, but also to echo a bunch more of those small in-the-moment thought/environmental events -- just so incredible and living-dream, even after it had happened before, haha."</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And then the next day, it happened <i>again</i>, identical in nature and insane unlikelihood, but now involving a random eBook I'd downloaded years ago, partially read, and then abandoned ... only to return to it out of simple necessity on 12/7, and find it to echo my life and circumstances and surroundings at that particular date and time.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Another befittingly messy log entry:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
"[...] And today was identical even in the book being yet another 'ridiculously/impossibly random book read only because of finishing one without having another one ready,' this time, after my looking for a book or a bookstore or even a good magazine to read on the way to lunch and finding nothing, I found myself looking through my Kindle, even though logic would say this was pointless since all the books on there were logically ones I'd already read. Except that I did finally come across one (Compelled to keep looking despite all appearances/logic) that I'd totally forgotten about, a book I'd read the first chapter or two of and then decided I couldn't keep going with it at the time, but still left on there, unfinished. So I ended up reading this random old ebook, and even the chapter I chose to start at was totally random, with my having no memory of where I'd left off (the Kindle had since reset the reading position for some reason) -- and yet, despite all these layers of randomness, it still managed to echo all sorts of things that had happened last night, this morning, and also several small 'in the moment'-type incidents during lunch (such as my coming to 'he was halfway out the door' precisely as a man randomly walked through the double sliding doors directly in front of my table at the market I was eating at, not only echoing the 'out the door' but also the 'halfway,' since the man was going through the first of two doors/halfway out, etc). Again incredibly notable despite its subjectivity/subtly, for all kinds of reasons ..."</div>
</blockquote>
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* * *</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I will again bid the reader to make of this what they will. But, after a triple play like this, I gotta admit: it's hard not to lean toward the obvious conclusion.</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-15305252620178960172017-11-30T18:38:00.000-08:002017-11-30T18:38:10.858-08:00Enter the "Thematic"And still my synchronistic adventures continue to evolve, now with the emergence of yet another sub-type: the "thematic" incident.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=echo">the echo-type of incident</a>, but differentiated in behavior (and, usually, in the "texture" of the ultimate experience, in a way difficult to convey in writing).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And then, the next day, it happened again.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And would you believe that, the next day, the pattern repeated itself? The word "trifecta" comes to mind. (And "wow.")<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Indeed, quite surreal. And new, too. But this "thematic" business wasn't finished, nor fully developed.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
This one, too, began with a book -- or, rather, my <i>lack</i> of one.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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: <i>The Metamorphosis</i>, by Kafka (which I'd never read, believe it or not).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>Metamorphosis</i> in particular.<br />
<br />
Need I tell you what happened next?<br />
<br />
It was the 'Guinea Pig' book all over again, from the very first page, with <i>Metamorphosis</i> 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 <i>hadn't even been on my radar until seconds earlier</i>. 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.<br />
<br />
Living. Dream. <br />
<br />
Afterward, I was left feeling that my morning had been gathered up, put in a blender, and poured into this book.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
And need I say that it didn't even stop there, with the thematic-type incidents?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-83479448879894834472017-10-09T18:03:00.002-07:002017-10-09T18:03:53.805-07:00The North American Writing SpiderYep: there's a spider known by this particular name. Never heard of it? Well, you're not alone, because I didn't either, until just recently.<br />
<br />
Not until I met the man on the street, as it were.<br />
<br />
The meeting occurred on a rather ordinary day: early afternoon, outside a coffee shop along a downtown sidewalk, where I was eating lunch <i>al fresco</i>. Ordinary; and then came this man. The encounter was un-ordinary from the start, because the man greeted me without prelude, suddenly and aimlessly, as if we knew each other ... but we didn't know each other. Still, I remained friendly, and we exchanged some small-talk.<br />
<br />
Then, also from out of the blue: I was introduced to the spider.<br />
<br />
Again without lead-up or prelude, appropriate to nothing, the man proceeded describe this "North American Writing Spider," along with a vague story about how he'd learned of it (which I don't remember exactly, but, I'm sure, did not involve his being accosted by a random man on the street). From there, the encounter grew even more awkward, palpably so, until I drew on the last of my friendliness reserves and bid the man good day.<br />
<br />
With that, we parted ways, back to being pedestrian and diner, the end. However, the man did leave me with one takeaway about that Writing spider: despite its large size and elaborate markings, it was quite harmless (and, actually, performed various good works within the garden ecology, as many spiders do).<br />
<br />
Afterward, during the rest of my meal, I was left with the distinct thought: <i>North American Writing Spider ... harmless</i>. And then, consequently, I had another thought: of the spiders my mother is deathly afraid of.<br />
<br />
These spiders, which appear in number at a family property every autumn (and grow notoriously large, with menacing yellow stripes), are well known to my mother, who is petrified of them, dramatically so. In fact, the spiders had just come up in a recent conversation with her, a week or so before my strange enlightenment regarding the North American Writing Spider.<br />
<br />
