This simulation is hysterical – and somehow sad for what it says about the pathetic lengths this country has gone to in order to keep us “safe.”
As we’ve written earlier, the movie, Hereafter, directed by Clint Eastwood, includes the story of a medium, who is not a happy camper–to say the least. He finds his work depressing, and it seems to ruin every chance he has for normal relationships. He doesn’t want to do it anymore, but ultimately reads for a boy who has lost his twin.
When Morgana Starr, a medium associated with a bookstore outside of Cassadaga, Florida, saw the movie, she sympathized with the medium, played by Matt Damon. She couldn’t help reflecting on her own work and was reminded of a case in which she had to deal with the death of a child. She knew it was going to be a difficult reading when she first glimpsed the woman. Here’s Morgana’s own words.
“A deep sense of grief pervaded her entire being as she sat down. For the sake of confidentiality, I will call her Suzie. As soon as we began, I picked up on her daughter and grandson. They were lying in a pool of blood. The daughter had multiple stab wounds, the boy only a couple. The daughter had tried to shield her son with her body. By doing so, she incurred many painful wounds before she died. The boy died quicker.
“Suzie and I sat and cried together as the angel Anael helped us release their trapped spirits to the light of the Divine Source. I was able to see the man who did this and describe him to Suzie. This was someone she knew. The motive was also unveiled by Anael. However, without going to the crime scene, I was unable to pick up any proof that she could take to the police. But I was shown that in time he would be caught and prosecuted for his crimes. That gave Suzie a sense of peace.”
Of course, we wanted to know what happened after that. But Morgana revealed another problem mediums face. In spite of the dramatic nature of the reading and its unfinished business, Suzie never returned and didn’t leave any contact information. That also happens a lot with psychics and mediums who deal with the police. Once their work is done, the authorities often leave the reader wondering if he or she was accurate, and how the case turned out.
On a lighter note, Cecile De France, the actress who played the French television news personality in Hereafter, oddly enough, and in spite of her name, is not French. She’s from Belgium.
We’re not sure this is a synchronicity, but it certainly sound like the law of attraction – like attracts like. It’s a bit outdated, but still meaningful – in a strange way.
Organizers of an exhibition called ‘Antiquities Theft in Israel’ could not have chosen a more fitting name. On Jan. 20, burglars broke into the Korin Maman Museum in the coastal city of Ashdod where artifacts recovered from the black market were on display. The thieves snatched a silver ring belonging to Alexander the Great and other items including gold earrings, pottery and coins from the Hellenistic period. The exhibit ironically had been set up to educate the Israeli public about how to counter theft of antiquities.
That’s a summary from an article in the UK Telegraph. We can only hope these items will be recovered from the black market, and maybe exhibited in another show of stolen artifacts.
This is Rosa Parks. She refused to give up her seat on a bus to a white person. She’s a folk hero. In a strange yet related way, she’s connected to this story.
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If you have flown commercially since 2001, then you’re well-acquainted with the TSA. You know, they’re the guys and gals who tell you, ever so politely, to remove your shoes (because one guy a few years ago had an explosive in his shoe); to remove all change from your pockets (they might set off the metal detector); to put your laptop in a separate bin (it might, after all, be remotely wired to who the hell knows what). Now the TSA has body scanners that depict a nude you on some screener’s computers (because we did, after all, have that one real weirdo, the underwear bomber).
If you refuse to go through the body scanner, as John Tyner did two days ago at the San Diego airport, then you must submit to the grope and feel by a TSA agent. Or, as Tyner put it, if it was anyone other than the government doing this, it would be considered sexual assault. The video he shot with his cell phone is below. It’s harrowing and sounds like something out of Blade Runner. Tyner invites anyone to copy his written account of his experience. The link is here. This written account is powerful. Tyner may be a folk hero on a par with Rosa Parks.
