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I’m a clinical psychologist. I just noticed I started this story with that line—and I guess I usually do. It’s central to my identity. And at times, especially now, I can’t stand it. I’d give anything to turn it off—and yet I also know how much it’s given me: the ability to see, and to be seen, as part of a terrifyingly and thrillingly vast human web.

I came into my current professional and personal world through a kind of backdoor. A string of lived experiences kept mysteriously syncing with the clients I saw. Familial trauma lit the spark, chronic illness deepened my craving for real connection, and soon I was working with people who felt like echoes—those with complex relational trauma and so-called “personality disorders.”

Then came 2020. My husband got an informal autism diagnosis. Suddenly, my clients—their “combo packs” of chronic health issues, interpersonal chaos, diagnostic Easter eggs—made even more sense. And then, BAM: my couples therapist (neurodivergent herself) said, “I wonder if you have ADHD.”

Cue: identity collapse. And then, not long after, the autism piece dropped. Another BAM. Turns out, that’s common.

Becoming an “AuDHDer” at 29 shattered and rebuilt me. It was like falling into a psychosis-shaped baptism—part burnout, part bipolarity, part ecstatic delirium. My jet-engine brain, never satisfied with one explanation for anything, carried me to a place of overwhelming insight and then slammed me back into “reality,” as others define it.

I’m both grateful and disoriented. The confusion, the rejection, especially from people I love (and who are almost certainly neurodivergent themselves), has been a kind of mourning. Now I crave a space where nuance actually lives, where philosophy is welcome, and where—maybe—someone else might recognize this experience I still don’t fully understand myself.

I have been experiencing synchronicity daily or almost daily for about 7 years now. It all started with the transformation of consciousness at the climax of my depression (which also cured it), when I was overwhelmed with synchronicity. The synchronicity usually involves numbers 22, 23, 33 and 43, sometimes 11 as well.

But these numbers were a part of my life even before this, I just didn’t see anything special in them then. For example, my home postal number is 43 (just as my shoe number). The pub I most frequently visit is in the same street, on number 23 (the pub used to be called Enigma but I think it’s new name is Enigma 23 or just 23). My son was born on 2003.11.23, etc. Here’s an example of the synchronicity I encounter:

On the evening of 2023.03.11 I was watching a documentary (Collapse, based on J. Diamond’s book). At some point during the movie I look at the microwave clock for some reason (not a conscious decision), the clock was showing “23:22“, I look back at the TV and now it’s showing a bunch of signs in a row with number 23 on them (it looked like a train station).

The movie ends and the length of the movie shown at the bottom [of the media player] catches my eye. It was 1:33:33. I close the player and I’m in Windows Explorer which is set up to show the details by default so it shows the modification date of files along with the name, type and size. It shows 2010.11.23 3:33 for the modification timestamp of the movie filename.

Note that it appears the movie file was modified on my son’s birthday (as noted, he was born 2003.11.23). Later I check where in the movie the scene with the number 23 occurs – it’s exactly 4 minutes and 33 seconds before the end.

In 2006, near a Wegmans grocery store in Rochester, New York, I spotted a “BGG666” New York license plate on a winestone-colored sedan as it passed by me while I was walking. I then followed this car into the parking lot of the Wegmans to examine the car and confirm the letters and digits on its license plates. As far as my coincidence, “BGG” are my initials, and I owned at the time a winestone-colored sedan whose make, model, and year were the same or nearly the same as those of the sedan with the “BGG666” license plates.

I estimate the odds of the occurrence of this coincidence at one moment in time (as opposed to over a course of a lifetime) to be approximately 1 in 10 billion ((26 alphabet letters X 26 alphabet letters X 26 alphabet letters X 10 nos. X 10 nos. X 10 nos. X 250 car models X 5 car-color options) / 2 possible license-plate combinations (i.e., BGG666 or 666BGG)). Likewise, I estimate the odds of the occurrence of this coincidence over the course of a lifetime (as opposed to one moment in time) to be approximately 1 in 5,000 ((1/10 billion) X (75 license plates viewed per day X 365 days per year X 80-year lifespan)).