<i>I wonder what those spiders are called ...?</i> I thought next.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
At this point, you might see where this is going. And, well, you aren't wrong: the spiders at the family property, the big ugly yellow-striped ones that terrify my mother from a mile away? Yeah: they're North American Writers.<br />
<br />
Sniffing all the telltale signs of a synchronistic recurrence, I suspected as much shortly after my categorically bizarre meeting with the man on the street (<a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/">because these things do happen to me, you know</a>). But, even after consulting the internet for some pictures, I couldn't say for sure until the seasons changed and the spiders made their appearance.<br />
<br />
Now, they've appeared. And after a second, in-the-flesh comparison, there's no question of their species.<br />
<br />
But no worries, because they are, after all, totally harmless!<br />
<br />
[Note:<br />
If you are the gentleman who so obtusely but kindly shared with me this information about the Writing Spider, I would love to hear your side of the encounter, and why you felt led to approach me and say what you did. And, I think, maybe some other folks might like to know, too ...]A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-10319495853644907732017-09-15T19:06:00.002-07:002017-09-15T19:07:15.095-07:00Breaking the Rules (aka, "Another Ask-and-Receive")Once again: <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=ask">I asked, and I received</a>.<br />
<br />
This time, my asking was for sleep. A chronic insomniac since childhood (a condition which has grown progressively worse with age), I was on the road, and very tired after a long drive; by mid-afternoon, the thought of another night of my characteristically broken sleep was unappealing to me -- <i>particularly</i> unappealing, in fact, in a keen way that, in years past, I'd learned to live with. By this point in my life, I'd come to automatically ignore such plaintive desires for normal sleep, as a rule.<br />
<br />
That night, however, for the first time in many years, I broke that rule, when I found myself Asking: for sleep. Just a good, simple, lazy night of blackout-drunk, well-baby sleep.<br />
<br />
But there was more behind this spontaneous request. Not only was I especially beat, but I was about to cross into a new time zone, therefore "losing" an hour, which would screw up my schedule in various uninteresting ways I won't describe. As it were, it would've been much more convenient for me to sleep late and then "lose" my hour in the morning, rather than in the afternoon -- that is, another circumstance as rare and infrequent as my being so oddly tired that day. Together, the two conspired to see me send up my strange little prayer, despite it meaning a regression in my personal discipline.<br />
<br />
Well, you can guess the rest (or, at least, you can if you've read this blog to any extent): that night, I slept.<br />
<br />
Though, I didn't just sleep, nor did I have what might be considered, by any measure, a good night's sleep. No: I <i>slept</i>, both deeply and for nearly <i>twelve hours</i>. For me, who is accustomed to maybe 5-6 hours of light, soupy sleep on average (this interrupted by a half-dozen or so wake-ups, from which I might or might not return to sleep, if I'd ever gotten to sleep in the first place) ... it was simply unprecedented (or maybe "orgasmic" is a better description). Upon getting up and seeing the curiously bright sunlight invading my blinds, I was quite literally speechless. Go without something for decades, and its return might well as be for the first time.<br />
<br />
And my, what a coincidence: this fluke, inhumanly long night's sleep had Just Happened to coincide with my equally uncommon (and explicit) request.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
There's a footnote to this incident.<br />
<br />
I'd taken an herbal sleep-supplement that night, for the first time, after being Compelled to buy it at a random store I'd stopped at that day -- the obvious cause, right? It made perfect sense, as to be the rare, clear logical explanation for this kind of thing ... until I took the stuff again (and several times since), and my miracle sleep did not repeat itself. Likewise, after reviewing that day for anything else I might've done differently (I keep a comprehensive health journal of such minutiae, for just such a reason), I came up with nothing that would logically explain my little windfall.<br />
<br />
To be fair, maybe there was some logical, causal factor that brought about my mysterious slumber, and I'm just unaware of it. Then again, taking into account <a href="http://www.synchronicitybook.com/">the ridiculously synchronistic nature of my adult life</a> ... maybe not.A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-49276522729980833162017-08-19T18:10:00.002-07:002017-08-19T18:10:40.944-07:00Ask and Ye Shall Receive ... A MassageWhen I saw who would be my massage therapist, it was the ultimate double-take moment.<br />
<br />
The short of it: for weeks, I'd been trying to work a therapeutic massage into my schedule, and, also, I'd been trying to get it with a certain, new therapist who works out of the gym I attend -- in fact, I'd been <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=compelled"><i>Compelled</i></a> to book with this particular therapist, in an especially urgent yet wholly baseless and illogical fashion I've come to know well. However, once I finally got the time to get my much-delayed massage, it just didn't work out with that therapist, with my needing to be in another part of town for other obligations.<br />
<br />
Therefore, I instead booked with a different outfit, convenient to where I'd be that day. They have a rotation of therapists, and you never know who you'll get; but no worries, because I'd never once gotten a bad massage at this place, whomever the therapist.<br />
<br />
So, fast-forward to when I arrived at my appointment -- and was summarily shocked. First: by the sight of the aforementioned therapist I'd been so stubbornly Compelled to book with; she does massages out of this place too, as it turned out (unbeknownst to me, of course). Then, I was soon shocked anew, when it turned out that, not only does this therapist practice where I'd Just Happened to book (over thirty miles from my gym) -- but she Just Happened to be randomly assigned to me upon my making the appointment that morning.<br />
<br />
Chance? Not impossible, surely. But, in the context of the dozens upon dozens of similarly unlikely incidents catalogued in this blog ... it didn't feel like chance.<br />
<br />
