MS: Multiple Synchronicities

Tags: blogger , diagnosis , left eye , MRI , MS , multiple sclerosis , optic neuritis , synchronicity

15 May 2009

Chicago breakfast bum

Posted by Teapots Happen. Comments Off on Chicago breakfast bum

January 12, 2007

I was in downtown Chicago with the rest of my small company, for our annual meeting.

On the final morning, with two or three hours before the train back to Minneapolis departed, four of us went out seeking some breakfast. The day before, the owner of the company had recommended that we eat at a place near the hotel – but in our hungover states none of us could remember its name.

So I suggested that we should just head out walking in a randomized direction – determined by asking a coworker (who was not coming along) to point in a direction of his choosing. He pointed, and that’s the way we walked off, our bags in tow, all smiles and openness to whatever goodness the universe and Chicago wanted to float our way.–

But after we’d gone a couple blocks, it was clear that wherever the breakfast cafe was, it wasn’t this way. We pressed on anyway, hoping, trusting that some other good option would come along. We passed a McDonald’s on Chicago Street, we voted it down.

Just then, I made eye contact with a ragged guy as we passed on the sidewalk. He introduced himself to me – he was Andre, he was homeless, and he could use some help. I tend to give anyone who asks for money whatever change I have on me at the time, so I reached into my coat pocket and found that I had a fistful of quarters, which I dropped into his fingerless gloves.

Andre thanked me, and we continued on our separate ways.

A block or two later, my co-workers and I turned onto State Street, and saw a small place called Deangelos Deli down the road. They were hungry and fast losing faith in finding a good place to eat in this random manner, so we opted to just try the deli … although it really didn’t look promising.

As we crossed the street and started walking through the door, I heard Andre the homeless guy urgently shouting behind me – “Hey! Hey!!” I looked back and he was jogging down the block towards me.

I waited for him to catch up, as the others went inside.

Andre shook my hand and told me his name again, and then said “I apologize. What are you guys looking for?”

I told him we were going to get some breakfast.

“Oh no, no – don’t eat here – this place is always in the paper, it’s nasty,” he exclaimed.

“Do you have someplace else in mind?” I asked. Andre said he did. I asked him where it was (although not really worried about it, I didn’t want us to be led down a dark alley and robbed).

He assured me that it was just a couple blocks ahead – he could see the sign from where he stood.

The others were inside looking at the menu behind the deli counter, but no one had ordered anything yet, so I banged on the glass and beckoned everyone back out. When they emerged I told them that we were following Andre, who knew of a better place to eat.

While we walked down the street, Andre repeatedly explained that the deli we’d almost eaten at was ‘always in the paper’ – for failed health code inspections.

(I didn’t really get it then, but apparently in Chicago surprise health code inspections are a really big deal.)

So we walked down the road – and it quickly became apparent that the place Andre was bringing us to was in fact ‘Tempo Cafe ‘ – the very place that our boss had recommended and that we’d been hoping to random into.

My co-workers were amazed at the way intention plus being open to randomness had so perfectly & coincidentally brought us to our goal – I felt so ‘in the flow’ that I was barely even surprised – it felt inevitable. “See? Teapots!” I laughed.

The others gladly ‘tipped” Andre for his help, and we went inside. The breakfast was excellent, and we were grateful we hadn’t settled for the questionable deli.

After breakfast was done we went up to the counter to pay. The man working the register was beaming and chatty – super happy.

It turned out he was the owner of Tempo Cafe.

Behind him, another guy was hanging a piece of paper up on the wall next to the register – and I was delighted to discover that the synchronicity wasn’t over yet.

The owner was so happy because while we’d been eating, Tempo had been having their annual surprise health inspection, and had passed with flying colors. (remember Andre warning us about how the place we’d tried to go was always failing inspections?)

The paper being hung up before us was their certificate from the Chicago Health Department.

–

–

Tempo Cafe Health Inspection Certificate - 1/12/07

(I got the city of Chicago to mail me a copy)

synchronicity

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Tags: breakfast , chicago , downtown , flow , health code , health inspection , homeless , spare change , synchronicity , tempo cafe

12 May 2009

She’s Having my Baby!?

Posted by Teapots Happen. Comments Off on She’s Having my Baby!?

Hmmm.