My wife and I were staying at the Auburn University Hotel in Alabama, visiting our son, who was feeling down. That night, I had two vivid dreams about round UFOs, where they were teaching me things.

In the morning, I woke up to see a large round building outside. Curious, I went out to ask about it, and the car valets told me it was the Auburn University Library. As we chatted, they asked if I’d heard of Bob Lazar.

Just then, a man overheard us, took my photo (which never happens), and joined the conversation. I asked him what he did for work. He casually replied that he worked for NASA—then revealed he was the director of the NASA Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, AL.

I asked if he knew a friend of mine who worked there. To my surprise, he said he did. Grateful for the unexpected connection, I asked if I could give him a hug—something I’d never normally do with a stranger. He agreed but quickly added, “I’m not into UFOs.”

I then asked if he knew about the Monroe Institute, and he said yes. When I shared my experience with their Lifelines course and how I had verified what I perceived, he reacted with a quick “Oh, wow,” then left abruptly.

Later, I told my friend in Huntsville about the encounter. They sent me a photo of the NASA director and asked if it was the same person. It was.

Thursday: I was browsing university remote teaching jobs when I came across a listing for a professor at Abilene Christian University. It caught my eye because my husband and I were once members of the Church of Christ, and the school is in the town where my family is from. The only graduate I had ever known was my friend, the late Harold Staughn, who had attended Abilene Christian College before continuing his studies at Harvard. He was the one who performed our wedding ceremony.

Friday: A resume landed in my inbox for a chaplain educator position. The applicant had also attended Abilene Christian College before moving on to Yale. When I mentioned Harold, he remembered him but admitted they were not particularly close.

Saturday: I attended the funeral of an employee’s wife, held in a Church of Christ building. At the luncheon afterward, I found myself seated next to an engineer. Our conversation drifted to Pepperdine University, where his daughter was about to graduate before continuing her studies at Notre Dame. I remarked that it was quite a leap.

Monday: I was calling references for the job applicant. One of them was a professor at Notre Dame. We ended up having a delightful hour-long conversation, during which I learned that he, too, had graduated from Abilene Christian College before continuing on to Princeton. Not only that—he had known Harold very well.

Tuesday: An email arrived in my inbox. The professor overseeing the university program I’m currently enrolled in had accepted a new position. Where? Abilene Christian University.

Five days, five threads weaving together in ways I never could have planned.

I had decided I was ready for a male friend, so I spoke to the great Spirit with a list of qualities I wanted. Then, in a moment of pure intention (or cosmic ordering at its finest), I walked into Starbucks expecting the Universe to deliver.

Not long after, I overheard an interesting conversation. Something about it felt magnetic. I approached the gentlemen, and they welcomed me into their circle. The leader, Irv, immediately said two things that signaled he had already met some of the criteria on my list.

We struck up a friendship and soon discovered an almost eerie number of parallels. I had never heard of the twin flame phenomenon before, but it became clear we were on the same frequency—just masculine and feminine versions of the same wavelength.

Some of the synchronicities we uncovered—past, present, and future:

• Extreme kindness with no expectation of reciprocity.
• Born in the same state.
• Left-handed.
• Our appendixes burst at age 8. (Wouldn’t recommend.)
• Early career: firefighter.
• Later career: telecom.
• Spent years learning and teaching outdoor skills to kids.
• Lived on parallel ridges in Virginia on wooded property.
• Experienced a “dark night of the soul” transition in the same year.
• No tattoos, clean living.
• Favorite house decor includes: a “hear no evil” sculpture, vintage typewriter, globe, abacus, and telescope.
• Lifelong photographers with SLR cameras.
• Several homeless friends we regularly help.
• Senior citizen friends who depend on us for IT help—both of us even had to fix a computer virus for them in the same week.
• Similar vintage cars, both named Daisy, both with stuffed animal mascots.
• Always inventing more things than we can ever implement.
• Highly ethical and spiritual.
• Traveled the world and make friends wherever we go.
• Both randomly invented a bunny cartoon character.

And the list keeps growing. The deeper our friendship goes, the more parallels appear.

I had only planned on getting a coffee. The Universe, however, had other ideas.

My life has been marked by a web of uncanny coincidences—each one tied to the three relationships that shaped me.