(And, the clincher: the massage I received ended up being exceptionally good, and in a unique, therapeutic fashion that I've never quite experienced with another therapist, when I'd been so illogically Compelled to book with that uniquely therapeutic therapist ...)A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-20500731804750072372017-06-20T18:11:00.000-07:002017-06-20T18:11:00.534-07:00The 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 "<a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-echo-synchronicity.html">thought-echo</a>."<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
Take, for example, my initial experience of this curious phenomenon.<br />
<br />
Log entry from 6/12/17, quoted verbatim:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"[...] 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."</blockquote>
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:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"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 ..."</blockquote>
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 ...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"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."</blockquote>
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:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"[...] 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)."</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In any case, make of it what you will.</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-44796456763566306002017-05-19T18:27:00.000-07:002017-05-19T18:27:05.556-07:00Another New "Another New Kind of Synchronicity" PostLet it be said: I continue to have "synchronistic" experiences, and daily (and, usually, in volume). Likewise, I continue to experience new types of synchronicities.<br />
<br />
The latest: the "random magazine page-turn."<br />
<br />
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 <i>before</i> I turn the page, when the next leaf is still 100% invisible (yet, only <i>very slightly</i> before the page-turn, just fractions of a second, such that the corresponding "echo" occurs near-instantaneously).<br />
<br />
Case in point, verbatim from <a href="http://synchronicitybook.com/log.html">my log</a>, on 5/12/17:<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
And then, another one, just a day later:<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
Then, a few days later (on the 17th), another one, pretty much identical:<br />
<br />
[...] 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).<br />
<br />
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):<br />
<br />
[...] 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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
And, as a fun little footnote to these log excerpts: they are, indeed, merely <i>excerpts</i>, 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 ...A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-43696636404933284022017-04-25T15:34:00.001-07:002017-04-25T15:34:10.098-07:00The "Echo" SynchronicityYep, another new kind of incident: the "thought echo."<br />
<br />
I've been experiencing these for some time, more or less. However, as of late, this particular kind has been predominant, and refined itself into a reasonably consistent pattern, for whatever reason. My first few months of 2017 have been something of an "echo chamber," you could say.<br />
<br />
In my personal synchronistic lexicon, the echo-type is simple in concept, yet quite striking in effect: the recurrence of my inner reality in <i>external</i> reality, often in real-time. Usually, this will involve a thought or feeling of mine, or an event I'm currently experiencing, being somehow doubled in the outside world -- as to be "echoed" (or, sometimes the more appropriate description might be "reflected"). Thus, a typical thought-echo would be, say, randomly thinking of "balloons," at the exact instant that, from out of nowhere, a windblown balloon sails across my vision (and, usually, it would be the first balloon I'd seen in months or maybe years, and my thinking of balloons in the first place would arise due to some separate, totally unrelated event, such as hearing "balloon" on a nearby radio).<br />
<br />
Here's an actual example.<br />
<br />
This incident, which occurred amidst many similar ones on the afternoon 4/18/17, personifies the "thought echo" -- and doubly so, as it were. It began rather subtly: when, while driving down the road, I suddenly stopped for a car trying to enter traffic, feeling utterly <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=compelled">Compelled</a> to do so -- and, right as the car came forward and the driver gave a friendly wave, my radio randomly sang "let it all out." And there you have it: at the exact instant I "let out" the car, the radio "echoed" this event, and with reasonable precision, both literally and essentially.<br />
<br />
Now, at this point, there wasn't much of an incident to speak of. Yes, the theme of "letting out" was echoed pretty coherently, and the timing of the two coinciding events couldn't possibly have been tighter (and, what's more, I'd experienced many nearly identical incidents just that day alone, as to establish a pattern). But, all the same, it's not impossible that this was, simply, a traditional coincidence, and not even a hugely unlikely one.<br />
<br />
But then the soda popped.<br />
<br />
The can of Pepsi was lying beside me in a plastic bag on the floorboard, put there after I'd picked it up as trash in a parking lot several minutes earlier. Apparently, the can had been in the sun for some time, for it was warm to the touch, and swollen and deformed with pressure. And then, apparently, after being further cooked on the hot floorboard when I'd begun driving, the poor can just couldn't take it anymore -- and so it popped, spraying caramel-colored foam with a serpentine hiss.<br />
<br />
It popped, at the exact instant the lyric refrained on the radio: "let it all out."<br />
<br />
And, indeed, the soda was quite entirely "let out," as to fill the extent of the trash bag (which, thankfully, I'd tied closed after dropping the can inside).<br />
<br />
Not just one "echo," but two, back to back, within the space of seconds.<br />
<br />
After pulling off and successfully dumping the soda-filled bag before it could despoil my car's carpet floorboard, I stood by the trashcan for some time. Synchroshocked.A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-31438211287596907122017-04-10T18:44:00.002-07:002017-04-10T18:44:55.326-07:00Ask and Ye Shall Receive: Foodie EditionAnd now, the latest episode in <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=ask+and+receive">my saga of "ask and ye shall receive" synchronicities</a>.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm receiving food, manna-from-Heaven-style.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