Sunday, for Mother’s Day, my girlfriend Becky drove to Iowa to visit her grandmother with her mom. They put her iPod on the car stereo and hit Shuffle, with Becky warning her mom and brother that some really weird random stuff is on there, and anything might come on – including a lurking landmine: the amazingly schlocktastic 70’s tune “She’s Having My Baby,” which I had mischievously put on there for her to stumble across some months ago.

The first song ended, and when the very next song started, Becky and her Mom broke into a twin scream immediately. Her younger brother had to wait for the lyrics to find out what they were screaming about – but of course you can guess:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNf9BmZE6SE]

Soooo … mere coincidence, or she somehow made the song come on, or she somehow knew it was going to come on, or a ghost is in the machine, or … hey wait a minute, that iPod better not know something I don’t ….

Sheesh.

I’ll get back to work on the back-stories soon, been busy with a transformation to my home – knocking down some limiting walls and letting a lot more light in … metaphorical with a sledgehammer.

synchronicity

http://cavett.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/08/seriously-what-are-the-odds

Tags: baby , coincidence , iowa , ipod , mother's day , paul anka , pregnancy , roadtrip , shuffle

9 May 2009

NYTimes synchronicity article

Posted by Teapots Happen. 6 Comments

Dick Cavett has a fluffy article about meaningful coincidence on the New York Times website:

– the article itself is interesting, but the pages of comments are better – fascinating to see the range of reactions the notion of synchronicity gets – from hyperrationalist hostility to the most woo woo of new-agery. There are a lot of decent links and synchronicity stories in there as well.

(And I love that the very first comment is from someone who, like me, has been keeping a synchronicity journal.)

synchronicity

Tags: coincidence , dick cavett , new york times , synchronicity

8 May 2009

stranger than we CAN suppose

Posted by Teapots Happen. 1 Comment

“Now, my own suspicion is that the universe is not only stranger than we suppose, but stranger than we can suppose.

I have read and heard many attempts at a systematic account of it, from materialism and theosophy to the Christian system or that of Kant, and I have always felt that they were much too simple.

I suspect that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of – or can be dreamed of – in any philosophy.”

– J.B.S. Haldane

synchronicity

Tags: haldane , philosophy , reality , strange , universe

6 May 2009

Little Prince coincidence

Posted by Teapots Happen. 9 Comments

March 27, 2009

I originally planned to post all the tales in the order they occurred, but sometimes I’m gonna have to go with the Flow … this morning, I got a new comment on the post about Binny the Albino Squirrel, noting the similarity between my experience and the story of the Little Prince & the Fox.

I was amazed – not only because it added another layer of coincidence to the Little Prince story below, but because the commenter had made a connection that I’d been blind to … which validates my hope for this blog, that its interactive nature would help make new connections and further illuminate the mysteries I’m exploring … –

Late Thursday night I was lying in bed reading with Becky. She was reading a book I’d gotten her earlier that week: Leo Buscaglia’s ‘Living Loving and Learning.’ (I’d ordered a used copy for her after I’d suddenly remembered it – back in junior high I’d found a copy at a garage sale and really liked it.)

When she put it aside to go to sleep, I picked it up and paged through, wondering if it would seem terribly cheesy to my older eyes. I flipped through looking at chapter titles until I saw one called ‘On Becoming You,’ and started at the beginning of it.

A quote from the first page stood out to me, “Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself.” The quote was from the book ‘Wind, Sand, and Stars’ by Antoine de Saint Exupery – a name that rang a bell – years ago, my grandmother had given me a copy of Exupery’s ‘The Little Prince,’ saying that I had always reminded her of the story.

I had an impulse to find that copy of ‘The Little Prince,’ which I thought was in the bedside table drawer – I startled Becky with the burst of activity as I dug around looking for it. But I didn’t find it in the drawer, and went to sleep thinking I’d locate it later.

But by morning, I’d forgotten about finding the Little Prince.

That afternoon my mom came to the house to get some help with her laptop and hang out a bit. As we sat around chatting in my living room she sorted through the materials she’d brought with – then suddenly asked me if I still had the copy of ‘The Little Prince’ that her mother had given me – she’d just found a reminder note she’d written to herself saying: “Max – read: The Little Prince.”

I laughed at the coincidence and told her I had just been looking for that very book the night before, and I went upstairs to find it (it was ON the bedside table, not in it).

Then I asked her what had prompted her to write the note.