At 17, I met Frank while working at Happy Herman’s in Perimeter Mall. We reconnected by chance at a Longhorn Steakhouse on Christmas Eve in 2006. Our families were already intertwined—his brother and my brother shared the same birthday, and his parents were married in the same chapel as mine. When Frank and I wed in 2007, we chose that very chapel. Even professionally, connections ran deep—his uncle and my cousin, both architects, collaborated for years without knowing our link.

At 24, I met Random while working at the High Museum. We married in 2000, discovering eerie similarities—his brother and I shared a birthday, and our mothers had nearly identical names. His first name, Frederick, mirrored my father’s name, Fred. Though our marriage ended in 2004, the strange connections lingered.

Later, I dated Sean, a musician in a band called Halcyon Way. Years after we parted, my cousin unknowingly designed a community named Halcyon, with a main road matching the band’s name. When my husband and I dined there in 2022, we noticed a mural of a guitar—odd for a non-music venue. Then, Frank struck up a conversation with the restaurant owner, whose name, coincidentally, was Sean. Another thread in the web of my life.

Through these experiences, I’ve come to see my life as a tapestry of coincidences—each one a quiet whisper of connection, guiding me along an unseen path.

When I was a young boy, on rare occasions, I would sit with my dad as we made calls through his ham radio to faraway places. A cherished tradition in the ham radio community is exchanging QSL cards—confirmation postcards sent between contacts. These moments with my father were special, though infrequent, and left a lasting impression on me.

Years later, after my father’s passing, I decided to obtain my own ham license and requested his old call sign, W5OAG. The FCC granted my request after I submitted his death certificate. Ham radio became a way for me to reconnect with those early memories. One day, a friend asked why I had a small collection of QSL cards displayed on my office wall. As I explained my fondness for those childhood moments—especially the thrill of speaking to someone in Australia and later receiving a card with a kangaroo or boomerang—my eyes welled up with emotion.

Then, in an almost unbelievable twist, one or two days later, a QSL card arrived in my mailbox. It featured a kangaroo and boomerang and was postmarked September 1969—decades earlier. Stranger still, the stamp was uncancelled, and it had somehow found me at an entirely different address! Determined to unravel the mystery, I spent a year tracking down the son of the original radio contact. I assumed he had found the card in an old drawer after his father’s passing and sent it to me. But he hadn’t—he believed it had been lost in a conveyor belt for over 30 years!

The timing felt too perfect to be chance. I can’t help but believe that my deep love and longing for my father in that moment somehow summoned this remarkable coincidence—an extraordinary sign of an unbroken connection through time.

Two or three weeks before my ordination as a church minister at age 33, I lay in bed one morning reflecting on the winding, chaotic nature of my life since leaving school. A bit of this, a bit of that—wrong turns, dead ends, all over the place. I wondered if, despite the seeming mess, a divine hand had been guiding me all along. I thought about all the places I had lived, scattered across England, and imagined them as points on a map. Then, a sudden realization struck: when connected chronologically, they formed a perfect clockwise spiral, progressing inward. The signature of God?

At the time, I shared this revelation only with my wife. Later that month, as friends and family gathered for my ordination, my sister handed me a small envelope containing a card she had designed. When I opened it, I was stunned—she had drawn a spiral, encircling the words ‘Happy Ordination’ and the date. Even more astonishing, her spiral moved in the same direction as my life’s journey and contained the same number of sections as my residential moves. She had no way of knowing any of this.

After a moment of silence, I asked, ‘Why a spiral?’ She shrugged, ‘I couldn’t think of anything else, so I just did it.’

That simple card now sits framed on my wall—one of my most treasured possessions. It is a quiet yet powerful reminder of something beyond coincidence, something profoundly mysterious and deeply comforting.

I was living in Italy, and my friend Anthony was in France. One night, in the middle of the night, I decided to try something unusual. I visualized a portal in my mind—a glowing rectangle—and commanded myself to connect with Anthony. Almost instantly, I could picture his face, head resting on his pillow.

I called out in my mind, “Anthony, can you hear me? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” To my surprise, he replied in a sleepy voice, “Yes.”