I eat organic food, or I try to, anyhow. Whenever organics are available, and whenever finances allow, I opt for the good stuff (for reasons I'll leave the inquiring reader to research on their own).<br />
<br />
However, even when organics aren't available ... they still are, sometimes. I'll explain.<br />
<br />
One ordinary day, I was at a supermarket, stalking the produce department, when I had the thought: <i>I'd like some onion with dinner</i>. Then, immediately afterward: <i>Do they carry organic onions here?</i><br />
<br />
With that, I checked the nearby stall of bulk onions, and its sign, which would indicate an organic variety -- but no luck. Yet, rather than moving on (as would be logical), I approached the big, sprawling heap of non-organic onions, feeling illogically <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=compelled">Compelled</a> to do so.<br />
<br />
Once there, my eyes were drawn to one particular onion in the spread. After looking closer, I stopped dead: this onion's label was different than the others.<br />
<br />
It was an organic onion.<br />
<br />
<i>Ah, so they're organic but it's just not on the sign</i>, was my initial thought. But, no: all the rest of the onions that I examined -- and I examined quite a few -- were definitely non-organic, as established clearly on their labels (which were patently unlike that on the organic odd-ball).<br />
<br />
I double-checked the first, organic one I'd found: yep, definitely organic, as well as visibly different than its bin-mates, as to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.<br />
<br />
I combed the produce department, sure that there was another bin of onions somewhere, with the organic kindred of the castaway ... but, nope: no organic onions in sight.<br />
<br />
Then, in the well-lit abundance of a supermarket produce section, I had a little reckoning: I'd not only found something in a place where that thing should not be, but I'd found it <i>immediately after thinking of how I wanted just that thing</i> (and doing so when I was out of viewing distance of that discovered thing, and because I'd had the genuine, independent, random desire for that thing to fill the gap in my dinner plans that night, as it were).<br />
<br />
I'd not only found an organic onion in a store that didn't sell organic onions, I'd <i>received</i> that onion.<br />
<br />
Once the synchroshock wore off and I'd rebooted myself, I returned to the store's singular bin of onions. After another check for more orphaned organics (which there weren't, from what I saw), I grabbed the miracle-onion. From what I remember, it was delicious.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Okay, I know what you're thinking (or what <i>someone</i> out there is thinking, no doubt): <i>The organic onion just got mixed in with the others, probably during sorting in a shared warehouse. It was just a fluke, and you just got lucky</i>.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Certainly a valid point, and a real possibility. Sure, it was awfully ironic that I'd Just Happen to be a man in need of an organic onion at that precise time, at that precise market (with the lone organic right on top of the wide, sprawling two-deep mound, and on the very side that I'd approached it on, no less) -- but, still, unlikely as it was, it could indeed have been chance, and I really mean that. And, yes, even when it's considered how that onion-needing man has experienced <i>dozens upon dozens upon dozens</i> of remarkably similar and equally unlikely such coincidences ... still, I can't 100% rule out that, indeed, I was just lucky enough to get what I wanted, when I happened to want it, and in a pretty cool way.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But then it happened again.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The scenario was almost identical: I was browsing a market's produce section when I was struck with the need to round out my dinner with a particular organic food -- and, lo and behold, I found one, despite the store not stocking an organic variety of that particular item. And, it again happened almost instantaneously, with mere seconds between my asking-thought and the food's discovery.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This time, it was an avocado rather than an onion, and in a smaller market, but otherwise, exactly the same: a lone, organic avocado in a great big bin of cheapie non-organics. Even the physical circumstances were the same: I had the thought, approached the bin immediately after, and there, right on top of the mound, directly in my line of sight, on my side of the wide sprawl, without my having to so much as shift my eyes, was my organic avocado. And, sure enough, a search of the store revealed no other organic avocados (there was another avocado bin, inside, but it too offered only non-organics).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, for the record: not only did I experience the rather unlikely little windfall of getting that organic onion when I shouldn't have, but that same weird lightning struck twice (and, as it were, only four months later, when I've never otherwise seen organic produce in a non-organic bin, before or after).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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I'm just a pretty darn lucky guy, I guess.</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-33380502638237366682017-04-04T18:17:00.002-07:002017-04-04T18:17:33.307-07:00A Friendly Reminder: Full Synchronicity Log AvailableSince it's not mentioned directly on this blog:<br />
<br />
The complete log of my synchronistic experiences, indexed and unedited, is available on the <a href="http://synchronicitybook.com/">website for my book, <i>Synchronicity: One Man's Experience</i></a>. (Click on "The Log" on the sidebar.)A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-756959124311055972017-03-26T18:08:00.004-07:002017-03-26T18:08:57.503-07:00Meet the Involuntary Bodily Function SynchronicityYep, the "involuntary bodily function" synchronicity.<br />
<br />
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.)<br /><br /><a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/2016/10/no-im-not-making-these-up-i-promise.html">As documented previously</a>, 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.<br /><br />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.<br />
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As quoted verbatim from my log:<br />
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2/11/17<br />
