Media and Coincidence

Media News concept

Media News concept

Our on-line friend, Bernard Beitman, author of Connecting Coincidences, has a new article out on Psychology Today’s web page. Bernard, through his academic work on synchronicity at the University of Virginia, where he is a visiting professor, has nudged the mainstream journal to publish (at least online) non-materialistic views of coincidence.

In his latest article, Bernard contends that the most common coincidences involve people interacting with media. “The chances are high for these coincidences because we so often interact with various media,” he writes.

“Media coincidences vary in their probability.  Thinking of a popular song and then hearing it on the radio has a high probability. Thinking about an old song and then hearing it on the radio has a lower probability especially if you are not listening to an oldies station. The lower the probability, the more likely something besides random chance is contributing to the coincidence.

He notes that the 1,500 plus respondents to his Weird Coincidence Survey  reported that the most common of coincidences are: “I think of an idea and hear or see it on the radio, TV, or Internet” and “I think of a question only to have it answered by an external source (i.e. radio, TV, or other people) before I can ask it.”

Bernard also included a personal example.

“4/30/13: I am about to write the human GPS (Geospatial Positioning System) section of the theory chapter for my book Connecting with Coincidence. I am trying to explain the many coincidences that suggest that we can find our way to people, things, or ideas that we need without consciously knowing how. I am looking for brain-based evidence for human GPS.

“Bored and frustrated, I switch over to the online New York Times. On the front page is an article about grid cells which help rats map themselves in space—the possible brain basis for our GPS-like abilities.

“Located in the entorhinal cortex, which is near the hippocampus, grid cells provide neural maps of the places a rat has visited. The discovery of grid cells shows that we may be constantly creating maps for our territories—we may have a built-in GPS.

“I had a question. It was answered when I needed it by online media.

“The probability of finding just what I needed right when I needed it was pretty low. The low probability pressures us to look for an explanation beyond random chance. It appears that my own GPS system led me to what I needed just when I needed it.”

Bernard’s willingness to look for a reason or process for meaningful coincidences takes him well beyond the statisticians who contend it’s all random and meaningless.

Equally intriguing is how he sees media as a key link between us and coincidence.

“I believe there is yet more to this human mind-media connection. The vastly expanding internet to which we are increasingly paying attention is absorbing our minds. We are becoming part of its connections; each of us is a node among huge numbers of other nodes in this vast system. The common occurrence of media-mind coincidences is another indicator of the increasingly close connection between media and human minds.”

Bernard finishes his article with a supporting example from Jane Clifford of Wales, who visits here frequently with her often startling synchronicities.

“Jane Clifford reported on Facebook I’ve had astonishing synchronicities all my life usually involving events in books exactly matching events or conversations in my life. The most recent involving TV. I was telling a friend on the phone I had watched a sparrowhawk kill a bird right by my house and as I was telling her a sparrowhawk killing a bird appeared on the tv screen!” (12.2.16)

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Mercury Retro and the Electoral College

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Mercury retrograde – when the trickster planet appears  to move backward relative to Earth – doesn’t just affect us as individuals. It has important repercussions for worldwide events as well. So before you snicker and cough into your hand, think about this. On November 7, 2000, Mercury had been retrograde since mid-October – first in Scorpio, then it slipped back into Libra and at 9:20 p.m. on 11/7/2000, it turned direct in that sign. When Mercury stations – which means it’s about to turn retrograde or direct – the potential for miscommunication is strong. But for that date, the station caused bedlam because it was election day in the U.S.

Astrologers were predicting chaos and, sure enough, at 7:49 p.m., NBC decided they had enough data from exit polls in Florida and Tom Brokaw called the state for Al Gore. With the 25 electoral votes Florida had at the time, it meant he had won the election.

However, shortly after 10 p.m. – less than an hour after Mercury had turned direct – Brokaw backtracked and said that George W. Bush had won the state and the election. We all know what ensued after that – the endless dispute over the chads on Palm Beach County’s ballot and the eventual decision by the Supreme Court that Bush was the 43rd president of the U.S.

Now here’s where things this time around may get interesting. Trump is a Gemini, a sign ruled by Mercury. On December 19, Mercury turns retrograde in Capricorn at 5:55 a.m. Eastern time and 2:55 a.m. Pacific time. Capricorn is the sign that represents the establishment, government, power. December 19 is the day that the Electors of the electoral college meet in their respective states and vote for President and VP on separate ballots.  This will presumably happen after Mercury has turned retrograde, unless these folks are getting up before 2:55 a.m. Pacific or 5:55 a.m. eastern.

