My Weird -- If Not Spooky -- Coincidences and Experiences
Coincidences are spiritual puns.
-- G.K. Chesterstone
What's in Number 9, Papa Pythagoras?
It was some decades ago that, out of curiosity, I bought one of those booklets on numerology -- to see what explanations it had, if any, for certain peculiar coincidences involving a number and letters that were recurring in my life.
I have something that's called a "peripatetic" mind, or, as I prefer calling it -- a gypsy mind, wandering over so many unknown things and places that would make someone's head spin -- especially if their mindset insisted on the familiar which provides their secure comfort zone.
So, my natural and studious curiosity is ridiculously endless -- which explains why I wanted to know more about the number 9's significance, as well as the letters "K" and "C" where it's pronounced as "K".
Well, my little booklet found its way to the trash just as fast as did another one about astrology some time earlier. It was definitely not based on the "system" of the great Greek mathematician Pythagoras, but modernized and terribly generalizing.
From time to time I still got puzzled, almost annoyed over not understanding the coincidence of the number 9 in birthdays of my family. Namely, when I add up my, my wife's, our son's and daughter's days in birthday -- it comes to a 9 -- when the number is reduced to single digit.
And the same happens when I add up our respective birthday months, and years. Weird, isn't it? Of all possible combinations it had to be a 9 in all three sums -- days, months, and years.
So I checked out what the ever smart Google had to say about it. It said some flattering things, mentioning words like universal love, harmony, spiritual awakening, service to humanity, strength of character...with another half dozen those flattering words. At that point I remembered someone saying how Jesus' number was 9.
Well, my ego didn't swell, even though our birthdays are only 3 days apart on top of allegedly sharing that number 9. Namely, I wouldn't want to have an ending like that, and even less would I want to be rejected in my life by so many.
Since number 9 is the last one, because all higher numbers are only repeating themselves when reduced to the single digit -- apparently that meant something to good old Pythagoras -- that number also signifies "many beginnings".
Hey, that's me all right, with over 20 addresses that I have called home, about 11 places where I worked, and 3 countries where I have lived.
Did I already mention the word "gypsy"?
The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.
Stalked by Letters "C" and "K"
Then, like announced, there is something about these letters "K", or "C" when it's pronounced as "K" as they keep reappearing in my life.
Take a look at this crazy list of "K"'s and "C"'s.
My last name starts with a "K". I was born and raised in Croatia, and lived until my emigrating to Canada in the street called Kornatska. Before leaving, I worked in two big companies, "Chromos" and "Kras".
My first car in Canada was a Chrysler's "K-car. And here is the incomplete list of the companies where I worked in Canada, but most of them with the first letter "C":
"Chromalox", "Canadian Keys Fiber", "Cord Industrial Equipment", and "Kellogg".
Then we moved to California, and lived in Collett Ave. My first job there was in Ontario Street -- also the name of the Canadian province where I lived before moving, and the number of the building was 27 (2+7=9 again!). That was in the street named Bergamot. My home town is Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, and when Bergamot is spelled backwards, it comes to "tomagreb -- sharing 5 consecutive letters with my home town.
My present designated parking spot is at number 27 (2+7=9)
Now, it goes without saying -- I have no explanation for these coincidences. However, there are some quite learned brainiacs who contend that there is no such thing as a "coincidence".
Now, since letters also correspond to numbers in Pythagorian system of numerology, I wonder what papa Pythagoras would have to say about my coincidences. You know, those mathematicians are saying how "everything" in universe and in life can be explained by numbers and their correlations.
Who am I to argue, but certainly not the one to make any sense out of it.
The average man spends two weeks over their lifetime waiting for the traffic light to change.
-- Tom Waits
An Unfriendly Traffic Light
Most of those things within Newtonian physics I could somehow grasp with this brain of mine, but when it comes to metaphysics, or quantum physics, it's hard to see a clear causality there.
Like, I just can't wrap my mind around the idea of an electron being present at many different places at the same time -- which a quantum physicists apparently can see as possible.
And so it is with many of my experiences that simply don't allow any logical explanation.
Which brings us to certain "unfriendly" traffic light.
We have been buying our groceries mostly at this same supermarket for the last ten years or so. On our way there we get to an intersection where we have to make a turn -- and there is the usual randomness of the traffic lights that we are facing at that point.
But at our return, it's an altogether different story -- meaning that we always run into a red light. And I mean -- always, spooky-always. I tried to go logical about it, but there was no explanation. Like, if we had to pass before through another set of lights, it could be that the lights were synchronized that way from one intersection to another.
But that is not the case. It's the first intersection we come to after leaving the store's parking, and no matter when we leave, that red light is waiting for us there. I've also heard that some smaller streets keep facing red light until a car comes and is registered by hidden sensors, which will then make the lights change. But that was not the case either, I checked that out too.
It has become a regular feature to make us laugh in the car when we go shopping.
It's another coincidence that I may never get to understand.
Perhaps the most important thing we can ever do in our life is to find a way to our intuition.