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"[...] 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)."<br />
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3/3/17<br />
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"[...] 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)."<br />
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3/19/17<br />
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"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."<br />
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3/23/17<br />
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"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."</blockquote>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-68842836108140352192017-02-26T14:49:00.002-08:002017-02-26T14:49:27.825-08:00More Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Faster and Faster)Recently, I had a distinct thought: <i>I need a new book.</i><br />
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Approximately a minute later, I found a book, abandoned on a random park bench.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Sound incredible, perhaps impossible (or, perhaps <i>fictional</i>?) Wait'll you read the circumstances in which this occurred ...<br />
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First, <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/2017/02/2717-ask-and-ye-shall-more-quickly.html">the context on my latest ask-and-receive adventures</a> (in case you don't see the post immediately below this one).</div>
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As for the circumstances of the event itself, this "receipt" occurred on a pleasant winter afternoon in a city park -- a city which, as it were, I did way too much walking in, for I ended up irritating an irritable knee, leaving me unable to walk even the short distance back home. Thus, I was forced to seek out a bench, on which I collapsed and then began calling up a ride on my phone.</div>
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Halfway through, however, I stopped: I needed a new book. About to finish my current read, I needed a new one lined up. And, I needed it before I retired for the evening (gotta have my reading material, as breath).</div>
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<i>Need a new book</i>, I thought then. I'd planned on stopping for one on the way home, but were I to hail a ride, a stop-off wouldn't be possible (unless I wanted to pay for two rides, and just complicate the whole thing in general).</div>
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With that, I decided to try walking again, if only to a bus stop. After all, my knee had spontaneously healed up in the past, after a short rest. And so I got up, walked several feet ... and promptly winced in pain as my knee screamed out, refusing to go further.</div>
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Ultimately, I made it only as far as the next sequential bench.</div>
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And it was there that I "received": when I began to sit down, something was in my way, occupying my intended bench-space. Of course, it was a book -- and not only a book, but one that actually <i>appealed</i> to me, of an appropriate length and type, and of a subject matter that engaged me at this particular time (I'm really picky about my books, with my tastes changing from day to day ...). And, it bears mentioning: this book, though resting just one bench down as I'd done my silent "asking," was completely invisible to me then, being tucked out of sight behind the second bench's arm rest -- such that I couldn't possibly have seen it and been "tipped off" to its presence, even subconsciously in my peripheral vision.</div>
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In this blog's previous post, I'd said my ask-and-receives were getting faster. Well, apparently this quickening process isn't yet finished.</div>
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But wait, there's more (as there almost always is with my synchronistic experiences).</div>
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The next day, it happened again, almost exactly the same: while walking down a random street, needing to stop randomly to sip some water and adjust my bags, I sat on a random bench -- only to find another book preceding me there. Just like the first one, less than 24 hours earlier. Déjà vu, big time.</div>
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Though, it <i>wasn't</i> exactly the same, for this time my discovery was not asked for; instead, I just ... found another book. All the same, it still makes me wonder: was this also a synchronistic incident, just of another kind? That is, perhaps rather than being a second "ask and receive"-type of incident, this one was, simply, a recurrence of yesterday's discovery of a book left randomly on a bench -- as a typical, "normal" <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=recurrence">synchronistic recurrence</a>, one that just happened to "echo" a respectively different synchronicity.</div>
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Then again, maybe this repeat was just chance, however unlikely (is this a common practice, leaving books on benches for others to find? I mean, I've done it myself, setting out books in conspicuous places after I've finished them, in bread-on-the-waters fashion; but I had no idea others did this). But, to again go the other way, I'll say this: in all my life (and in the many flat surfaces I've graced with my rear end), I've never once found a book on a bench ... and then it happened twice, less than a day apart.</div>
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Oh, and just so there's no confusion: yes, this really happened. Proof? I have none, beyond my word (of an anonymous internet blogger, no less); but, then again, I pass along my experiences for informational purposes only. This post, like everything I write here, comes with the standard disclaimer: take it or leave it, believe it or don't, for what it's worth (whatever it's worth).</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-82604010080118290632017-02-06T18:36:00.003-08:002017-02-06T19:04:44.002-08:00Ask and Ye Shall (More Quickly) ReceiveAh, the <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=ask+and+ye">"ask and ye shall receive" synchronicity</a>. One of my favorite varieties -- because, after all, who doesn't like receiving what they've asked-for?<br />
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These days, however, I've experienced a trend in these sort of incidents: they're speeding up. That is, I'm receiving <i>faster</i>.<br />