I asked again, “Anthony, can you hear me? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” He murmured, “Yes,” sounding groggy but responsive.

I told him, “I’m going to give you a number, and I want you to remember it, okay?” He replied, “Yes, okay,” in his French-accented voice. I repeated, “Anthony, don’t forget this number. Tomorrow, when I ask you for it, you will tell me the number. Understand?” He drowsily agreed.

I said the number aloud: “17. Anthony, don’t forget the number 17. Tomorrow, you’ll remember it, okay?” He promised he would, though he sounded so sleepy I couldn’t help but laugh.

The next day, I actually forgot about the experiment until I saw him. I said, “Last night, I did an experiment. I gave you a number. Do you remember it?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t remember.”

Disappointed, I asked, “Just guess a number, any number.” He thought for a moment and said, “If I were to guess… I’d pick 17.”

I was stunned. Out of all the numbers in the universe, he chose 17.

That moment convinced me that synchronicities are more than coincidences—they’re quantum connections. Once formed, these connections are never truly broken. We’ve never attempted the experiment again, but it’s a memory that will stay with me forever.

It was the summer of 1981. My friends Jim, Ron, Kevin, and myself were driving home from a movie. On a whim, I decided to play a joke on Kevin. “Hey Kevin, guess what?” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“Jim’s dog died,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. Kevin looked shocked and turned to Jim for confirmation. To my surprise, Jim played along.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Jim said, pretending to be upset. 

The next day, Jim called me. “Hey, dude. You won’t believe this, but my dog actually died last night,” he said.

I laughed nervously. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “Can you come help me bury him?”

Amazed at the coincidence, I went to Jim’s house and helped my friend lay his poor dog to rest.

When my husband passed away, I was overwhelmed with grief. For two weeks, I cried nonstop, lost in the weight of my sorrow. Eventually, I knew I had to find some way to regain balance in my life.

One day, as I walked past the small bookcase where we kept our CDs—always neatly arranged in rows—I noticed something unusual. One CD was sticking out, a couple of inches out of alignment with the rest.

It was The Beatles’ Let It Be.

In 1990, as the U.S. prepared for the Gulf War, I experienced a coincidence that profoundly changed my life. This is one of the “aftershock” coincidences I encountered while seeking validation of the primary event.

After earning my architecture degree from Virginia Tech, I joined the V.I.S.T.A. program, requesting an assignment on an Indian reservation. I was placed with the Tribal Health Department at the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation in Ft. Yates, North Dakota. However, there was an issue: the tribe couldn’t find housing for me. Until they could, V.I.S.T.A. sent me to another program in Williston.

Halfway through my one-year service, frustrated by the delay, I decided to act. I informed my supervisor, packed my car, and drove five hours to Ft. Yates early one Friday morning. Upon arrival, I stopped at the hospital to ask for directions. Once inside the Tribal Health building, I was ushered into the director’s office, interrupting a meeting with a local resident.

They were discussing the purchase of his property in town, which included a private home and an old motel. The Tribe planned to convert the motel into a women’s shelter but faced a hurdle: the federal grant application required a detailed drawing of the property, including both buildings.

A deal was struck on the spot. I, a young architectural graduate, would create the required drawing, and in return, I could live in the motel for free. I had arrived at exactly the right moment.

During my time on Standing Rock, I completed my service, forged lifelong friendships, and found the validation I had been seeking. Meanwhile, the Tribe received its grant and brought its vision of a women’s shelter to life. It was a perfect alignment of needs and timing—a coincidence I’ll never forget.

In 1968, after graduating high school in Chicago, I spent the summer working for my father’s construction company in Coalwood, West Virginia, before heading to college in Los Angeles. Two years later, my father died by suicide. He had been my hero—a World War II veteran—and his death left me shaken and angry. I worked hard to forget him.

Forty years later, a woman named Emily called me at my law office in San Diego. She said we had lived in the same boarding house in Coalwood and that she had found something I’d left behind: a letter from my father. It had been in a box in her mother’s garage for decades.

Emily asked if I had children. I told her, “We have a daughter, Brittany,” but my voice broke as I added, “We had a son, Jimmy. He was killed by a car three months ago. He was 24.”