Rob said, “But it’s not a synchro.” Well, maybe not. But it certainly looks as if it’s about to become a mass event. In just two days, Tyner’s video has received nearly 300,000 views on you tube. I think it speaks to something archetypal, to that part of us that rebels when any authority or government seeks to justify its actions by citing national security, preservation of freedom, it’s for your own good, we know best, or, as with Rosa Parks, the superiority of one race over another. In a sense, Tyner speaks for the rest of us who have gone through airport security, dreading it, hating the invasion of our privacy, secretly thinking that Bin Laden won, after all, that he – if still alive – is hooked up to his dialysis machine in a cave somewhere, chuckling away.
Here, the government’s use of fear, fear, fear to control the populace is stripped of pretense. Here, we see the emperor without his clothes.
If you’re a guy traveling on November 24, you may want to consider a protest first put forward by Jeffrey Goldberg at The Atlantic: refuse the body scanner and wear a kilt the way real Scots do it, without underwear. Here’s the Opt-Out website link.I think Rosa Parks would really like this.
On October 19, we posted a synchro involving names. It brought some cool comments. Vicki D’s story illustrates how synchronicities sometimes seem to pursue us throughout a given day.
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Today I had to stop in 3 different shops, in each one they called out for “Vicki” on the loudspeaker!
I got home and put on the TV and there was a local commercial on. In it, a teenager is on the phone with her sister and the sisters name is “Vicki”!
Later I went on Facebook and found two posts by different people including 11/11 in them. Then I came to this site to see a post about names that included my own, and others asking about number synchros – particularly about 11/11!
The last weird thing to happen to me so far today is a bird flew into a large window in the back of my house, I was able to save it. Later when I went out, a bird flew into the front right bumper of my car! That bird did not survive.
How bizarre.
This is our daughter doing her adrenaline high, 20th birthday. Skydiving is as creative a pursuit as art, writing, filmmaking, photography, dance, sculpture or anything else you can think of.
The fourth secret in 7 Secrets is called The Creative. It’s about how the creative process lies at the heart of synchronicity. As writers, we usually think of the creative process in terms of writing. But it applies across the board to any creative endeavor. From the traditional creative pursuits – art, photography, film, dance, writing, sculpture – to what we manifest in our daily lives, creativity is about imagination. If you can imagine it, then you can manifest it.
So yesterday (November 9) my friend Nancy Pickard and I drove across the state to see Megan. This will be the first year that she isn’t coming home for Thanksgiving – (boyfriend)- so I wanted to see her before she comes home for Christmas break. Megan is an art major, only one of nine at her college. All fourth years (otherwise known as seniors) have to do a thesis. It’s an all consuming process that for most majors involves an extensive thesis on a particular topic. For art majors, it means a thesis plus 10-30 paintings that express the core idea of their thesis.
The fourth year art majors have their own studios on campus, where they paint and draw until they’re half nuts with what they’re doing. The art they create is supposed to express their thesis idea. The challenge is to know what your core idea is. You’re supposed to arrive at this by allowing your artistic expression free reign to explore, to experiment. The risk is that you do a whole bunch of paintings and not a single one speaks to you. Not a single painting whispers, Hey, I’m the core idea. For writers, this is the equivalent of writing 300 pages of a novel that collapses before you reach the end.
Nancy and I toured the studios, looked at the art, were really impressed. Painting, after all, is not all that different from writing. You create characters, moods, textures, colors. You tap into visceral emotion. Nathan, a tall, thin man with passionate eyes, is creating a series of paintings that enable us, the viewers, to tap into Jung’s collective unconscious. In one painting, a figure is hunched in a pool of water somewhere, maybe in a jungle, maybe in your back yard. You immediately know something dangerous lies in that pool.
Nathan definitely understands that in the Jungian school of thought, water represents the unconscious.This painting of the guy in the pool of water is surrounded by much smaller paintings of Niagara Falls taken from webcam images. These hallucinogenic images, at least to me, symbolized the passage of earth time, the passage from ice age to life as we know it now to something altogether different.