It turned out that 20 or so years ago, her father had given her a book which she’d just had an urge to read for the first time since then. In it, she found a chapter titled “What is Essential is Invisible to the Eye,” based on the philosophy of ‘The Little Prince.’

What was she reading?

A different chapter of the very same book that Becky and I had been reading – Leo Buscaglia’s ‘Living, Loving, & Learning’.

–

Needless to say, I’m reading ‘The Little Prince’ now – and paying attention to what it has to say …

–

“You can see clearly only with your heart.
What is truly important is invisible to the eyes.”

– Antoine de Saint Exupery, ‘The Little Prince’

–

synchronicity

Tags: Antoine de Saint Exupery , books , coincidence , fox , grandma , intuition , learning , leo buscaglia , little prince , living , loving , synchronicity

29 Apr 2009

Binny the albino squirrel

Posted by Teapots Happen. 23 Comments

2005-2006

This may or may not be a “synchronicity” story, but I found it on my old computer harddrive, and thought I’d tweak it slightly and share it here.

When I was growing up, we had seven huge old burr oaks in our back yard – gnarly swamp oaks, always dropping pollen and branches and acorns. The seven tree tops grew together into a bonafide canopy, with blue jays, grackles, cardinals, crows, sparrows, bats … and squirrels, tons of them, plump greys and a few little reds. This was a constant part of my reality as my young consciousness formed.

When I was three or so, a squirrel appeared that stood out from the others – an albino squirrel.

He – or perhaps she – was a grey squirrel in shape, but with completely white fur, and red eyes. His behavior was equally strange – albinism’s total absence of pigment in the retinas affects vision and depth perception, and that alone would account for both differences in locomotion and mind. ‘Strange and beautiful’ has long been my favorite kind of most everything – including the local rodent fauna. So this albino squirrel made quite an impression on me.–

The albino squirrel didn’t live in our yard, but it was a part of his regular territory. He would come to the back porch to raid the seeds dropped from the bird feeder and do his strange speed-crawling through the oaks’ branches.

I don’t know how many years this squirrel was a part of my childhood, but eventually it vanished.

Of course, the disappearance of the neighborhood albino squirrel is not something you notice immediately.

It just slowly dawns on you, until one day you finally consciously realize you haven’t seen him around for a long time, so you start actively paying attention and looking for it, and you don’t find it, so after awhile you pester your parents about it and they tell you that the neighbors three houses down had it stuffed and said that they’d found it dead in the road but the next door neighbors were pretty sure the guy’d actually shot it in his backyard.

Well, this was unacceptable. I wanted there to be a albino squirrel, and so I actively waited for it, and basically tried to force one to materialize – I was convinced that if I kept looking for it, I was bound to find – or maybe even create – one. I remember staring out the car window at likely patches of woods around our house, intently scanning the depths of the trees, determined to manifest a white squirrel.

But I slowly gave up on this effort, grew up, finished school, went to college, and moved to Minneapolis, where I’ve lived ever since – and I did not see another albino squirrel – for twenty-five years.

– – –

Around the time I turned 28 , a squirrelly young albino in a brilliantly white coat appeared outside my front door – half grown, and not yet as wary of humans as city squirrels quickly learn to be.

Like the albino squirrel from my youth, this squirrel didn’t actually live in my trees (he hailed from somewhere just across the alley), but my little front yard and the boulevard elm tree became part of his scraggly turf – and I was delighted when I saw him around again and again after the first astonished sighting.

Jacque was my girlfriend at the time, and lived in the house here – we both started tossing food his way whenever he came around. Jacque decided his name was “Binny,” and it was.

At first, Binny kept his distance, but soon he began to come closer, almost within arm’s reach. His head cranked this way and that, the bright eyes, pink and red, examining us and the food from different angles for a few moments. Then he would cautiously move in and grab it with his teeth. If he felt comfortable, he’d stay right there and eat, holding it with his strangely human little white hands. If a car came by or someone came down the sidewalk, he’d run up the elm tree and munch in the safety of the low branches.

–

(I’d hit the “HQ” high-res button if your connection’s decent)

When we fed him, we talked to him. We started saying his name in a certain way, like people do with pets – soon we could call Binny with some reliability, from all the way across the neighborhood. When he appeared, we’d talk to him a bit, which made him feel comfortable coming closer, and by the autumn of 2005 Binny was sitting on the picnic table out front with us, eating from our hands.