By January 5, Mercury has retrograded back into Sagittarius, and it turns direct in that sign on January 8. However, on January 6, Congress meets in joint session to count the electoral votes. From the electoral college website:

The Vice President, (who will still be Biden at this point) as President of the Senate, presides over the count and announces the results of the Electoral College vote. The President of the Senate then declares which persons, if any, have been elected President and Vice President of the United States.

If a State submits conflicting sets of electoral votes to Congress, the two Houses acting concurrently may accept or reject the votes. If they do not concur, the votes of the electors certified by the Governor of the State on the Certificate of Ascertainment would be counted in Congress.

If no Presidential candidate wins 270 or more electoral votes, a majority, the 12th Amendment to the Constitution provides for the House of Representatives to decide the Presidential election. If necessary the House would elect the President by majority vote, choosing from the three candidates who received the greatest number of electoral votes. The vote would be taken by state, with each state having one vote.

Given that Jill Stein has raised $5 million already for a recount in the rust belt states, that CNN still hasn’t called Michigan, that there are apparently discrepancies in absentee ballots, that Clinton has won the popular vote by more than two million, this entire setup strikes me as chaotic.

On several of the radio shows I did before the election, I was asked for my prediction about who would win. This type of astrology isn’t my strength. But around the same time, Mountain Astrologer published an article by an astrologer who has studied elections back to the 1880s. Her process made sense to me – except for one thing, a simple thing.

In December, Trump enters his Jupiter return year, when Jupiter returns to where it was when he was born, a cycle that happens about every 12 years, always a fortuitous time. That worried me. But I figured this woman was the expert on elections and if she was right that the Dems would hold onto the White House, then Trump would still come out smelling like the proverbial rose. I was wrong. And so was every other astrologer. His approaching Jupiter return ushered him into a shocking win.

His Jupiter return still worries me. Historically, there have been only 157 “faithless electors” who didn’t vote for their party’s designated candidate.

“71 of these votes were changed because the original candidate died before the day on which the Electoral College cast its votes. Three of the votes were not cast at all as three electors chose to abstain from casting their electoral vote for any candidate. The other 82 electoral votes were changed on the personal initiative of the elector.”

But with this Mercury retrograde beginning in the archetypal sign of power and turning direct in the archetypal sign of truth, I think it’s fair to say that the trickster planet could have the last laugh.

Stay tuned. That vote is about 2 weeks away.

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The Eyesore Across the Street

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When the economy tanked in late 2007, one of its victims was the house across the street from us. The couple who had lived there when we moved into our home in 2000 had kept the place in pristine condition. Then they moved north and gave the house to their son. I don’t know what the deal was with him, but he walked away from the house in early 2008.

Over the years since then, the house has gone through periods where squatters moved in every other week. Then there were people living there who may have been arms dealers – or so a visit from an ATF agent implied. Then there were a couple of guys who sat in their garages all day with their laptops, stealing internet service from the people around them.

For several years now, the place has been plastered with notices of foreclosure, warnings from the city, the bank, and whoever else has a financial interest in the place. The house has fallen into complete ruin. The grass grows knee-high before someone from the city comes around and supposedly mows it, windows are broken, the exterior is covered in mold and dirt, the roof is practically black, and the driveway and sidewalk are so filthy you know that if you walk on them, you’ll catch some terrible disease.

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Whenever the grass gets so high that it may hide snakes, rats, and primeval spiders, someone complains to the city and eventually, some lawn outfit comes out and mows. Sort of. A rush job, you can tell. It looks like a kid went after the grass with a machete. And then, invariably, the complainers get a compliance notice from the city – which still calls itself a village – about how their roofs or sidewalks or driveways need cleaning. Or how the RV in their back yard can’t be there. Or how their lawn needs to be cut. The city’s Big Brothers don’t bother taking on the bank who owns this travesty. Instead, they find a way to pay you back for your complaint.

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Rob recently complained about how high the grass was, how unsightly the place was. The lawn was sort of mowed about a week later and a week after that, we received a compliance letter. It infuriated me. First of all, it’s the middle of rainy season, when everything gets dirty. Second, this is an obvious slap on the wrist for our complaint. We’re a small neighborhood of about 30 homes and this sucker is just so ugly, so ruined, that if we decided to sell our house, prospective buyers would be in hysterics. So I sent the Big Brother compliance dude at the Wellington city government an email:

Dear Mr. Golding,

 We recently received a courtesy code enforcement letter from your office. We are happy to comply. However, the house across the street from us, 2779 Yarmouth Drive, has been a ruined eyesore for the last five or six years.

 The grass is usually not mowed until it becomes intolerable and someone complains. There’s a broken window at the side of the house, the front of the place is plastered with notices, the exterior of the house is filthy, and the mailbox is broken and lying in pieces. The state of the house lowers the property values for the neighborhood. The last time the grass was mowed, it was done haphazardly and looked like something an eight-year-old had done with a pair of scissors. The cut grass simply remained in the front yard and dried up to the consistency of old hay. The roof and the driveway are practically black with dirt.