Missy, one of the other art majors, plays with waves – images of water and light – to depict the passage of time. In one painting that captured my attention, she has a bottle or can at the forefront of her painting that you immediately know has been there for decades, maybe centuries. Its shape and texture are marked by time’s passage through corrosion, shrinkage. Her advisor told her this painting was too much of a cliche, that it wouldn’t count toward whatever number of paintings she needed for her thesis. Yet, to me, the painting smacked of a Jungian archetype. Anyone looking at it feels the passage of time that goes beyond wrinkles on a face, creaks in the bones. It’s like a Coke bottle 500 years in our future that washes up on a beach. Cliche? Who cares? We get the message.
Megan’s thesis is on dolphins.How have we used these magnificent creatures for our own agendas in the military, in research, in captivity? How have we turned them into anthropomorphic versions of ourselves and our own struggles? Megan’s studio was filled with paintings.
This one, for instance, shows dolphins as armed soldiers, a comment on how the U. S. military taught captive dolphins to carry explosives. Nancy remarked that these dolphins look like WWI soldiers, and Megan laughed and said yup, she’d painted them from WWI photos. Her advisor called this a sketch (i.e, doesn’t count toward number of paintings for thesis).
This was my favorite, and spoke of the harm we humans have done to dolphins, inadvertently, through our corruption of the environment – think BP, Exxon Valdez – and through our experiments on dolphins in captivity. The advisor also considered this one a sketch. Megan gave it to me to bring home.
The advisor also considered this one a sketch. Again, it’s a takeoff on the military use of dolphins.
In a sense, these “sketches” are like outlines for books. They’re blueprints Megan’s muse will use to take the work in other, unexplored directions.
In the next painting, Megan uses a myth from the Amazon about the pink dolphins. In that myth, the pink river dolphins are believed to emerge from the river on the nights of the full moon as human males. They cover their blowholes with a hat, then seduce the prettiest women in the village and carry them back into the river to be their mates. When a woman in the village becomes pregnant our of wedlock, she can say the dolphin did it!
With this one, she stained the paper with tea and made it look like a page from an old manuscript.This one is also a personal favorite.
There’s something magnificent about watching her talent unfold.
OK, so here’s the synchro. Every January, kids at her college are supposed to undertake some sort of independent study project that relates to their major. One January, Megan worked at a wildlife preserve in Ecuador. While engaged in her thesis project, she applied for a January internship at a dolphin facility in the Florida Keys. And she landed the internship!
This one could be tampered with, especially when it gets to the logo. But it’s interesting nonetheless to speculate.
Suppose time travelers are living among us? And as far back as the 1950s? Well, if they were that far back, I think they might have helped us along a bit better in the elections!
Maybe these videos are actually trailers for new time travel movies??
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Then there’s this second video from Eisenhower’s granddaughter talking about government time travel programs.
Shortly before my novel, Esperanza, first came out, I created a Google alert for the word. I never realized just how many Esperanzas there are. The word means hope in Spanish, which may be why there are so many alerts for it. Hope seems to be something the world needs.
First, there was Camp Esperanza, where the families of the trapped Chilean miners were living until the miners were rescued.
Then there was the daughter born to one of the miners while he was still trapped. He and his wife named the baby Esperanza. She was born on September 14, 2010, the same day my novel was published.
Ray, who comments on our blog, then alerted us to a personal synchronicity he’d experienced about the book.While he was sitting in a Starbucks reading Esperanza, a song with that title came on the radio. It’s sung by Enrique Iglesias.
Many of the alerts I receive are about Esperanza Spalding, whom I’d never heard of until these alerts starting arriving in the mailbox. And wow, can this woman sing. She’s a 23-year-old musical prodigy who has been performing since she was 15. In the novel’s sequel, I’m using her as a character’s favorite musician.
Some of the other alerts are both inspiring and comical: an Esperanza scholarship; a water polo team named Esperanza; a college named Esperanza that’s looking for an accounting specialist!
ADDENDUM
We have to add Natalie’s Esperanza synchro from a couple of days ago. It’s a good one.
“Just popped in to tell you that while i was commenting here this morning, a voice in my ear told me that Esperanza was ready for me to pick up from the library. I ordered it two weeks ago and they said it would be at least a month wait, so I haven’t bothered checking my P.O box for the notification slip. I also realised that I had not changed my email address for them to notify me that way.