He didn’t really hang out with the other squirrels – the greys seemed to kind of shun him, probably because he not only looked different but moved differently.

Soon enough the air started getting cool, the leaves all started to die, and we wondered how Binny would survive his first long, cold winter on this earth. We fed him double time, helping him plump up before everything froze. Then the snow flew, the outdoor molecules all slowed down, and Binny was nowhere to be seen for the next several months (during which time I had my mystical experience in California and the subsequent teapot synchronicity).

When spring finally returned, so did Binny, and in his presence I found many pleasurable moments appreciating reality in the Now. There was just something soothing and transcendentally-tinged about being able to go outside, call out for an albino squirrel that would soon come hopping from one direction or another to hang out – me reading or thinking, him munching contentedly on some food I’d given him, within arm’s reach, relaxed enough to close his eyes while he savored every bite.

–

Binny in April 2006

–

That spring, Binny became more than a curiosity, and became, in some strange way, a friend. We would never bond the way I had with my dog, but this was fine – he was a free creature, a wild city squirrel, a free agent. But he knew me, and I knew him, and I swear I knew he didn’t just enjoy my food, but also my presence. And I, of course, enjoyed his.

And this was beautiful.

–

One spring day, my heart lurched when Binny responded to my call and came down from the tree in front of my house looking leperous and tattered – I was momentarily convinced he was dying before I realized he was simply splattered with mud. I was deeply relieved, but a cloud lingered in my heart.

One day the following week, I called Binny and he didn’t come. Repeated calls didn’t help. I left the remains of white rice in the take-out box for him if he showed up late.

That day at work I made the photo of me feeding Binny into my computer’s wallpaper, finally replacing the shot of me having my mind blown by the sea and light and elk on Tomales Point (the pic in this blog’s header).

Looking at it, I found myself wondering how Binny’s life would play out, and how he would die. (This didn’t feel groundlessly morbid – both of my parents had been suddenly hospitalized by separate health problems that week, so mortality was on my mind.)

After work, I took a long skateboard ride with some friends.

When we got back to the house, I went around the house into the alley to throw something in the trash – and I saw Binny lying on the cement, still and dead.

His head was slightly misshapen, but there was no blood. His body was still warm, white fur was clean and shining in the sun, little hands were held in little fists as always, but never again would I see him bounding cautiously across the street when I called, never again would I share an enchanted sunbeam with my furry friend.

I picked him up, held his hand in mine, and brought his body around to the front of the house wordlessly, tears breaking free. My friends grew quiet when they saw what I held in my hands, and in my heart.

It occurred to me that I could do what my childhood neighbor had allegedly done – and bring the body to a taxidermist. Couldn’t this be a way to let Binny live on and be remembered? (And how cool would it be to have a stuffed albino squirrel?) But no – this train of thought did not make it out of the station.

Binny was a friend, a companion, a magical creature – not a mere thing. There was no way I could imagine turning Binny over to be gutted, skinned, stuffed, posed – nor could I simply throw the body in the alley dumpster and put it out of my mind as quickly as possible, even though I knew it would be easier to go that route, and turn my back on the connection that we’d had – which, now severed, would bring me pain.

We had a simple burial. I wrapped his body (actually her body, as it turned out, but Binny’s gender never really mattered anyway) in an colorful old shirt of mine, with a handful of yummy food, some agates, some flowers – things like that.

Sage was burned, tears were shed, words were said, and we buried Binny beneath a beautiful white quartz field stone, beneath the elm tree.

–

–

–

–

I never quite got to believing in spirit animals, or power animals, or any other mystical interpretation, but I also couldn’t quite escape the feeling that there was something special about the whole affair – that Binny had come – and gone – for a reason, or reasons.

In some way it seemed like Binny’s death – and my choice of whether to throw away, stuff, or bury the body, was somehow important. It’s hard for me now, years later, to really explain what Binny meant to me, what the meaning was, in the co-incidence of her and I.

–

But I can safely say it felt magical to have her in my life.

–

And that I still miss her.

