The "Echo" Synchronicity

Yep, another new kind of incident: the "thought echo."

I've been experiencing these for some time, more or less. However, as of late, this particular kind has been predominant, and refined itself into a reasonably consistent pattern, for whatever reason. My first few months of 2017 have been something of an "echo chamber," you could say.

In my personal synchronistic lexicon, the echo-type is simple in concept, yet quite striking in effect: the recurrence of my inner reality in external reality, often in real-time. Usually, this will involve a thought or feeling of mine, or an event I'm currently experiencing, being somehow doubled in the outside world -- as to be "echoed" (or, sometimes the more appropriate description might be "reflected"). Thus, a typical thought-echo would be, say, randomly thinking of "balloons," at the exact instant that, from out of nowhere, a windblown balloon sails across my vision (and, usually, it would be the first balloon I'd seen in months or maybe years, and my thinking of balloons in the first place would arise due to some separate, totally unrelated event, such as hearing "balloon" on a nearby radio).

Here's an actual example.

This incident, which occurred amidst many similar ones on the afternoon 4/18/17, personifies the "thought echo" -- and doubly so, as it were. It began rather subtly: when, while driving down the road, I suddenly stopped for a car trying to enter traffic, feeling utterly Compelled to do so -- and, right as the car came forward and the driver gave a friendly wave, my radio randomly sang "let it all out." And there you have it: at the exact instant I "let out" the car, the radio "echoed" this event, and with reasonable precision, both literally and essentially.

Now, at this point, there wasn't much of an incident to speak of. Yes, the theme of "letting out" was echoed pretty coherently, and the timing of the two coinciding events couldn't possibly have been tighter (and, what's more, I'd experienced many nearly identical incidents just that day alone, as to establish a pattern). But, all the same, it's not impossible that this was, simply, a traditional coincidence, and not even a hugely unlikely one.

But then the soda popped.

The can of Pepsi was lying beside me in a plastic bag on the floorboard, put there after I'd picked it up as trash in a parking lot several minutes earlier. Apparently, the can had been in the sun for some time, for it was warm to the touch, and swollen and deformed with pressure. And then, apparently, after being further cooked on the hot floorboard when I'd begun driving, the poor can just couldn't take it anymore -- and so it popped, spraying caramel-colored foam with a serpentine hiss.

It popped, at the exact instant the lyric refrained on the radio: "let it all out."

And, indeed, the soda was quite entirely "let out," as to fill the extent of the trash bag (which, thankfully, I'd tied closed after dropping the can inside).

Not just one "echo," but two, back to back, within the space of seconds.

After pulling off and successfully dumping the soda-filled bag before it could despoil my car's carpet floorboard, I stood by the trashcan for some time. Synchroshocked.

Weekly Roundup 7/13-7/20/18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another New "Another New Kind of Synchronicity" Post

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

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

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

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

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

And then, another one, just a day later:

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Weekly Roundup

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

Why? Not for want of notable synchronicities -- not by any means. Rather, there've been too many, with every day seeing at least one or two incidents notable enough to be merit a full-length post (if not a book, or two ...).

Thus, I've found myself faced with the question of, Which to post about?!?

So, rather than type my fingers to the bone trying to detail all my synchronistic adventures, I will henceforth begin a weekly roundup of highlights (either in terms of "bigness"/profundity, or as an example of a specific, repeating type of incident). Also for reasons of time and energy and finger-health, I will simply provide a brief synopsis, then quote the verbatim log entry in lieu of a full, proper explanation.

* * *

First, a wonderfully cute, and disturbingly surreal, number-related incident from June 23rd, 2018. This one is a particularly vivid example of a certain type I've been seeing a lot of lately, where, immediately after finishing my lunch, I'll encounter the number 37 (or variations thereof) in some notable, conspicuous, and patternistic capacity. As it were, I've been having these almost daily, and nearly identical in form; but that of the 23rd took it to another level of "immediacy." Log entry:

A new record for "immediately after-lunch 37-repeat," this time a "my randomly overhearing a cashier randomly quoting a 37-figure to a customer" one, now from an employee in the kitchen saying "that'll be [something] thirty-seven" to a drive-thru customer, and this coming literally *exactly* as I finished, as in perfectly synchronsitic with my swallowing the last bite of the meal, while I was still seated, etc, ha ha.