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* * *</div>
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Let's begin with an example of a traditional, delayed, "normal" a-and-r-type synchro (as if anything of the sort can ever feel normal ...).<br />
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It happened this past December, right around Christmas time, beginning with a random, years-old copy of <i>Rolling Stone</i>. In one of the magazine's articles, it mentioned solitary confinement and the psychological effects it often has on prisoners. <i>Hmm, wouldn't mind learning more on that subject</i>, I thought.<br />
<br />
Jump forward a couple days, when I was reading a second random copy of <i>Rolling Stone</i>, also several years old (but a year or two newer than the first). In this one, I came across a second article: about solitary confinement and the psychological effects it often has on prisoners. Except, this one was devoted fully to the subject, going at it in-depth -- and, thus, fully satisfying the explicit request I'd made just days previous.<br />
<br />
In a touch of irony, the second article even mentioned how, in a previous issue of <i>Rolling Stone</i>, the topic of solitary confinement had been touched on in an unrelated piece. (And, of course, my selecting these two particular issues, and my receiving them in the first place, was entirely random, with each pulled blindly out of a thick stack in an enclosed drawer -- that is, with no way that I could've been influenced in my selections, even subconsciously.)<br />
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Interesting? Yes. But, apparently, waiting a few days for my "receipt" is too long, as a couple recent incidents demonstrate.</div>
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Take the one that occurred on February 3rd of this year, for instance.</div>
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As I drove up to a store, I was rocking out to "Girls, Girls, Girls," the classic Crue song, after it had cropped up unexpectedly on the radio. However, as much as I was enjoying myself, I was short on time and so had to leave the car before the song could finish, therefore depriving myself of its last leg (including the guitar solo and its top-octave peak).</div>
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<i>Man, wish I could hear the rest of that</i>, I thought as I killed the engine and stepped from the car.</div>
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I was only gone fifteen minutes, but, of course, the song was finished long before. However, as I keyed my car, I was startled to hear the unmistakable scratch of Mick Mars's guitar -- playing the solo of "Girls, Girls, Girls." As it were, the music was the backing track of an advertisement (for a strip club, hence the choice of song).</div>
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And, thus, I Received the last leg of "Girls, Girls, Girls," almost exactly where it had left off from before.</div>
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* * *</div>
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But, the Receiving would speed up even more.</div>
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Case in point: another incident involving a classic-rock song on the radio, occurring just the day after that of the "Girls, Girls, Girls."</div>
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I was cruising down the road, again grooving on some particularly agreeable guitar-rock that had come on at just the right time. This song, however, I didn't recognize, other than the fact that it sounded suspiciously like Journey.</div>
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<i>Wonder who that is</i>, I thought in between fits of air guitar. <i>Sounds sorta like Journey</i>.</div>
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Approximately two seconds later, I stopped at a red light, with a car in front of me -- a car with a big, prominent emblem reading "JOURNEY," arriving before the word had time to leave my mind. It created something of an echo effect, which I can only describe as <i>utterly surreal</i>.<br />
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(And, yes, it was indeed a Journey song, "Stone in Love," as confirmed later when I looked up the lyrics.)</div>
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If only Amazon could fulfill requests so quickly.</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-22908205372758859492016-11-18T18:57:00.002-08:002016-11-18T18:57:49.885-08:00More Book SynchronicityThe book was echoing my present reality, it seemed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=book">It wasn't the first time I'd experienced this phenomenon</a>, 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.<br />
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For starters, consider the context of my actually buying the book.<br />
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My copy of <i>States of Confusion</i> 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 <i>States of Confusion</i> book, which I would buy just minutes later, was about just that: a big, meandering, cross-country roadtrip.<br />
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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 <i>States</i> 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 <i>at all</i>, with my having zero plans to go there that day, nor any overt reason to do so ...)<br />
<br />
Regardless, the book's synchronistic purchase was just the beginning. As it so happened, I finished my last read and then began the <i>States of Confusion</i> 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:<br />
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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 <i>stranger's</i> 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.<br />
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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 <i>States</i> 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 <i>last</i> it mentioned it ...).<br />
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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 ...<br />
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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 <i>being</i> 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 ...<br />
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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 ...<br />
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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 <i>States</i> 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 ...<br />