Whenever we or others in the neighborhood have called attention to the plight of the house, we have received a compliance note. We would appreciate it if something could be done about this place. There are people on this street who would eventually like to sell their homes, but the first thing any prospective buyer sees when they turn onto this part of Yarmouth is the sad, pathetic state of 2779. If it’s bank-owned, can’t the bank we held accountable for the appearance?

 Not surprisingly, there’s been no response from Mr. Golding. Today, we parked our cars in that filthy driveway when a couple of young men came to clean our driveway, sidewalk, roof. As I got out of my car, the biggest spider I’ve ever seen – and I’ve seen some BIG ones – scampered out of the grass, headed for my foot. I looked out across the rapidly growing and high grass prairie and though, OMG, what’s next? A rat the size of my car? An anaconda? And what’s living INSIDE that place?

Two days after I wrote to Mr. Golding, a lawn service came out and mowed the grass. Coincidence? And oh, the window got fixed. But nothing else has been done to the place.

There’s a paragraph in that compliance letter about how the village of Wellington, the international winter home of the equestrian world, prides itself on its appearance. Seriously? So how about tearing down this sad, pathetic health hazard and turning it into a neighborhood garden? Or, hey, how about a dog park?

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The Ching Nails It

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The I Ching is one of the oldest divination systems and, as one friend put it, much chattier than the tarot or astrology. The premise is simple – even if the results are not! Six coins, tossed six times. You get one or two hexagrams, depending on whether you have changing or moving lines. When Carl Jung wrote the introduction to the Richard Wilhelm translation of the I Ching in 1949, it was the first time he had publicly discussed synchronicity.

“…whoever invented the I Ching was convinced that the hexagram worked out in a certain moment coincided with the latter in quality no less than time…the hexagram was the exponent of the moment in which it was cast. This assumption involves a certain curious principle that I have termed synchronicity, a concept that formulates a point of view diametrically opposed to that of causality…synchronicity takes the coincidence of events in space and time as meaning something more than mere chance…”

I’ve been using the I Ching for decades, but am nowhere nearly as accomplished at interpreting it as writer Nancy Pickard and Adele Aldridge. But even the adepts can be tripped up. Adele recently emailed me an experience she had with the Ching.

From Adele:

I share with you an I Ching reading I did on March 14 this year. On a scrap of paper I wrote in the middle, ELECTION.

I made 3 columns: Clinton – Sanders – Trump. I threw the coins under each name.

For Clinton I got hexagram 46 Pushing Upward. No moving lines.

For Sanders I got hexagram 41 Decrease changing to 18 Decay/working on what has been spoiled

For Trump I got hexagram 8 Union.

At the time I thought the Clinton and Sanders reading seemed appropriate. I thought that Trump’s Union, a joining with the masses, had to be wrong. There is many a time when I get an I Ching reading that I either don’t like or don’t understand. Just like a dream, you can’t always tell the meaning of an I Ching response right away. I stuck the paper in my journal to wait and see. I forgot about it and the fact that it was way back in March surprises me. That seems so long ago now.

Well, the I Ching was right. It seems to be that it always is right even if I don’t like the response or understand it. Carl Jung said in his Forward to the I Ching, “One sleeps better at night if one does not try to understand how the I Ching works.”

 

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Global Synchro: Good-bye Castro, Hello American Airlines

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On Friday evening, November 25, 2016, Fidel Castro passed away at the age of 90. He ruled Cuba for 47 years, a despot who jailed and killed those who spoke out against him and kept this island nation isolated from the rest of the world. Hundreds of thousands of Cubans fled the island in 1959 and again during the Mariel boatlift in the early 1980s.

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The U.S. embargo against Cuba has been in place since 1962 and crippled the Cuban economy. In spite of that, Cuba has free medical care and free education through college and beyond. Food is often scarce, though, and according to Cuban friends who still have family on the island, life is hard in ways that most Americans can’t even imagine.

Relations between the two countries began to thaw in December 2014, thanks in large part to the facilitation of Pope Francis and the Canadian government. In March 2016, President Obama became the first U.S. president to visit Cuba since 1928.

When a controversial figure like Castro dies, I start looking for the global synchronicities and that one happened today, November 28. As Cuba entered its first day of nine of the mourning period for Castro and the day of his funeral, American Airlines left Miami on its first commercial flight to Cuba in 55 years. It touched down in Havana at 8:25 a.m., a preliminary step in the thawing of relations between the two countries.

Other American airlines are gearing up for commercial travel from Miami, Fort Lauderdale, and Orlando: Spirit Airlines, Delta, and Jet Blue are among them.

