An article in The Canadian, begins with this intriguing premise: “Did Scientists in 2001 translate an Extraterrestrial message implicitly designed to warn humanity about the ‘9/11 deception’?”
Read the article by clicking above and then watch the video. Very interesting stuff, for sure.
Map of Orlando’s Sea World
I’m kind of curious about this. Midway through the Mercury retro, what sorts of experiences have you had?
Ours have been varied – some that were expected, some not. Since this retro falls on the financial axis in our individual charts, its not surprising that checks for our joint projects are delayed. Not only did they never reach the agent – but the checks have to be reissued. OK, figure on January with those checks. Good, we pay taxes on them next year. Silver linings and all that.
OK, on to the other stuff. We had plumbing issues with two sinks. In the kitchen, we had a major leak under the sink that turned out to be the result of a misaligned faucet. Rob corrected it, the leak went away. With the clothes dryer, the sucker took multiple cycles to dry a single load of clothes. Solution? We checked the silver tubing that connects to the wall. It had broken away from the wall…Once Rob got the tube in the wall again, the dryer worked like new. The key idea in both instances was connection.
So far, so good. The “problems” definitely aren’t related to what I expected for a Mercury retrograde in Sagittarius. And there are some unexpected silver linings. Our neighbor calls us. Can we use four chairs? Her sister has four leather/suede chairs that she thinks will fit perfectly into our family room and that don’t fit in her new house. Are we interested? Well, sure. How much? They’re free.
So the next day we drive ten miles south and pick up a four chairs that are probably the nicest we’ve ever owned. Then I got fed up the old furniture we’ve owned for decades, pull a couch and a table out to the curb to be picked up, and buy a new thing for the kitchen at 50% off; there’s an imperfection in a right corner.
Our daughter, Megan, and I drove to Orlando the other day for her interview at Sea World as an assistant animal trainer. There were plenty of Merc retro incidents. For instance, we neglected to move the Sun Pass from one car to the other. This handy gizmo allows you to zip through toll booths because the toll is deducted electronically from the gizmo. Inconvenience. Then we got lost as soon as we got off the turnpike in Orlando, wandered around for awhile, kept trying to bring up the right maps on our cell phones. Fortunately, we finally made it to where we were supposed to be and she wasn’t late for her 10 AM interview.
I waited for her in the employee parking lot, going through the copyedits for Ghost Key, the sequel to Esperanza, a positive Merc retro thing to do. But by 11:30, I started wondering where she was. I knew there was a show at 10:45 and had expected her interview to be over by then. I walked up to the security gate to ask if there was a restroom I could use. I chatted with the guards, who hadn’t seen any blonde named Megan.
My imagination instantly slammed into overdrive and coughed up an entire plot about what had happened, where she was, and how, if she hadn’t shown up by 2 PM, I was going to call the cops. The entire novel unfolded in my head.
At noon, she drove up with one of the Sea World trainers. She got to see the 10:45 show – and meanwhile, I had her kidnapped and taken to some secret location. I’m beginning to think that fiction writers probably shouldn’t have children!
We had decided before the trip that we would go to Sea World after her interview. So off we drove to the SW parking lot. The fee was $14, just to park. Then we got to the ticket booth and learned that a single ticket is about $80, way too much for the few hours we were going to spend there. So we left and went in search of lunch. No Sea World amusement park, but Megan and I got to spend the day together and perhaps one day I’ll be able to use the plot I imagined.
As Vonnegut used to say, So it goes. This retro, which ends December 13, seems to be about small things going wrong, plans being rearranged. But there have been unexpected bonuses, as well.
The other day our next door neighbor asked me if I wanted to split a pallet of sod. Both of our lawns had patches of dead grass and weeds and I quickly agreed. I began clearing out the old grass and prepping the ground for the new sod.
We were supposed to leave the next morning taking K’s trailer to Odom’s, a company that sells sod grown on the edge of the Florida Everglades. The next day came and went. I only saw K once walking away talking on his cell. Two more days passed and on the second evening I spotted him in his backyard. K seemed distracted as I approached and before I said anything he muttered that we could get the sod in the morning.
K’s usually an early riser so I was surprised when I didn’t see him at eight the next morning. He came out at 9:30 and we drove off. I was a bit annoyed by the way he’d put off our plans without even saying anything about it. I just figured he was preoccupied with something.
By the time we reached Odom’s I found out what it was. The airline where he works as a pilot had filed for bankruptcy. As a result, he was taking a big pay cut, the second since 2003, and there was something else.
The company, like many large corporations, matched deposits in a 401K account. In other words, for every dollar that K saved in his pension plan, the company also put a dollar in the account. A good deal. The catch, though, was that if the company went belly up, employees might lose their entire pension. That’s exactly what happened, K confided as we waited for the sod.