–

Binny, animal friend | 2005 - April 28, 2006

synchronicity

Tags: albino , animals , Binny , death , friendship , magic , minneapolis , squirrel , synchronicity

28 Apr 2009

Ian Talty & marijuana synchronicities

Posted by Teapots Happen. Comments Off on Ian Talty & marijuana synchronicities

Yesterday I mentioned how just as I was writing about a swine flu coincidence, Becky called me and brought it up – two similar coincidences happened today:

——-

When I got home from work today, I was on the phone with my friend Jeremy, talking about the explorer & kindred spirit who died Sunday morning (while exploring this tunnel, as featured on my Action Squad website). I didn’t know Ian in life, but feel like I’ve come to know him through his writings and photos, and have been surprisingly moved by his untimely death.

Ian Talty memorial graffiti

While Jeremy and I talked about Ian, I received and opened a new email, from Rob MacGregor (one of the authors of the ‘Of Scarabs’ blog, and of a book in progress about synchronicity):

On Tue, Apr 28, 2009 at 4:35 PM, MacGregor wrote:

This message arrived today from a friend in St. Paul. He’s not one to go into details. But I thought you might know what he’s talking about. – Rob

>>This Urban Explorer/Photographer was in a drainage tunnel on East River Rd just south of the Marshall Av Bridge when a sudden downpour swept them out of the tunnel into the river. Friend survived, he did not. His main interest was photographing graffiti. He was assembling his photos for his first gallery showing. Bad luck.

——

About an hour later, I was composing a facebook message to the author of the ‘Science & Synchronicity‘ article I linked to from here earlier today, who it seems is a kindred spirit as well.

I was writing about the role of entheogens in mystical experiences, how synchronicities often seemed to happen in co-incidence with marijuana, and how it is difficult to be open about these things and be taken seriously, when my phone rang.

I’d just written:

Psychedelics may be what really launched me off with full-blown mystical experiences, but marijuana has really helped me experience some semblance of a blended way of being – between a mystical state of consciousness and a more ordinary and utilitarian (to living as I know it) way of being. I am trying to pull myself into a more mystical awareness, I think – without going clear off the edge into the abyss.

Like you, I hesitate to publicly discuss the “drug” angle much.

(interesting that our cultural memetic environment is one that has developed such pressures – seems that the connotations of drugs prevent this kind of thing from being openly discussed, and prevent it from being taken seriously even when it is.)

*PHONE RINGS*

It was Mark, calling from his car to tell me about an experience he’d just had, and was compelled to share with me:

He’d pulled over in a rest stop in Iowa and was trying to smoke some pot in his car when a car pulled up next to him, driven by a white-haired old man looking very religious and conservative and Iowan – making Mark paranoid.

But then after using the bathroom, the old guy gets back in his car, looks around furtively – and starts puffing on a pot pipe.

"Cognitive Transformation" by Ben Tolman

synchronicity

Tags: coincidence , drain , drugs , entheogens , ian talty , kittsondale , marijuana , minneapolis , mississippi river , pot , synchronicity , urban exploration

27 Apr 2009

swine flu / amazing internet

Posted by Teapots Happen. Comments Off on swine flu / amazing internet

This evening, immediately after writing down the ‘Hot Plate’ coincidence chain, I checked my email and saw that a new Google Alert for “synchronicity” had arrived.

I was amused by the link “Amazing Internet Synchronicity” – because 1) my friend & coworker Workman – who I’d just been discussing synchronicity with – had sent me a link to that same swine flu cartoon earlier in the morning, and 2) I’d just had my own run-in with “digestive (*) disruptions” of my own (never take a zinc supplement on an empty stomach) – and I’d thought jokingly “maybe I have swine flu,” lying on the floor in distress.

(*) (“maybe you have swine flu,” Becky just said to me on the phone as I paused writing in mid-sentence – we’d been talking about what we should eat for dinner and how my stomach was still feeling slightly questionable from the morning.)

Included in the same Google Alert was a link to this blog post about Synchronicity – on a blog which you might notice is awfully familiar-looking.

In case they change later, here are screen captures of both of our blogs:

Sure, it is no surprise that there are other blogs using the same template as me – but fresh on the heels of the “amazing internet synchronicity,” the similar header photos and content (“Delving into Synchronicity”) was eerily amusing.