In some ways, this is a trickster synchro with a global twist: the Cuban dictator dies and the day of his funeral,  the first commercial flight from the U.S. lands. One door shuts, another opens.

But this open door may not last long. Trump’s stance on the thawing in U.S. Cuba relations is, as one news site put it, “straight out of 1962.”

Personally, Cuba has been on my bucket list for years, since I lived in Venezuela. That interest was renewed when I was hired through a federally funded program in 1981 to teach English to the Marielitos. The Cuban people I’ve met throughout my life have been awesome.

 

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A Handy App for this New Reality

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If you’re experiencing PTSD form this election,  you may want to get a handy app for your devices called Boycott Trump.

 It lists 250 businesses with connections to Trump and some of them surprised me. This is just a partial list and doesn’t include sponsors of Celebrity Apprentice. No more Home Depot for us. Or Godfather’s Pizza. No more of the Coors family beers, either, and forget the stores at the mall. Be sure to check out the link at the end of this for additional companies/CEOs who endorsed Trump.

Amazon: sells Trump’s line of menswear and Ivanka Trump’s clothing, shoes, and accessories

Bed, Bath & Beyond: sells Ivanka Trump’s diaper bags

Bank of America Center: 30% of the building is owned by Trump

Bloomingdale’s: Sells Ivanka’s clothing, shoes, and accessories

Blue Moon beer, Coors Light, Coors, Crispin Hard Cider, Miller Lite: Chairman Pete Coors endorsed Trump

Century 21: sells Ivanka’s clothing and accessories

Forbes: Publishing executive and editor-in-chief Steve Forbes endorsed Trump

Godfather’s Pizza – former CEO and part-owner Herman Cain endorsed Trump

Gucci: flagship store in Trump Tower

Hobby Lobby: CEO David Green endorsed Trump

Home Depot: co-founders Bernard Marcus and Kenneth Langone endorsed Trump

Jenny Craig: founder Jenny Craig endorsed Trump

Johnson & Johnson: heir to company Woody Johnson endorsed and helped raise money for Trump

Macy’s, Marshall’s, Lord & Taylor, Nordstrom: sell Ivanka’s clothing, shoes, and accessories

NASCAR: CEO and chairman Brian France endorsed Trump

New York Jets: owner Woody Johnson endorsed Trump and helped raise money for him

PayPal: co-founder Peter Thiel endorsed Trump

Starbucks: stores in Trump Tower

TD Ameritrade: found Joe Ricketts endorsed Trump

Wayfair: sells products form the Trump Home line

Yuengling Brewery: Owner Richard Yuenling Jr endorsed Trump and invited Trump family to speak at brewery

Here are some additional companies to avoid whose owners/CEOs endorsed Trump.

 

 

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UFO Lights Charlotte

This video is interesting for a number of reasons. It’s longer than most videos of alleged UFOs- over 7 minutes – and the voice of the man taking the video and the voices of others around him – suggest it’s exactly what it looks like. Lights above a hotel in Charlotte, NC that flit around and form geometric patterns. A mystery. Sometimes, the lights are too high up to see. But in a few spots in this video, they’re clear. Whitley Strieber gives this one an A.

 

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Flight through Time

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Eleven years ago, Bruce Gernon and I (Rob) wrote THE FOG, a book about the Bermuda Triangle, based on Bruce’s experiences as a pilot. Since his major, life-changing experience in 1971, Bruce has appeared on 36 Bermuda Triangle documentaries that have appeared on cable, network and BBC channels. Over time, Bruce has realized that there is no Bermuda Triangle, per se, but anomalous phenomena related to fog and usually storm conditions that exists anywhere these condition appear. So we are writing a second book, Beyond the Bermuda Triangle: Ture Encounters with Electronic Fog, Missing Aircraft, and Time Warps.

Here’s a brief excerpt, a story about an officer with the British Royal Air Force in England who encountered the fog in 1935 on a flight in Scotland, and would never forgot what happened. The story was originally told in a chapter of Flight Toward Reality, by Sir Victor Goddard.

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One weekend, four years before England entered World War II, Wing Commander Victor Goddard flew a Hawker Hart biplane to Edinburgh from his home base in Andover, England. On Sunday, the day before his return flight, Goddard flew over an abandoned airfield in Drem, near Edinburgh. Foliage had overtaken most of the field and cattle roamed about. The tarmac and four hangars were in disrepair. The property was a farm, no longer an airfield.

The next day, in spite of stormy weather, Goddard took off on his return flight. He followed the same route that would lead him over Drem again. But with the low clouds and heavy rain, he didn’t expect to see the abandoned airfield. To make matters worse, Goddard was flying in an open cockpit over rugged terrain with no radio navigation support or modern instruments to guide him.