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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. A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-61881207243984049722016-10-27T18:42:00.003-07:002016-10-27T18:42:29.265-07:00No I'm Not Making These Up (I Promise)Just when I thought myself schooled in synchronicities, knowing all their variants and species and subspecies ... nope.<br />
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The newest to establish itself: the "involuntary bodily function" synchro.<br />
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What're these? Just what the name implies: my body performing some involuntary function at the exact instant that that function's essence is expressed elsewhere, externally from me (in, say, a book or a sign or some independent event). Example: my bowels churning precisely as I randomly read "churn" in a book (this exact one has happened to me, multiple times, as it were). Besides the synchroshock value of the whole thing, these incidents are exceptionally noteworthy due to their involuntary nature --<i> </i>which is to say, their <i>objective</i> nature, as to almost totally rule out chance coincidence as a reasonable explanation. After all, even if the "churn" I randomly read were visible to me, in my peripheral vision prior to directly reading the word, it could not have conceivably influenced the synchronistic corollary event, except perhaps on a deeply subconscious level (though, more often than not, this happens when the word isn't visible beforehand <i>at all</i>).<br />
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Try consciously making your bowels churn. It's like trying to wriggle your ears, but exponentially more difficult (and more awkward). Personally, I cannot make my bowels churn on command, however loudly I yell at them.<br />
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No I'm not kidding. I've actually had this happen to me, and not just a few times, either.<br />
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* * * </div>
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Take the afternoon of 10/20/16, for instance.<br />
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I had just sat down to lunch and a book, minding my own business -- when, a couple bites in, a weird (yet wonderful) energy shot up my spine and into the left side of my head, leaving me feeling like a Christmas tree with its star turned on. Then, coinciding perfectly with this phenomenon, I read "left side of the brain" in the book I had open. The phrase registered with precise, keen timing, as to correspond seamlessly with my thought of, "Energy in the left side of my brain."<br />
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And, it bears mentioning: I'd had no such weird/wonderful energy-jolts prior to that one, nor did I have any after. Likewise, the book's mention of the left side of the brain was as random and singular, not occurring before or after my physical phenomenon -- which is to say, I hadn't been having these all day, nor had the book devoted an entire chapter to the brain's left side. Instead, both of these single, fluke incidents Just Happened to coincide, and at that exact instant ...<br />
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Or, how about another, from a couple weeks earlier, on 10/6/16.<br />
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Same deal as before, except this time it involved my spleen rather than my head. Precisely as I randomly read "twitched" in a book -- my spleen twitched, in a distinctive (and irksome) way that I experience from time to time (but, on that day, I'd not had happen for hours).<br />
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Or, how about this one, also of recent note (10/14).<br />
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Just like the last one, basically, except that this time I was writing rather than reading, in a personal health-journal I keep. Precisely as I wrote about my spleen evacuating the night before (yeah, spleens do, when upset, evacuate gas and the like, if you've never had the pleasure of spleen dysfunction) -- BAM! -- it happened again, my typing out "spleen evacuated" 100% synchronistically with my spleen gurgling empty, as to coincide perfectly.<br />
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<i>Ah!</i> you might say. <i>But this time, you were </i>writing<i> about the involuntary function, and thus thinking about it, and so the thought could've just acted as a subconscious trigger.</i> Yes, good point -- and, perhaps, that was indeed the case. For this one, at least. (Then again, considering I've experienced several others which would fail to be explained in this manner, but were, pattern-wise, nearly identical ... perhaps this one <i>wasn't</i> just some subconscious tomfoolery.)<br />
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Here's a nice little pair, which occurred back-to-back, on the evening of 9/13/16.</div>
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Straight quote from my log:</div>
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Had a couple of late and highly notable reading synchros this evening, both of that "involuntary bodily function corresponding to something read" type. The first was when I was in the sauna and got a sudden surge of that bad upset deep in my left guts, a couple seconds before I read "a vicious congestion of the chest" -- a perfect description of this phenomenon in the guts of mine, couldn't have put it better myself. [...] And then, a little less notable but almost identical in nature: "not so tense" almost precisely as my shoulders visibly/palpably relaxed, causing me to slump, again not quite perfectly synchronistic but certainly close enough to be of note. </div>
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Once more, I could post additional examples ... but I won't. If you're unconvinced (or curious), go to <a href="http://synchronicitybook.com/log.html">the log</a> and search for "involuntary" in the 2015 and -16 sections. (Not that my log constitutes objective proof of the phenomenon, of course; if nothing else, it's good for a laugh.)</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-24786219469439526592016-10-19T18:30:00.001-07:002016-10-19T18:30:40.682-07:00A Buckshot of "Ask and Ye Shall Receive"In a random book, I read of someone listening to a NASCAR race on the radio. Afterward, I had the thought: <i>You know, I've never once heard a race on the radio</i> ...<br />
<br />
After thirty-some years of life on Earth, you'd think I'd have heard at least a race or two. But no, not once.<br />
<br />