-- Ivan Erenda
Spooky Set of Eyes
There are some other little things to be mentioned, and I am calling them "little" even though they would probably make my head spin if I ever got to understand them. Like this "extra" set of eyes on me which keep spooking me big time -- and I don't mean eyeglasses, I don't wear any anyway.
As I am walking outside, no matter if I am deeply in my thoughts, or focusing on my conversation, or just relaxing my eyes on the scenery -- my eyes instantly go down if I am about to step on something that I normally would want to step over -- like a chewing gum, someone's spit, or a wild goose's poop in the park. Even if it's a tiny ant bravely crossing my path, my eyes will instantly fixate on it.
Those are moments when my confusion instantly inflates into my so frequent respect for mystery. Particularly that part of mystery which refers to my still unknown and unused potential.
It's that sudden sensation of an awe and wondering over how many more dormant abilities humans possess encoded in those thousands of unused genes. All kind of questions flood my mind.
But that's not the only time when my "extra" eyes get active. In its own way another one spooks me out even more. Namely, this ability to wake up at exactly the minute when I set up my mind the night before.
I am clocking in every morning at 6, so what the hell in me has that power to kick me out of my sweetest dreams? There is no "urgency" to wake up, I am retired, and it wouldn't really matter if I started my qigong practice an hour later, I would still be done with all my routine before my wife wakes up around 8:30.
But I do set my mind the night before to wake up at 6 -- it's only that upon awakening I feel I could sleep another hour. And, if my clock is running a few minutes ahead or behind the correct time displayed on my video machine, I wake up according to the clock time -- as if my "other eyes" don't bother with the tiny numerals on the machine some 4 meters away.
We go to bed at midnight, and she takes her normal hours of sleep. Me, the weird meditator, need only 6 hours or less of sleep, because I am very disciplined in my mind, economizing with my nervous energy during day.
So, what in me knows what time it is in the morning? Don't try to find a logical explanation, I tried, and all I did was uselessly play with words like "instinct", or "habit".. which in this case means nothing, because no instinct or habit has anything to do with the awareness of time.
It would have to literally mean that some mental or "esoteric" part of me never sleeps, and even can tell the time -- which would be strange if it, by definition, exists outside of space and time
Just like my stepping over a tiny ant -- how does it know all those things that I wouldn't want to step on? For Pete's sake, it's not that it's "saving me" from falling into a hole on my path -- and it's really "one ant more or less", who would miss it, if it likes to live dangerously. ( Actually, you can step on an ant and you won't squish it).
Weird, I am telling you.
We are capable of believing ourselves out of or into a disease.
-- Mokokoma Mokhonoana
Hey, I Am a Pranic Healer!
For the last story -- well, there is so much more, but too much for an article -- I would like to add this self-healing experience, which left me in tears of awe and a pleasant shock.
About seventeen years ago, I got this ugly polyp growth on the sole of my foot. It was a size of a quarter, red, cushiony, and attached to the foot with a short, thin stem which would bleed profusely every time when the polyp was slightly twisted.
Needless to say, It was quite a nuisance, mostly because my shoe would get soaked with blood while I walked. The good doctor cut it out, only to make it rapidly come back with vengeance, now slightly bigger. At that point doctor suggested surgery in hospital.
I had never had any surgeries before, and besides, being myself and always looking for alternatives in life -- I brainstormed my mind in search for a way to avoid a scalpel digging into my foot.
What popped up from a spooky place in my head was something that I had never tried before -- pranic healing. For those of you who are not familiar with the word, prana is supposed to be that mysterious life-giving energy -- other names are qi, or chi, or orgone, or elan-vitale, pick the one you like.
I chose prana that day. Well, I was ready to use anything short of snake oil.
Being home alone at the time, I sat on my couch, and with the sick foot resting on the other leg I rubbed my hands first, and started making passes over that red bastard of the polyp. Per instructions that I remembered, I imagined green energy emanating like a laser from my palm and penetrating the polyp.
I was doing that without feeling silly for some twenty minutes, and then came the time to feel silly -- because the damn thing was still there, probably laughing at me.
When asked how he felt about some thousand of his inventions not working, Thomas Alva Edison calmly replied: "Well, it was all right, now I know thousand things that don't work".
I was happy it was only one thing for me that afternoon that didn't work, so I instantly dismissed it from my mind.
But then, as I was having my bath later on -- I love baths in aromatic oils -- I didn't get that bee-sting feeling in my foot, so I slowly got it out of the water to observe it. Tears instantly filled my eyes.
There it still was, but now thin like a tiny dark red leaf, and hanging from a hair-thin stem. Reluctantly, I gently poked it with finger and it fell off -- never to return.
Some time later when I saw the doctor for a minor thing, he looked at my file and asked what ever happened with that polyp. I told him the story -- but only after making him promise not to laugh.
He didn't laugh. Being a Chinese, he must have been familiar with many unorthodox methods, because he just looked at me, winked at me and said: "Well, whatever works".
If he had known about many other instances in my life when things changed for better in most unusual ways -- he would have had a chance to say again and again: "Whatever works"
© 2020 Vladimir Karas