Torrential rain stung his forehead and dripped over his goggles. He climbed to 8,000 feet in the hope of flying above the storm, but couldn’t find any break in the dense cloud cover. With no horizon visible, the nose of the biplane dipped too low and the plane slipped into a death spiral, falling from the sky. He struggled with the controls, but couldn’t pull out of the spin.

The sky darkened, the rain pounded, and the clouds turned yellowish. Goddard was dropping rapidly at 150 miles per hour. His altimeter revealed he was just a thousand feet above the ground, then when he was at two hundred feet, he glimpsed daylight. He emerged from the clouds and was plunging toward water that he recognized as the Firth of Forth.

Somehow, he managed to pull out of the spin at the last moment. He was flying at twenty feet when he saw a young girl with a baby carriage running through the pouring rain. She ducked to avoid his wing and he barely cleared a stonewall. He flew along the beach, his view obscured by the fog. He turned away from the water and glimpsed the black silhouettes of the Drem Airfield hangars ahead of him.

The sky remained dark, the downpour heavy, and his plane began to shake. Flying several feet above the ground, the hangars loomed in front of him. Suddenly, the rain stopped and the was shining. The hangars and airstrip now appeared in new condition, and the cattle were gone. He could see mechanics by four yellow planes near the end of the runway. One of the crafts was a monoplane unlike anything in the Royal Air Force. The airplane mechanics wore blue overalls. But RAF mechanics only wore brown overalls.

He passed over the airport just high enough to clear the hangars, but none of the mechanics reacted, as if they didn’t see or hear him. As he left the airfield behind, he was swallowed by the storm again. This time he flew up to 17,000 feet, and briefly up to 21,000 feet to avoid the storm, and made his way safely back to the base.

When he told several officers about his eerie flight, they reacted as if he’d lost him mind. So he didn’t say anything more, fearing that he would be grounded or discharged from the RAF.

In 1939, Goddard’s vision began to materialize as he saw RAF training planes painted yellow, mechanics switching to blue overalls, and a new monoplane—the Magister—just like the one he witnessed four years earlier. He also found out that, with the threat of war that was about to be declared, the airfield at Drem had been refurbished.

What particularly fascinated me about Goddard was that in the aftermath, he did the same thing I did. He replayed the experience over and over again in his mind for the next twenty-seven years. Finally, in 1966, he wrote about the experience. He had become convinced that there was no way he could possibly have known four years in advance that the color of the trainer planes and the overalls of the mechanics would change. He concluded that he had briefly glimpsed the future or traveled into it just as I concluded years ago that I had instantly leaped ahead 100 miles after flying through the tunnel vortex of the storm.

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HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

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From the MacGregors to all of you!

 

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The Mazda Synchro

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We own three Mazdas. The oldest one belonged to my dad , who died in 2005, and it became our daughter’s car. It saw her through college and her last four years in Orlando. It has 127,000 miles on it, a huge dent on the left side from a meet and greet at a gas station with a concrete block, and the right side mirror is gone, snapped off in some other mishap.   We own a 2008 CX-7 and a 2008 Mazda 3, both used cars that are paid for.

Two days after the election, I drove up to Orlando in the Mazda 3 to help Megan with Wine Walk. These events are always fun and this time, helped me to overcome the PTSD and grief I felt about the election. It’s Orlando’s monthly event where people set up exhibits to sell art, jewelry, massages, photos, and whatever to people who pay 10 bucks to do the walk and drink all they want at the various restaurants and bars along the route. Megan sets up at a dog bakery, so she has a built-in audience for her pet portraits.

I drove my car, the Mazda 3, which I named Synchronicity the day we bought it eight years ago. Megan’s car was in such bad shape that I ended up leaving her my car and drove hers back home. I felt her car was no longer safe to drive. Two days later, Rob and I drove that car to a Mazda dealer 15 miles south, in Delray, in search of a Mazda to buy or lease.

Car dealerships are not where I typically choose to spend my Sundays or any other day of the week. But this experience was fascinating from start to finish. Our sales person was a guy from Queens, an ex-cop who’d gotten caught up in a drug sting with some Mafia dudes and ended up doing six years in a federal facility. He knew some of the people for whom we’ve ghostwritten books over the years. He also knew a lot about cars and affirmed our original intent: to lease rather than buy. I asked him what he thought about the election and he made a sour face, then shrugged.

“Scary, but we’ll see.”

During our test drive of the car, I asked if we could stop somewhere so I could get a bite to eat for lunch. He got a kick out of that. “Well, this is a first,” he said, and directed me to a place that had great barbecue chicken sandwiches.