Next up, on the 24th, a prime, illustrative example of the classical "thought echo," in which my precise, independent, in-the-moment thought is instantaneously "echoed" in some form, usually by way of the car radio or similar media:

[It happened] when I passed the cardboard dumpster and thought to get out and grab some cardboard from it to cover my food bag and stuff from the sun beating in through the car's windows, but then thought "Can't stop, no time" since I was late for church -- precisely as "I can't stop" sang randomly/singularly from the radio, a classical one in every sense.

Next, another, equally demonstrative radio echo, on the afternoon of the 25th when I randomly turned on my phone to check a web page:

It started when I turned on my phone and, after waiting the few seconds for it to start up and then entering the PIN, I went to tap the icon for the "Chrome" browser -- at the absolute, precise moment the radio randomly/singularly sang out "chrome," in the context of the actual metal rather than the browswer software but still 100% precise literally, and again so ridiculously perfect/intertwined in correlation with my moving to tap the icon and absently/reactively/automatically thinking "tap Chrome now."

Now ... another radio echo. Because, every day, I always have at least one or two (or ten). From the afternoon of the 26th, while rummaging through spice packets in the supermarket:

Another "striking one-word" radio/reading echo at the market, when I pulled up the packet of star anise and thus revealed the big "STAR ANISE" on the label, which I registered particularly because I was looking for the packets of normal anise mixed in, and so had to pay particular attention to whether it was labeled with the "star anise" or just plain "anise," as to take particular notice of the "star" as to make it stand out from the "anise" portion -- precisely as the radio sang out "stars," and this too another of those striking, flawlessly intertwined kind as opposed to the looser, "lazier," "quieter" subtles

And, heck, why not another? This one, however, is of a different, subtler sub-type, "smaller" and simpler in nature, yet no less surreal and notable for it. These, I will often experience a dozen or more times over the course of several hours. From the 27th:

[...]It started when I suddenly remembered to check the mailbox for that letter Mom had sent, thus causing me to absently/automatically think something like "Mom's mail," followed by general thoughts of her -- just before the radio randomly/singularly sang out "Your mother" [...]

Okay, time to change things up, with a lovely little text wall that contains one of the most profound (and messily described) incidents to date. This one was of a kind that I've experienced before, which I've dubbed the "affirmative," where the pattern goes as follows: after my suddenly and randomly experiencing some specific, meaningful life event that brings about personal growth or expansion in some way, I will, a very short time afterward, read something that not only directly echoes that experience, but also affirms that experience in some way, with the affirmation always arising in the most conspicuously random and fully unconnected of forms. That of the 28th, however, trumped even the most-notable of those prior (which becomes evident if you can stomach the rambling stream-of-thought account):