Here’s how the blog author, Cari La Grange Murphy, defines synchronicity:

Synchronicity is the process whereby our energy flows easily and beautifully and attracts to us all the ideal people and events that provide the perfect opportunity for growth. Awareness is key! There are no coincidences. Things, people, and circumstances come into our path for a reason. Synchronicity is the outward manifestation of our thoughts brought to us by our soul, linking and connecting us with others or with events that serve as meaningful opportunities that we have attracted into our experience to assist us in gaining clarity or evolving in some way. … I feel that synchronicity offers a beautiful bridge between our inner reality and the divine workings of spirit and our external reality that is revealed to us through our experiences. When we recognize these incidents as opportunities, life becomes VERY interesting! There is a sense of intrigue coupled with amusement when we start seeing things in new ways that broaden our perspective and engage our powers of manifestation with even greater intensity.

synchronicity

Tags: blogs , cartoon , swine flu , synchronicity

27 Apr 2009

strange & wonderful horseshoe crabs

Posted by Teapots Happen. 4 Comments

(OK, so now that I’ve gotten this blog rolling, going forward I’ll post new coincidences as they happen – rather than waiting til I get through the backlog of past stories (~40 of em) in chronological order.)

Yesterday I was at Hot Plate, waiting to pay for my breakfast with some friends. The credit card machine went on the fritz, delaying the people in line ahead for several minutes.

While we were waiting, my friend Jacque browsed through the various stuff for sale, and showed me this greeting card she found:

It was appropriate because the night before we’d discussed how she was frustrated by all of her female friends having babies in the last year, and how she’d been rather disconnected from them as a result – particularly her longtime friend Rebekah.

Wandering over to the sale items, I noticed a greeting card with a cool image of a horseshoe crab. These are among my favorite animals, as the closet living relatives of trilobites, with compound eyes, blue copper-based blood, and a 455 million year history. I even have several horseshoe crab shells hanging on my living room wall.

So of course I was instantly drawn to the card. When I pulled it out I saw that the text on the front of the card read “You are strange and wonderful.” As I’ve mentioned on here more than once, “strange and beautiful” is my favorite phrase, and this variant was close enough for me – especially in conjunction with the image of a horseshoe crab!

strange and beautiful: horseshoe crabs

My girlfriend Becky loves cards, so I of course had to buy it for her (while she is not a fan of primitive critters with exoskeletons, she knows that I am – this was the first card I can remember seeing that could have been made by me, which is probably why it’s also the first card I’ve ever given her.)

That night, Mark and Jacque were talking in the car on the way to my house , and he brought up how Rebekah (Mark’s girlfriend / baby momma) missed Jacque, and the discussion quickly turned heated and became an argument. When we got to the house, Jacque went home, and Mark came inside to hang out a bit.

Shortly before Becky came over (and I gave her the horseshoe crab card from Hot Plate), Mark was surprised by my living room lamp – it turned out that when he was a boy in Missouri, his grandmother had the exact same lamp – same color, same lampshade.

Although it was in plain sight in the living room, right beneath my horseshoe crabs, Mark had been over many times without noticing it in the months since I’d first bought it – from the little vintage shop that Hot Plate used to operate in their basement!

Hot Plate lamp (topped by a glass insulator) & horseshoe crabs

So – no major coincidences, but a tangle of minor ones: finding a card with an ideal combination of a horseshoe crab and “strange and wonderful” at Hot Plate, because Jacque had found a card about the same issue she would later argue with Mark about, right before he realized I had the same lamp as his grandmother, which I’d bought at Hot Plate and which is directly beneath my horseshoe crabs.

A skeptic would say that this is a great example of how endless, meaningless coincidences can be mistaken for weird connections when you look for them – while a believer would say this just goes to show how everything is synchronicity and you can find endless meaningful coincidences if you are open to them …

synchronicity

Tags: babies , beautiful , coincidence , greeting card , horseshoe crab , hot plate , lamp , strange , vintage shop , wonderful

26 Apr 2009

Knock Yourself Out

Posted by Teapots Happen. Comments Off on Knock Yourself Out

I’m starting to rethink using Youtube videos to share music – too often the videos are distracting or even detrimental … but oh well. It works and it’s easier than uploading mp3s at least – but note that the song here is what is important, not the silly video.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z500MGW-WNw&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00]

from the I Heart Huckabees soundtrack by Jon Brion

(I’ll have to post about ‘I Heart Huckabees’ later – it’s a great movie that deals heavily with the declared themes of this blog – synchronicity, meaning, & reality.)

synchronicity