We got  a $500 trade-in value for Megan’s car, about what we expected, and many hours later, ended up in the business manager’s office to seal the deal. Herb, a Jamaican, was a total delight. We talked at some length about the election – his shock and angst, that he’d hardly slept since election night, and how it had divided his family. But Herb had faith that something good would come of all this and I marveled at that.

Our sales guy took us through the paces of the technology in our new lease. Keyless. Bluetooth. Sirius radio. Built-in GPS with maps. Blind spot sensors. Backup vision that shows what’s behind you. For those of you with new cars, this is probably laughable. But hey, we’ve been driving eight-year-old cars that have none of this, cars so different they’re comparable to  the early Radio Shack computers with only external drive versus the newest Mac computers.

Off we headed for home, fiddling with the radio, entertainment, Bluetooth and navigation, and with this keyless thing. “Hey, do you have the main key?” Rob asked.

I didn’t. I had the spare our sales guy had handed me that had a little metal thing attached that held the key code in the event we lost the main key. “You must have it.”

Rob swore that he didn’t. He repeatedly emptied his pockets. I emptied my purse several times. Nothing. Herb had told us these keys cost $400 and had asked if we wanted to buy insurance to cover the loss of a key and a bunch of other stuff. We had opted out. I was now had some doubts about the whole thing. Rob called our sales guy, asking if he maybe had the key. He didn’t.

When we got home, I dumped everything out of my purse, searched every nook and cranny, every zippered compartment. The only key I had was the one with the metal tag on it. Rob and I kept going over the events in the parking lot when we’d been going through the techno stuff on the car. I didn’t remember ever seeing the main key. And yet, I when I went through my bag again, I found it tucked into one of the crannies I know was empty before.

Trickster? Had it gone the same place socks go in the dryer and been returned?

The next day, I got a call from Herb. The date on the final papers was for last month and could he stop by our place with new papers, with the right dates?

Here’s where it got really strange. Herb arrived and for the next 90 minutes, the three of us connected on the level where Rob and I live most of the time. Some years ago during surgery, Herb died. When he was revived, he began having vivid, precognitive dreams. In three of these dreams, he saw numbers that he played in the lottery and won. The largest, several years ago, was more than two hundred grand.

But the lottery wins are just part of a much larger picture for him. “My life has been weird,” he said. “No one believes me when I tell them about the dreams I have, so I always call my daughter the day after so that someone else knows about it.” Then when the event unfolds, his daughter acts as his verification, his record.

I wished we’d met Herb while we were writing Sensing the Future. We’re going to get together with him and his kids in December, when they visit, and we’re eager to hear more of his experiences. His parting words? “Now I understand why the date on the these papers was wrong. You guys made my evening!”

And he made ours.

Yes, I love my new leased car. We named it White Crows Tulpas, after our respective novels now making the rounds.

 

 

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Some Weird Signs

I’ve been going through my old blackberry photos and found this pic of a comical and insightful sign that was taken in Cassadaga, Florida. I mean, seriously, it sort of says it all.

 

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Another good one, also in Cassadaga:

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On our most recent trip, we finally visited Cassadaga cemetery and happened across the grave of the town’s founder, George Colby. Just a regular grave, nondescript:

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Favorites

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Recently, I was scrolling back through more than seven years of blog posts, looking for my top 10 or 20 favorites. I decided that we’ll be posting our top favorites and will be delighted to send you a token of our appreciation.

As I went scrolled through these, I was shocked by how many powerful synchros are recorded here and how many more are embedded in the 30,000 plus comments.

Then I found this one from Ray Getzinger. I love it because it’s so simple, personal and profoundly precognitive in how it played out in Ray’s life. I think it also illustrates the importance of dreams, the roles they play in our lives, the information they can reveal.

From Ray:

When I was twelve years old I used to dream about a red headed woman from Georgia with her hair up in ringlets. Ten year later, in 1966, I married a woman with red hair. She lived in Virginia, but was born in Georgia where her father was in the same Army Air Force squadron as Gene Autry during WW II. Before we had been married a year she styled her hair exactly as I had dreamed.

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I’ve known Ray for a long time, even though we have never met in person. He met me through my first novel, In Shadow, published in 1985, and at some point in the years since, we started corresponding. Then became Facebook friends. Followed each other on Twitter. Then he started posting on our blog. We exchange emails from time to time. He understands synchronicity because he lives it.

Thank you, Ray. And since your synchro is the first, what can I send you? A natal chart on a grandchild? Signed books? Three years of monthly predictions for your  sign? Let me know!

 

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Dictators & the 21st Century

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Between 1952-1958, a man named Marcos Perez Jimenez was dictator of Venezuela, where I was born and lived at the time. He’s the dude in the image above.  I still need to track down this issue of Time and find out why he was worthy of the cover.