Next up, during lunchtime reading, came the highlight of the day, and probably the "biggest" and most singularly notable incident to date, perhaps one of the biggest ever despite its highly subjective nature. It was another of those enormous, multithreaded, multilayered/multidimensional "affirmative personal-thematic"-type of clusters that I've seen before, spanning the whole of lunchtime reading more or less, but this one excelled previous ones somewhat, due as much to its sheer complexity and precision and notability, and also in its equally notable context/circumstances and its explicit patternistic element. This one not only fit the "affirmative/randomly reading about the exact same meaningful realization I'd just had"-type of pattern, to a T, but it involved realizations that I had *this very morning,* and in no uncertain terms/nothing vague or fuzzy or indirect about it -- a direct, explicit echoing, and of multiple elements/dimensions, in the same context and terms and everything. It all started this morning when I had a big, morning-long battle with trying to silence my mind, particularly that nearly involuntary/automatic/ridiculously strong "background static" mental commentary that will jump up and vocalize/categorize/"logicalize" my thoughts and feelings and general experience, and just pretty much distort my inner reality and perceptions and wreak all manner of mental mischief if I don't keep it in check -- a constant battle always, but especially so during the intense headsickness and mental fuzziness/headfog/general inner-deadened state of this last week or so, with it all pretty much intensifying and climaxing somewhat last night and especially this morning. Then, late morning, it all sort of climaxed when I first got some good perspective/feel for the patterns of it all, then had a lucky, strong lifting of the headsickness, thus enabling me to fully silence that "inner voice/commentary" strongly enough and long enough to really contain it and thus enter into the present/the moment/return to myself somewhat -- all of this bringing about what I internally referred to as "release," specifically, and bringing with it a big rush of the general sentiment involving all the benefits of doing so and how radically it shifts perception/whole being/wellness, etc, etc, etc. In a nut: an enormously powerful experience, not a new one by any means but to a new order/level, etc, such that I carried all my observations and such about it into lunch -- and then, through the entire 1.5 hours of reading then, the book echoed *the whole of that exact experience exactly,* and right from the start of the book, the author describing how he bought an RV and went out into the desert to "silence his inner voice" and the mental/perceptual distortions it brought and so "get back into the present moment" -- and that was just the start, with the man going on to echo all sorts of specifics not only of that general subject but of the exact same observations and practices involved in some way or another in my morning-long experience, and in the exact same terms and such, such as how I'd reflected specifically this morning on how silencing the mind and getting fully into one's stillness and such is, in my personal terminology/lexicon/subjective reference, "going to Heaven" -- which the author echoed *exactly,* in the exact same context and terms both, describing the exact same practice and its disciplines as being the "gateway to Heaven," and explaining it as that exact same thing such that there was no mistaking it. And the same for the "moment of Release," his wording verbatim, which is exactly how I'd internally described my returning to the present moment upon successfully/climactically silencing my inner commentary this morning, as "release" specifically, and in that same pronoun-like sense. And such it went on for probably upwards of a *dozen* such explicit, same-term echoes regarding this general subject plus others entirely, including some vague parallels and recurrences in the mix if I remember right (and another patternistic element I've seen before with these: an absolute silence of other type of activity/incidents during the reading session, again as if intelligently orchestrated so that I could focus purely on the affirmative elements of the thematic cluster ...). And then there's the fact that I was reading this book at all, which was a random ebook I'd discovered and then bookmarked months ago, maybe upwards of a year if I remember right, and only just a few days ago dug out and decided to buy and read as my next book (this once again despite my already having bought another book to read, 100% patternistic with many of these, ha ha). And, equally: the fact that I finished the 'Martian' book last night and then Just Happened to buy, download, and beginning reading this new one today exactly, just hours after I'd had the exact experience that the book would echo in multiple ways exactly (and, of course, the book's overt blurb/description made zero mention of any of this, only describing how it was about a man's experiencing while living in the Slab City colony in the desert, making zero mention of the "stillness" or silencing the mind or any of that -- 100% objective, without the slightest question). Even now, after everything, even past such affirmative echo-clusters ... this one just stands out, nothing less than a living-dream in every way ...

Next, another exemplary case of the sub-type I refer to as the "everyday little thing" recurrence. These incidents go like this: I will encounter some specific, yet not-uncommon, thing that I've not been exposed to in some time -- be it an object, a thought, a feeling, a person, an idea, whatever -- and then, soon after, encounter it again, perhaps only vaguely or indirectly or in a different form than the original, but always the same in essence, and demonstrating the same patternistic elements (and, often, these too occurring perhaps a dozen or more times within the course of a day). On the 29th, this phenomenon manifested, initially, by way of a cartoon:

Another classical cartoon-type of "little thing" echo, today beginning when I read a random cartoon during the mornings clippings where a plumber makes an emergency house-call and charges triple the money (the first I'd encountered this not-exactly-uncommon situation/sentiment in some time, patternistically), and then, in the 'Paris' book at lunch, it mentioned this same damn exact thing to the letter, in a part about this general thing, with the exact words of "nobody ever rings these 24/7 plumbers" because they were so ridiculously expensive/known to charge exhorbitant sums, etc (this coming by way of the author describing how he'd had to call a locksmith in an emergency and ended up being charged $2,000).

Now, finally, another echo-type incident, this one, also, arriving by way of music, except now from a live, human performance rather than a recording on the radio. And, this one is from the 29th, as well, because today, the 30th, was the rare day that saw no singly notable incidents (oh, there were incidents today, just none objective and coherent enough to be described ...):

[It] happened at the farmer's market where the man was playing music for tips, and precisely as I took out the $20 to pay for the pollen, the man randomly/singularly sang out "The devil loaned me twenty bills," in the context of "twenty dollars," again perfectly synchronistic/intertwined with my finding the two ten-dollar bills in my wallet and absently registering them with the thought of "that's $20" or something to that end, perfectly patternistic. Plus, notable context: I'd meant to buy only the $10 bag of pollen, but the lady was out, thus causing me to get the $20 bag and thus pull out $20 instead of $10, ha ha.

Weekly Roundup 7/4-7/11/18

Keeping with the weekly roundup of various notable synchronicities that I started last week, 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).

* * *

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.

[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.

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.

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”

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.

[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

And, from the 7th, yet another radio incident (I know, this is starting to read like last week's post -- there's just so many of these ...).

[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.

And ... another, the next day, and this one included because it was, more or less, exactly like the last one, right down to the type and circumstances and my actions at the time.