Now I knew why he hadn’t been too concerned with our plans. He was expecting to retire with about $1 million in his pension fund. He’d just lost the entire thing.
I mentioned that, sadly, his story sounded like an increasingly typical American tale with middle class people taking the blows when companies were mismanaged. Meanwhile, the executives responsible for the collapse would escape with golden parachutes, maybe even handsome year-end bonuses.
It’s a synchronicity because this American tale involved a company named American Airlines.
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PS Are we looking at the demise of the middle class? It certainly seems that way. Today, the U.S. senate rejected a bill that would extend the payroll tax – FICA deductions (Social Security). It means that most Americans will be paying about $1,000 more in taxes while the one percent continues to benefits from the Bush tax cuts. Interestingly, it revealed that Republicans will raise taxes – in spite of their pledge – as long as the rich are spared.
With all the hoopla about December 21, 2012, I found this particular article intriguing. I initially ran across a reference to it on Whitley Strieber’s site, then went looking for the original article and found it at The Guardian.
Mexico’s National Institute of Anthropology and History has long downplayed the apocalyptic references to the Mayan calendar. Most Mayan experts contend there’s only one surviving reference to the December 21, 2012 in Mayan glyphs, a stone tablet from the Tortuguero site in the Gulf coast state of Tabasco.
But now the institute has announced that there is another apparent reference to the date in the nearby Comalcalco ruin. The ruin is unusual among Mayan temples because it was constructed of brick and the inscription is on the molded face of one such brick.
The government has known about this inscription for years and, according to Arturo Mendez, a spokesman for the institute, it’s been thoroughly studied by experts. The Comalcalco brick, as the fragment is called, isn’t on display and is kept in storage at the institute.
Interestingly, the brick coincides with the “end of the 13th Baktun; Baktuns were roughly 394-year periods and 13 was a significant, sacred number for the Mayas. The Mayan Long Count calendar begins in 3114 B.C., and the 13th Baktun ends around Dec. 21, 2012. “
David Stuart, a specialist in Mayan epigraphy at the University of Texas at Austin is skeptical. “Some have proposed it as another reference to 2012, but I remain rather unconvinced. But the date on the brick could also correspond to similar dates in the past. There’s no reason it couldn’t be also a date in ancient times, describing some important historical event in the Classic period. In fact, the third glyph on the brick seems to read as the verb huli, “he/she/it arrives.”
I took a double take at this point. He/she/it arrives??
The Tortuguero inscription – the first reference to 12/21/12 – and the Comalcalco brick are believed to have been carved 1,300 years ago and both are odd in some way. The Tortuguero inscription supposedly describes an event that’s supposed to occur in 2012 which involves Bolon Yokte, a Mayan god associated with both war and creation. “However, erosion and a crack in the stone make the end of the passage almost illegible, though some read the last eroded glyphs as perhaps saying, He will descend from the sky.
The inscribed faces of the Comalcalco brick were probably laid facing inward or covered with stucco, suggesting they were not meant to be seen.
Given all the hoopla and rumors swirling around the end of the Mayan calendar, the institute is organizing a special panel of Mayan experts who will meet at Palenque, another famous archaeological site in Mexico, next week. They hope to “dispel some of the doubts about the end of one era and the beginning of another, in the Mayan Long Count calendar.”
So we have two interesting interpretations that are eerily similar about 12/21/12: he/she/it arrives and He will descend from the sky.
To a fundamentalist, it might sound like the rapture. To me, it sounds ore like UFOs, maybe a fleet of them, darkening the sky. Now that would be a game changer.
Our friend Gabe Carson from Minneapolis sent us a synchro about pi, or π, which is the ratio of the circumference of any circle to its diameter. Pi equal approximately to 3.14, but it’s decimal representation never ends and never repeats.
Gabe entered the mystery of pi while at work after a friend sent him a Facebook image of a musician wearing a Pi t-shirt. She asked him if he thought the t-shirt was from an xkcd comic.
So Gabe Googled xkcd pi and found a comic about pi by xkcd, but not the one referenced on the t-shirt.
He chuckled at the comic, and suddenly thought about the web site for ‘Dinosaur Comics,’ which he hadn’t visited in months. So he Googled “dinosaur comics,” and clicked through to the homepage. He came to the current comic and was astonished to see that it was about pi. Beyond that synchro, the comic also implies what pi may reveal about the universe.
A little more researching and Gabe discovered the comic that is on the t-shirt. The graphic image itself reveals another synchronicity–amirror image of pi or I should say ‘pie.’ Enjoy.