The next day, I was in my car, traveling through a small town in another state, when I lost my radio station. Upon scanning for a new one, I came to a station with an announcer rather than music -- for a NASCAR race.<br />
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* * *</div>
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A few days ago, I noticed my toilet bowl needed cleaning. My first thought was to go for the chlorine-based spray I've always used, but I was stopped by a thought: <i>This stuff is toxic, and pollutes the environment when flushed. There must be a good, nontoxic way to flush the toilet ...</i><br />
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Thirty minutes later, when reading a random magazine, I came across a how-to article for cleaning house -- which mentioned that baking soda and vinegar were great as a "nontoxic way to clean the toilet."<br />
<br />
As it were, I had both. Worked great, and no nastiness. <br />
<br />
(Oh yeah, and the magazine? An issue of 'Parents,' the first I'd never seen, which I'd been Compelled to get from the library's "free" bin, despite being neither a parent nor a parent-to-be nor having the slightest interest in anything parent-y. And, of course, there was nothing about toilet-cleaning anywhere on the magazine's cover ...)<br />
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When on the way to a doctor's appointment, I randomly thought of the waiting room there, and how I would sometimes read its complimentary copies of <i>Rolling Stone</i>. This triggered a second thought: <i>Been a while since I've read a </i>Rolling Stone<i>. Wouldn't mind reading one again sometime.</i></div>
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At the doctor's, I was seen to right away, so I was deprived of waiting in the waiting room and, thus, of leafing through a <i>Rolling Stone</i>. But no matter, because, during my visit, the doctor informed me that she'd recently cleaned out all the magazines in the place, and had felt "led" to save all the copies of <i>Rolling Stone</i> -- for me.</div>
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I left with a veritable stack of the things, as to require a double-bagged bag.</div>
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* * *</div>
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I could list more -- many more. But I won't. You get the idea.</div>
A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-4550566971250453502016-09-09T00:35:00.001-07:002016-09-09T00:37:27.224-07:00The Book-Synchro ReturnsFor those unfamiliar, allow me to recap.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
To see what I mean, browse some <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=book">past examples</a>, why don't you.<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Case in point.<br />
<br />
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 <i>to me</i>, 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 <i>The Wall Street Journal</i>
(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 <i>Wall Street Journal</i>-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 <i>WSJ</i> subject matter, of course, but interests don't factor into Compellings.<br />
<br />
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 (<i>Fast Food Nation</i>, as it were), I came to a section on GM foods, in which it mentioned the company Syngenta.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
But that was just the start. (Remember: the blog-worthy ones gotta be truly exceptional, these days.)<br />
<br />
Next up, Exhibit B: the vitamin book, <i>Planet Heal Thyself</i>.<br />
<br />
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 <i>Planet Heal Thyself</i>, 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 <i>Fast Food Nation</i> (the book that first echoed Syngenta, thus instigating the whole mess) was I Compelled to read the vitamin book.<br />
<br />
This too followed the pattern, with the book just seeming to glow amongst its brethren in the stack, saying <i>Pick me! Pick me!</i> in that special way I've come to recognize.<br />
<br />
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 <i>WSJ</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>visiting</i> 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).<br />
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Exceptional yet? Apparently not, because two days later, it happened all over again.<br />
<br />
Same deal: another randomly bought book (a heady historical title called <i>DNA USA</i>, this time), read as randomly, just after finishing <i>Planet Heal Thyself</i> -- 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).<br />
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For this third one, though, I can foresee an obvious rebuttal: <i>Weren't you already thinking of genetics and the like when you began reading a book with "DNA" in the title?</i> 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 <i>DNA USA</i> book <i>before</i> reading <i>Planet Heal Thyself</i> and the unexpected copy of <i>The Wall Street Journal</i> -- 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, <i>Fast Food Nation</i>). As it so happened, just a couple days prior to my receiving the paper on charity, I'd picked up the <i>DNA USA</i> book from a thrift store, despite having a good, full stack of unread books back at home -- being <i>Compelled</i> to buy it, illogically yet distinctly, as is prominent with these things.<br />
<br />
So, yeah ... exceptional.A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5027264062896540793.post-4833988785643896832016-08-13T16:23:00.001-07:002016-08-13T16:23:54.912-07:00You Just Can't Force These ThingsIt
was one of "those" days.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://synchroshock.blogspot.com/search?q=reading">"reading"-type synchronicities</a> 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.<br />
<br />
With that, my mind's resident skeptic spoke up: <i>If you're really experiencing these surreal synchronicities as you think, then why no bell?</i><br />
<br />
<i>Good question</i>, 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."<br />
<i> </i><br />
Immediately upon reading it this time, I heard a bell sound from behind me -- and not just any bell, but a <i>jingling</i> 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).<br />
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To this, my inner skeptic had no rebuttal. I sat silently for a moment, then laughed.<br />
<br />
But, striking at this was, it wasn't through (whatever "it" is).<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
My skeptic and I shared another telling silence, then I refreshed my laugh.A.A. Garrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07241673391621471642noreply@blogger.com0