Synchronicity and Cary Grant

Sometimes things happen that have no logical explanation. R and I took the whippets for a walk on our dead end dirt road. Beautiful sunny day, warm after a cold winter night. So warm I removed my sweatshirt and hung it on a roadside reflector to pick up on our return trip. Which I did. The old royal blue sweatshirt has a hole in the back, no doubt the result of climbing through a barb wire fence. Stuck into this small hole was a many branched twig, some kind of Australian native. It has five small twigs jutting out from the central branch. It's only about 10" long. It is also covered with tiny deep blue, almost purple flowers. I've never seen anything blooming in the bush with flowers that colour, nor did I see anything around where I'd hung my sweatshirt resembling it.

So where did it come from and why was it placed so precisely in the hole of my shirt? Only one car passed us on the road and I'm sure the occupant wouldn't have done it. Just not his style. Besides, he would've had to have the plant with him and he's just not that interested in nature.

So it sits beside me on the desk, wilting slightly but with the colours of the tiny flowers still vivid. Is it a sign?

I'm a great believer in signs and synchronicity. When I am in the right frame of mind I see the Universe speaking all the time. Speaking to me in a language which is pertinent to me. That may sound mad yet if the stuff of the universe is mind stuff, why not? What is a thought but a form of energy. Everything solid is a form of energy. It has to be malleable. It has to be coherent. One wavelength amplifying or cancelling out another or just making white noise. It is all so mysterious but at the same time so bloody obvious.

For instance I was born on the 29th (11) day of the 11th (11) month in 19 (1) 55 (1). Elevens and twenty-twos have figured prominently in my life. Strictly speaking 1955 would be a 2 but for purposes of this I prefer to see it as I've set out. Today I was looking at Cary Grant (who wouldn't?). I'd gone there after looking up something else and one thing led to another and then there I was with Cary. Turns out he died in Davenport Iowa on November 29, 1986 at 11:22pm. I hadn't met to find that but I still think it's significant. Significant of what I don't know. My own particular idiosyncracy?

Unfortunately I am often out of touch with the Language and signs. I am too caught up in the white noise of my own mind chatter to see the bleeding obvious. One of the things I hope yoga will teach me is how to lose some of that, to be aware of the moment, to be IN the moment. To be still and know God or whatever you want to call it. Powers That Be works for me. There is Something but I've too many negative connotations associated with the word God.

I've been trying to meditate off and on for years. Much more off than on. Who would've thought simply following one's breath and focusing on that to the exclusion of anything else would be so hard? It is damned hard! I may get one or two breaths where I actually follow the breath, I am in the breath and then bang! I'm thinking that it's time to change birds (change in that it's time for Cornelius to go in his cage so Tachimedes can come out) or remembering some snippet of conversation from work. It seems my mind has a brilliant work ethic. It does not want to sit idle and watch the breath go in and out. It's got places to go (flights of fancy), people to see (ancient history or wishful thinking). Bludging on the job while awake is not in its job description. However. I am determined to rein in my over zealous workaholic brain and convince it that calm quiet attention is not in breach of its Lifetime Contract.