I thanked the ‘Spook’ and left for work. On the way, I stopped by the Post office and checked my box. What was in there? The notification slip for Esperanza that had arrived only hours before. 🙂
“When I got to work, I unpacked my stuff, and drew a card for the day: It was synchronicity. Gotta love it. :D”
Matisse’s The Dream
It’s always a treat to post one of D Page’s synchros from her fascinating blog, mythic musings. We ran across this one and asked if we could repost it. It beautifully illustrates that our connections with loved ones who pass on are never severed by death.
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Halloween was my grandmother Mary’s birthday, so it became my favorite childhood holiday. It was a birthday she’d share with her best friend for life – Emily.
We were very close when she died in my late 20’s (late 1980’s). We had made an agreement, and renewed the agreement many times: whoever died first would contact the other. The week before she died she called me (in San Diego) from her home in Toronto, Canada. “Debra, I want you to promise me that if I die, and you have made plans to be somewhere, or do something, don’t cancel the plans. And don’t bother sending flowers. I won’t be there to see them anyway.” (She had always felt that flower arrangements were a terrible waste of money.) I was a little perplexed as to why she said these things, but I gave her my word. With her, if you gave your word you had to carry it through!
The next weekend, my husband and I had reservations to attend a Medieval Times event in Los Angeles on Saturday. On the Friday night before , my father called and said “Your grandmother is dead.” No details… nothing. I was in a terrible state of grief. I told my husband about my conversation with her the week before, and we agreed to attend the event, as I promised her.
That night I fell into a fitful sleep. Suddenly, I found my self in a lucid dreaming state, and my grandmother was standing there. Don’t ask me why, but I blurted out “Gram, why are you in a hospital gown?”
“Because I died in the hospital,” she replied in a matter of fact way. At this point it was clear that our relationship was exactly the same… nothing had changed due to her new “condition”. She waved her arm and was shown real-time scenes of my Aunt, Uncle and cousins in her condo in Toronto, Canada. They were sorting things things into boxes to keep, or give to the Salvation Army. Then the scene changed, and we were on a boat crossing a river. There was a beautiful glass or crystal city on an island in the distance. Halfway across the river, she said (in her no nonsense way); “This is as far as you can come with me.” I started crying as she enfolded me in her arms. I woke up in my room, smelling her rose perfume.
We did go to Medieval Times, which is something my grandmother would have loved. She was very into all things British, especially the Queens. It was very hard for me to go through with that day. I kept crying. On Sunday, my cousin, whom I had seen in the vision, called to give me the Memorial details. I told her I wouldn’t be attending. I also her about my grandmother’s visit and what I had seen her and her family doing in the vision. She gasped, and said that it was true… and they did give boxes of stuff to the Salvation Army.
Time passed. Then, I started having repeated visits from my grandmother. She kept showing me the same scene: In a dresser drawer there were many envelopes and small boxes. She urgently wanted me to see something.
This was repeated periodically for over 11 years. I had no way of knowing where this dresser was. I knew it wasn’t something my cousins or my father knew anything about. The only remaining relative in Canada was an uncle who was somewhat reclusive, and I had no way of contacting him.
On February 29, 2000 (leap day), a small package arrived via US mail. It was postmarked Toronto, Canada. Inside was a small blue box containing silver medallion of Queen Elizabeth, commemorating the 1976 Montreal Olympics. There was a very sweet note from my elusive uncle. “You grandmother always wanted you to have this. You were loved very much.” I knew this would be the end of the repeated dream episodes of urgently searching through the drawer.
Though those episodes were over, Mary still visits me. I can feel her loving presence and smell her rose perfume.
The visual medium primes our collective consciousness in a unique way. Through TV and movies, we can vicariously experience anything screenwriters can imagine. Love, sex, birth, death, UFO abductions, the end of the world: moviemakers and TV shows dish it out and we gobble it up. But on a deeper level, these shows and movies help to make us more receptive to new beliefs.