Even as a kid, I remember seeing this man with the plump face on what passed as television at the time. I remember wondering who he was and why anyone would bother listening to this very boring person.

I was too young to understand that he sat on one of the largest oil reserves in the world- note all the oil derricks in the background of the cover image.  Creole, the company where my dad worked as an accountant, was a subsidiary of Standard Oil, which  was tapping into that gold. In fairness to Standard Oil, they built the rigs that drilled for that oil and  the infrastructure that made the country uber wealthy for decades. But Standard Oil and companies from other countries were also incredibly invasive.

At one time, there were 8,000 Americans living in Venezuela, many more thousands from other countries who had established oil companies in Venezuela, and all of them had created “camps” (neighborhoods) where the families of their employees lived. They established clinics and hospitals for their employees. They basically took over the country in terms of profits. Back then, I didn’t really understand what that meant. I went to school, I had friends and a wonderful family life, pets, a sister, Christmas, summer vacations. I went to an American school with a cool library.

Our life was good, prosperous, fascinating. We lived in a second floor apartment in the Las Mercedes neighborhood of Caracas that faced the mountains. Directly across the street from us from a river contained by cement walls that was actually more of a sewage ditch. In retrospect, crime under the dictatorship was relatively low. Under Perez Jimenez, the country prospered, the poor who lives in ranchitos – shacks- along the mountainside had enough to eat and some even had TVs and cars.

Now and then, we had days off from school when a revolution was imminent, when the rebellious factions of the military and other facets of the governments threatened to overthrow the Jimenez dictatorship. I remember my mother and I rushing to the auto mercado to buy supplies, not unlike what we I do now when a hurricane is imminent – and finding the shelves bare. What I didn’t realize then was that Jimenez was constantly confronted with opposing factions in the populace and that he, like other dictators throughout history, had secret police who hunted down and imprisoned anyone who opposed his policies.

The revolution didn’t happen until one night in January 1958, when I was nearly eleven. My mother came running into the room I shared with my sister and woke us. “You have to see this,” she said. “The dictator is fleeing the country.”

We leaped out of bed and hurried out to the front porch where my dad was. In the distance, along the autopista- the highway that led through Caracas down 3,000 feet to the port and airport – was a line of cars, headlights burning through the darkness. Jimenez and his entourage were leaving the country with, we later learned, $13 million they’d embezzled from the government.

And the one clear thought I had from that night, as I stood on our porch watching history, was that a way of life was ending for me and my family and it wouldn’t be long before we, too, would be leaving this country. And we did, in 1963, when the Venezuelan government nationalized the oil industry and pretty much kicked out the American companies that had helped build and integrate the lucrative oil industry into the Venezuelan economy.

In the decades since, Venezuela has enjoyed booms and busts. Right now, it’s a crippled country where people are hungry, there’s a scarcity of everything, the valley is horribly polluted, and life is pretty grim.

In a Trump presidency, this same reality may come to pass. The parameters and specifics may be different, but the secret police, the censorship, the greed, could easily unfold. He does share, after all, certain attributes with Hitler. When I put this on Facebook, the vitriol was incredible – and sad.

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But the world now is not the world as it was during WWII and the world of the 1950s and 60s is drastically changed from what the world is today, in the second decade of the twenty-first century. We have nearly instantaneous access to information with videos and photos and hundreds of thousands of apps that capitalize on this. I often wonder if Steve Jobs understood the magnitude of what became possible when Apple issued the iPhone in 2007 and that beautiful phone came with a camera and video capabilities.

The day after the election, Rob and I were running errands and happened to be behind a truck with a trickster message on the back of it:

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No matter where we are, what we’re doing, our phones are powerful tools that enable us to document the small and large moments in our lives. And these moments come through all the social media and record those moments about the tectonic changes happening in the larger world.

Frankly, I don’t think a dictator has a prayer in this 21st century America. But when I look at the people Trump is appointing to his cabinet… I invariably think that Costa Rica looks better by the second. They love Americans. And in case  Paul Ryan makes good on his promise to eradicate Medicare, Medicaid and privatize Social Security, Costa Rica has a universal health care system that works and is inexpensive. And we can write anywhere.

But my hope is that it doesn’t come to that. My hope is that even though the electoral college voted in a man whose platform is about racism, isolationism, hatred of women and anyone else who isn’t a white male, that our more evolved selves will prevail.

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Hummingbird Synchros and Spirit Contact

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Hummingbirds. Hold onto that thought for a moment.