Right outside the window of my home office stands a huge ficus tree. It’s trunk is so thick that it would take three, maybe four adults, to wrap their arms around it. So I have a room with a view of a tree. Until recently, it never occurred to me that the tree, likewise, has a view of me sitting at my desk.
It’s branches shoot up 50 feet or more and spread horizontally over the yard on that side of the house. Every year or so, the branches start hanging over the roof and that can allow insects access to the roof or create potential storm hazard. When Hurricane Wilma hit us a few years back, our roof was covered with huge ficus branches.
So recently it was time for me to get out the ladder and chain saw and cut back on some of those lower hanging branches. I leaned the ladder firmly against the tree, but it wobbled as I neared the top of it. I didn’t want to call Trish to hold it while I felled branches above her, so I climbed up into the large limbs and went to work.
After struggling with the chainsaw and finding it difficult to cut the smaller branches with it, I retreated and switched to a machete. Surprisingly, it was far more effective in cutting both small and medium-sized branches that the chain saw.
I cleared away the branches I’d cut and saw that I still had a few more to trim, but I ended up putting it off for a couple of weeks. So a few days ago, I raised the ladder again to tackle the task. But to my surprise I was unable to find the machete. I usually keep it wedged in one side of my workbench, but it was nowhere to be found.
I thought that possibly I’d left it in the tree or on the ground and it was buried in leaves. I checked the tree and raked the leaves. No machete. A couple of days passed in which I made several more fruitless searches. Finally, I walked out to the tree, looked around for the umpteenth time, then turned to the tree.
“Look,” I said, “I’m not trying to cut you down. All I want to do is trim your branches. So where’s the machete?” I stood there a moment longer, then turned toward the house and miraculously there it was! The blade, partially covered in leaves, was sticking out from behind an old windsurfer that lay against the house.
I picked it up and turned in astonishment to the tree. I really felt as if the big ficus had somehow communicated with me. “I’ll talk to you more often,” I said, and walked away, machete in hand.
from deviant art
Sometimes, people who comment here leave such compelling synchros that we bring them forward as posts. Here’s one from Jeri Gerald, whose stories we have used in both of our synchroncity books.
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Here is another fun story for you. My sister was looking for a Christmas ornament that had belonged to my mother. This was a few years after my mother had passed away. She knew it should be in the playroom of our family home but the room was as large as a two car garage and about as full as a hoarder’s basement.
She was poking around in one of the large walk-in closets in that room when she was startled by a box dropping off the shelf behind her. Of course she found the very ornament she had been looking for inside the box.
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Spirit communication, anyone?
One day last week, a man walked into Latte Fun, the cafe-indoor playground where daughter Megan is working while waiting for her job at Disney to begin in mid-January. The man gave her a free ticket to the Ringling Brothers Circus that will be in town in December.
So the next morning she had another job interview. She had applied for several jobs working with animals and after weeks of delays, suddenly she was getting interviews. First, Disney’s Animal Kingdom in Orlando came through with the interview and internship offer. Then the Palm Beach Zoo called and she interviewed again for the fun of it. Then Sea World called and she interviewed again, this time for a full-time job, not a temporary internship.
Then the morning after she got the free circus ticket, who calls but Ringling Brothers for an interview working with elephants in the Ringling Bros. Circus! The job would start with a three-month internship in Sarasota, where she went to college, then she would go on the road – 95 cities a year, traveling 50 weeks of the year, living on a train.
Her head was spinning after that interview. “I don’t know about that job,” she said. “It would be interesting.”
Damn right, we said. Do it for a year and write a book about traveling with the circus. “Hey, besides, you might meet a nice clown,” Rob added.
But as Megan pointed out, someone had already written the book about elephants and the circus, and the DVD had just arrived from Netflix that day – Water for Elephants. It’s set in a circus in 1931 and if you haven’t seen the movie, do treat yourself to it. You won’t want to ever work in a circus. And we suspect that’s pretty much the conclusion Megan has come to.
But, interestingly, and this could be the synchro, Ringling Brothers is mentioned in the movie and the protagonist spends his first few days there shoveling elephant dung, which is probably what Megan would be doing during the months of the internship.
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Just an aside here. Mike Perry reported that kids in Megan’s age group in the UK are experiencing 25 percent unemployment. We’re not sure of the statistics here in the U.S., but we know the job market is tough for recent college grads – Megan and her friends. If the situation isn’t rectified, then an entire generation may not ever realize the American dream. Or, they bypass the traditional methods and create something entirely new for attaining that dream.