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.

Okay, no more radio stuff. From the 9th:

[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.

(I lied)

For the 10th: another radio-echo here, too, but only because it was the best, most "standout-ish" incident of the day.

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.

Alright, this last one, on the 11th, is another echo-type incident, but now involving a nearby stranger and the text of a book.

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).

(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 synchronicitybook.com.)

... And the Book-Thematics Continue

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Another befittingly messy log entry:

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

* * *

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

Enter the "Thematic"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, the next day, it happened again.

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Need I tell you what happened next?

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

Living. Dream.

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

In any case, make of it what you will.

An Echo's Echo

I was writing a tweet while eating dinner, multitasking. As it were, the tweet in question was a synchronicity "report":

"1/26/16 synchronicity: randomly reading 'rumbling' in a book, precisely as a rumbling sounded from the neighbor's RV next door (as randomly)"

Then, mid-tweet, a new synchronicity unfolded: precisely as I typed "rumbling," my guts rumbled audibly, in digestion. The noise and the typing's completion coincided with the same perfectly synchronistic, "impossible to replicate even if I'd practiced it" timing -- the very same unmistakable timing with which the original "rumbling" had occurred.

I laughed. Then finished the tweet, and expanded the original incident's log entry. Then made this blog post. Then laughed some more.

The "Nearby Stranger" Synchronicity

Imagine this, if you will:

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

8/24/15

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

9/14/15

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

6/23/16

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

6/29/16

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

7/5/16

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

8/31/16

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

11/4/16

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

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

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

Ask and Ye Shall (More Quickly) Receive

Ah, the "ask and ye shall receive" synchronicity. One of my favorite varieties -- because, after all, who doesn't like receiving what they've asked-for?

These days, however, I've experienced a trend in these sort of incidents: they're speeding up. That is, I'm receiving faster.

* * *

 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 ...).

It happened this past December, right around Christmas time, beginning with a random, years-old copy of Rolling Stone. In one of the magazine's articles, it mentioned solitary confinement and the psychological effects it often has on prisoners. Hmm, wouldn't mind learning more on that subject, I thought.

Jump forward a couple days, when I was reading a second random copy of Rolling Stone, 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.

In a touch of irony, the second article even mentioned how, in a previous issue of Rolling Stone, 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.)

* * *

Interesting? Yes. But, apparently, waiting a few days for my "receipt" is too long, as a couple recent incidents demonstrate.

Take the one that occurred on February 3rd of this year, for instance.

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).

Man, wish I could hear the rest of that, I thought as I killed the engine and stepped from the car.

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).

And, thus, I Received the last leg of "Girls, Girls, Girls," almost exactly where it had left off from before.

* * *

But, the Receiving would speed up even more.

Case in point: another incident involving a classic-rock song on the radio, occurring just the day after that of the "Girls, Girls, Girls."

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.

Wonder who that is, I thought in between fits of air guitar. Sounds sorta like Journey.

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 utterly surreal.


(And, yes, it was indeed a Journey song, "Stone in Love," as confirmed later when I looked up the lyrics.)

If only Amazon could fulfill requests so quickly.

More Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Faster and Faster)

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Signs

I have a fondness for roadside signs. Or they do for me. Or something. Whatever the nature of our romance, the signs and their contents tend to synchronize with my thoughts (or to music, or conversation, or other signs), as to reflect these things in conspicuous ways, coinciding as if cued. (Yes, these incidents are, really, synchronicities. Sarcasm is an addiction.)

Today, for example: as I was driving down the road with the radio playing, Quiet Riot encouraged me to "get wild!" -- right as I passed a big digital sign, precisely as it cycled to an ad that read "GET WILD!" It made me shake my head and blink, like a cartoon character who'd just been socked in the face (which I kind of was).

But there's more to this -- far more. Besides the fact that even the best Broadway choreographer couldn't possibly have timed such a logistically complex coinciding of real-world events (and, the fact that today's sign-synchro wasn't the first time such a "coincidence" had occurred, nor the tenth, or the thirtieth), there are details that further substantiate this incident, devil-style.

First, my having the radio on at all. Upon getting into my truck, soupy and tired after a morning-long medical treatment, I hadn't much felt like listening to music. So, naturally, I made to turn off the radio -- but didn't, being Compelled to leave it on, as if the world might end were I to click off the classic-rock station streaming into my truck. (Another common thread in these incidents, my mysterious Compelling's and Noticing's and Just Happened To's, without which no synchronicity would've taken place.)