Stephen Mitchel, writing in The Enlightened Mind, refers to Indra’s Net as a “profound and subtle metaphor for the structure of reality.” He asks us to imagine a vast net that at every crossing point features a jewel. Each jewel is so clear and perfect that it reflects all the other jewels in the net, “the way two mirrors placed opposite each other will reflect an image ad infinitum. The jewel in this metaphor stands for an individual being, or an individual consciousness, or a cell or an atom. Every jewel is intimately connected with all other jewels in the universe, and a change in one jewel means a change, however slight, in every other jewel.”

In other words, we are all so intimately connected to each other – human, animal, plant – that it’s as if this net covers the entire planet. Pluck one string in the net, and all of them vibrate. And this was how it felt to Sandy, a retired veterinarian, who experienced a cluster of hummingbird synchronicities that seemed to be telling her that her beloved dog, Nellie, might be ailing.

In August 2013, Nellie was twelve and a half, wasn’t eating well, just wasn’t herself. One night, Sandy had a magnificent dream about two hummingbirds hovering around her mailbox, facing each other. They were larger than normal hummingbirds and she sensed they were mates. In the dream, their wings came together to form a heart shape.

A couple of days after she’d had the dream, she and her husband, George, were sitting in their yard and a hummingbird appeared, larger than most hummingbirds, just as in her dream. “Hummingbirds are winter residents in Florida and it was mid-August; I have no idea what a hummingbird was doing here at this time of year,” she says. “To me, the hummingbird represents angelic energy, joy.”

A few days later, she was downloading songs that a friend had sent her years ago – 200 songs, odds and ends. She figured she should get them into the music file on her computer. While the songs were downloading, she noticed a hummingbird out in the garden and went over to the window to get a closer look. But it had flown away. She turned back to her computer and saw that the download had stalled. The song that refused to download? Seals & Croft’s Hummingbird.

 The next day, Sandy passed a road she’d never seen before and glanced at the sign: Hummingbird Lane. It was now abundantly clear to her that she was in the grips of synchronicity and she felt it was related to Nellie’s deterioration. Sandy checked her over and found a large mass in her abdomen. She took the dog to her vet, and sure enough, he identified it as well. He didn’t think Nellie was a candidate for surgery and not long afterward, Sandy and George had to have her put down.

Sandy understood that the cluster of hummingbird synchros had been alerting her to Nellie’s condition. Hummingbirds not only symbolize joy, but in some indigenous traditions are considered to be messengers from the spirit world. “These synchros softened the blow of her passing, and helped to heal our broken hearts.”

This story begs the question: did Nellie’s soul summon these hummingbirds so that Sandy would become aware that Nellie wasn’t just ailing, but was dying? Can a dog’s soul call on other creatures – even those of a different species – and enlist their help in the process of dying?

Perhaps. As author Dean Koontz writes in A Big Little Life: a memoir of a joyful dog named Trixie, (about his special Golden Retriever) “Living with a recognition of the spiritual dimension of the world not only ensures a happier life but also a more honest intellectual life than if we allow no room for wonder and refuse to acknowledge the mystery of existence.”

 

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The Electoral College

This pretty much nails the bottom line:

A petition to the electoral college to elect Clinton as the winner. After all, she has the popular vote, just as Gore did in 2000. More than 4 million people have signed.

 

 

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WestWorld

HBO has some fantastic original programming – Game of Thrones comes immediately to mind.  Rob and I have watched 6 of 10  episodes of WestWorld, a series built on Michael Crichton’s screenplay for a movie of the same name, released in 1973. It’s phenomenal.

Anthony Hopkins, Ed Harris…these two actors alone give the show an indescribable quality. Some of the same Crichton themes are evident – WestWorld is a theme park, like Jurassic Park, but a far more sophisticated version in that the robots in the park are discovering their own consciousness. Think of it as a cross between The Matrix and Jurassic Park, haunting and strange. Like The Matrix,  it urges you to question the nature of reality, the ultimate question in quantum physics and in metaphysics.

I love shows that urge  you, the viewer, to ask yourself: “Uh-oh. How much of what I perceive is real?”

Interestingly, it parallels some of the themes in Rob’s novel, Tulpas, now being submitted to publishers. In his novel, the dream world becomes the physical world and this is brought about by the manipulation of reality by one particular tulpa, a thought form created by Tibetan monks centuries ago. This tulpa created other thought forms and they have evolved throughout the centuries and attained a kind of consciousness, just like the robots in WestWorld. The parallels are eerie and Rob started writing this novel long before WestWorld showed up on TV.

The irony, at least for me, is that Crichton was such a brilliant storyteller, who wrote an incredible non-fiction book, Travels, about his metaphysical quest to understand reality, but who, at the end of his life, ended up to the far right politically. The dichotomy has puzzled me for years. I’m not saying that the right wing lacks creative impulses, but that for a man who wrote Travels, it just doesn’t make any sense at all.

JJ Abrams- LOST – directed WestWorld. And that makes perfect sense.

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