Here’s an interesting UFO synchro. A friend, let’s call her Harriet (she doesn’t want her real name used) was en route to New Berne, North Carolina. She had a window seat and was peering out and saw an odd light. At first, it seemed to be dark, then it turned paler and brighter, then it began to move in an erratic way, and finally shot off quickly in a way that normal aircraft simply can’t do.
She snapped a photo with her iPhone, but it didn’t turn out clearly at all. There was too much reflection from the window. But the woman in the seat next to Harriet saw the object, too, and the two women discussed what they thought it was. Harriet was pretty sure she had just seen a UFO and lamented that her iPhone just couldn’t render what she saw in any clear way.
The plane landed at the New Berne Airport and Harriet hurried off to find a bite to eat. She burst out laughing when she saw the sign for the Area 51 Deli – and took the photo above. Her phone got this one clearly! She knew it was a synchro and a confirmation of what she’d seen.
We thought it was odd that Area 51 would be mentioned at some small town airport in North Carolina. Harriet says there’s some sort of secret military base in New Berne, so that could explain it. There’s an element of the trickster here – even though she couldn’t get the picture she wanted, she sees Area 51 Deli s soon as she’s off the plane.
Thanksgiving is one of those American holidays that I love. It’s like Christmas. You spend the day with people you love, give thanks for the quality of your life, and eat well. It’s also a holiday connected to important memories, odd memories.
During some point in my four years at college in upstate New York, it became too expensive to fly home to Florida for just a few days, so I went to Montclair, New Jersey, with Carolyn Sayre – Cookie, to most of us. She was probably six feet tall in her bare feet, with a towering intellect and an electric presence. I’d known her for a couple of years and even when she was a freshman, she indulged the mystical side of her personality. She thought she would probably major in religious studies – at the time, I recall, she was into Buddhism.
I’d never been to Montclair before. I’m not even sure if, at that point, I’d ever been to New Jersey. But Montclair was impressive. Huge homes on huge properties, wide, tree-lined streets where everyone seemed to drive exotic cars. I don’t remember ever seeing someone who wasn’t white. That bothered me. But I must admit I loved driving into Manhattan with Cookie behind the wheel of her convertible Packard.
The Sayre home was a sprawling mansion that immediately told me I was way out of my league, that I should probably prepare myself for meals tended by servants, lots of rules and regulations about what we could and could not do, and a no-no to midnight raids on the fridge. Was I ever wrong.
There were hardly any rules at all. Cookie’s parents were all about live and let live, which certainly suited a couple of budding hippies who had started joining protests against the Vietnam War. Even though we had a formal Thanksgiving dinner, tended by servants, nothing else about this family was formal.
Cookie’s father was a corporate attorney who had made a ton of money doing whatever corporate lawyer types do. Her mother was a knockout with the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. I have no idea whether she worked or what. She was a total mystery to me. It turned out that the house had a fantastic library and I spent most of the Thanksgiving holiday in there. One of the books I found was A Psychiatrist Looks at ESP by Berthold Schwarz.
In the Sixties, there wasn’t much published about psychic phenomena. But I was captivated by Schwarz’s book and astounded that he mentioned Cookie’s father William Sayre, who had been involved in one of his ESP experiments. Schwarz’s book was a cornerstone for me. After all, if a genuine MD shrink was investigating the stuff that fascinated me, I couldn’t be all that nuts, right?
I remember talking to Cookie’s dad about the book, about his experiences, and I could tell he knew it wasn’t supposed to fit into his life as a corporate attorney. But he was such a genuine man, that he talked freely about his experiences.
So here’s the synchro. Fast- forward twenty plus years. Rob and I were doing a story for OMNI and called on Schwarz as a professional source. He invited us to his condo in Vero Beach, just a few hours north of us. I knew his name was familiar for some reason, but couldn’t place it until he opened the door – and I recognized him from his photo in that book decades before.
“Do you know William Sayre?” I blurted at some point shortly after we’d stepped inside his home.
His eyes widened. “Knew him, yes. He died a few years back. What a wonderful man, very psychic. What’s your connection?”
For the next few years, we visited Schwarz now and then and kept abreast of his research. He was definitely a guy who was way ahead of his contemporaries, and every Thanksgiving, I think of those few days at Cookie’s house when I discovered Schwarz’s book, never knowing that decades later, I would meet him or that he would regress an abductee we met and brought to him. Always, Schwarz was curious, inquisitive, and if you’d experienced high strangeness in your life, he was there to help you interpret it.
That’s part of the beauty of synchronicity, the way it brings the past into the future, or the future into the past, and it all comes together in the present. So today, on Thanksgiving when we commemorate whatever the pilgrims did, I pay homage to synchronicity, that unifying force that so often brings our lives full circle.