Second, my being on that road with the sign that was so enamored with me, or any road for that matter. Also thanks to my medically induced stupor, I'd felt like stopping off at the nearest parking lot and reading the book I'd brought. In fact, I'd had every intention of doing just this (as was my habit in regards to these weekly treatments, to park and read and eat a packed lunch afterward, to rest and regroup) -- except, just like with the radio, I was Compelled to drive thirty minutes to a certain coffee shop, then park there for my dining and reading, against all logic (or any real reason at all). The world would've ended had I not done this, also, so off I went.

Yes, I did leave my radio on, and I did make the drive to the coffee shop -- soupy and overtreated and not looking at all handsome, but I was there. And so I received that eighties-sounding encouragement to get wild, and I was on the road so that I could pass that sign, and I arrived just within that infinitesimal little window of the sign's cycling so that it could echo the radio lyric as if on a switch (and do so in big, red, screaming letters, perfectly reflective of the singer's tone).

I laughed, of course -- and, also, I felt quite loved. The signs were still fond of me, after all.

11/27/15: Negative Ions

Negative ions. They're good for you, if you didn't know.

These days, you hear a lot about this stuff. There are ionizer gizmos that plug into wall outlets and renew the air, and those big, pink, warmly glowing salt lamps that are seen ubiquitously in health food stores and head shops. Also, there are the "detox foot baths," which, supposedly, work their magic by ionizing the body directly, via the feet.

Me? I'm a foot-bath guy.

Say what you will about them (and, yes, there's plenty of controversy over the practice, like any health gadget that's attracted miraculous claims), but I personally have found, through relatively objective personal experimentation, that these foot baths do in fact exert a real and positive effect on the body (or, at least, on mine). And, likewise, I've determined that this effect does seem to stem, in some way or another, from the induction of negative ions, for I've discovered markedly similar effects from other supposed means of ionizing oneself (salt caves, ocean air, and earthing/grounding, for instance). Consequently, I enjoy a foot bath from time to time, and am always rewarded with a general pick-me-up of some fashion.

So, that's how I came to be sitting down to a foot bath today.

Upon putting my feet in the soak, I was struck with the thought: Negative ions. It just hit me, in every sense of the term, as if remembering the very concept after a long time. And, I guess, that was sort of true: after a year or so of my discovering the foot baths, and my subsequent research of negative ions, I hadn't really given them much thought. Today, however, I did. For some reason.

Negative ions. The words were etched across my mind as I began my latest podiatric ingestion of the things.

Naturally, I cracked a book just after the bath began, to pass the half-hour, as is my custom for these sessions. As it were, today's selection was The Snow Leopard, by Peter Matthieson, a first-person account of one man's physical and spiritual journey through the Himalaya mountains in 1973. It's one of those famous classics that, somehow, I'd just missed up until now (so many books, so little time, you know). In fact, I only learned of the book's fame after buying it; at the time I'd stumbled upon it, The Snow Leopard was a totally random purchase, a library discharge in fact, which just announced itself to me and demanded to be bought. So, blindly, I'd paid the quarter for it and been on my way, after which it joined my towering stack of unread books (where it would remain until, just two days ago, over a month afterward, I'd felt Compelled to choose it for my next read ...).

Two pages into my reading, I gave pause: "... there are recent speculations that negative ions, which seem to be positive in their effect on animals and plants ..."

I did a double-take. First, because my unexpected pondering of Negative ions still lay across my mind, having occurred literally a minute or so beforehand. Second, because I'd had to turn the page to expose this passage -- that is, I couldn't possibly have subconsciously read it in my peripheral vision, thus ruling out psychological suggestion of some kind. It brought about that synchronistic sense of "echo" which characterizes these experiences, literally making me stop and blink like a cartoon character.

But then, third, there was the book itself: I wasn't reading a health journal, or even one of those duplicitous supplement advertisements disguised as such -- nothing where one might expect to encounter talk of negative ions. Instead, my book was about a pilgrim struggling through rugged country on a wildlife expedition (written nearly forty years ago, nonetheless, before the whole negative-ion craze was even a twinkle in the internet marketer's eye).

I smiled, in muted wonder: synchroshocked again.

It persisted through the rest of my foot bath, like the icing on a very surreal cake.

The Book Synchro, Re-revisited

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

Shall we?

* * *

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

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

Soon, however, things got interesting.

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

And that was just in the morning.

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

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

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

Yes, surreal. Surreal indeed.

* * *

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

No, didn't stop there.

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

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

 

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

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

* * *

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

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