Five days later, the letter arrived. As I read it, I realized I had never seen it before. My father wrote of his difficult childhood, struggles with depression, and the war that had changed him. It was deeply personal and filled with tender advice and praise. He ended with:

“I’ll be around, anytime you want me. I’ll be there, because I care more than you’ll ever know, my son. All love, Dad.”

Goosebumps covered my body. The letter arrived on November 8, 2008—Jimmy’s 25th birthday. My father, who I had tried so hard to forget, had kept his promise. He was there for me on one of the hardest days of my life.

At 19, I was navigating the chaos of what I now recognize as a spiritual awakening. It felt like a baptism by fire—songs seemed to narrate my life, 3 a.m. wake-ups were the norm, and improbable events became a daily occurrence. When I tried to talk about it, people didn’t understand, so I stopped. Isolation and confusion took over, leaving me certain something was wrong with me.

It was beautiful yet unbearably painful. I wasn’t suicidal, but I felt a deep sense of readiness—like I was being purified, guided toward something. At times, though, it felt like I was a rat in an experiment, as if life was mimicking The Truman Show.

After two years of this internal tug-of-war, something shifted. One sunny day, I was relaxing in my mother’s lush yard, enjoying the warmth and serenity. A playful thought crossed my mind: I’d never found a four-leaf clover before. Determined, I decided to give it a serious try.

Just as I was about to search, an intuitive, playful voice within urged me to close my eyes and let my fingers choose. Obeying the impulse, I reached out blindly and plucked the first clover I touched. When I opened my eyes, there it was—a perfect four-leaf clover in my hand.

In that moment, everything changed. I realized I wasn’t just a passive subject of life’s mysteries; I was an active participant, a collaborator in the unfolding magic around me.

For over a decade, I’ve observed synchronicities—meaningful coincidences that seem to defy explanation—and even wrote a book about them. While these moments are common in daily life, many people fail to notice them.

In August 2024, I watched a short version of an old Chinese film online, a 1990 drama centered on red lanterns. The narrator mentioned not just one or two lanterns but hundreds of them. A few days later, while walking along the creek behind a condo building, I noticed green plants adorned with hundreds of red and orange lantern-like pods.

I often walk this path but had never noticed these vibrant plants before. This year, I hadn’t visited the area for months, but after watching the film, I was drawn there. The plant, fittingly called the Chinese Red Lantern, mirrored the imagery from the film.

With permission from the condo building council, I picked a few of the lanterns and placed them in my living room as decorations. In Chinese culture, red lanterns symbolize joy and good luck, offering a stark contrast to the dark tone of the movie.

This moment felt like a synchronicity—a meaningful connection between my thoughts and the world around me. As Buddha once taught, “Whatever is in your mind will appear in the world.”

Before traveling to India in 1968, I discovered a recording by an Indian bass flutist named Pannalal Ghosh. Determined to study with him, I tried to find him once I arrived, only to be told that neither the musician nor the bass bamboo flute existed. Months later, while wandering through Old Delhi, I heard the unmistakable sound of a bass bamboo flute nearby. Following the music, I stumbled upon a small gathering in a patio where a young master of the instrument was performing at a private party.

I snuck in to listen, captivated by his skill. After his performance, I approached him, shared my story, and that meeting marked the beginning of a lifelong friendship. This young flutist not only became my teacher but also a cherished member of our family.

He confided his dream of performing in America, but I had no idea how to help. Two years later, back home, inspiration struck. I called a local listener-supported radio station and asked if they could air a reel-to-reel recording I had made of him in India. By chance, they had an opening that day. I introduced his music to the audience and shared that he was seeking an opportunity to perform in America, leaving my phone number for interested listeners.

When I returned home, the phone was ringing. A member of the local College of Indian Music had heard the broadcast and was looking for a teacher of North Indian bass flute. Two weeks later, my friend arrived in San Francisco, launching an illustrious international career. For over 50 years, his family lived nearby, becoming part of our own until his passing.

(That was G.S. Sachdev—his recordings are still widely available.)

I was struggling financially to finish a remodel, barely scraping by. On my way to the big box store for the seven rolls of insulation I needed, I spotted a stack of insulation by the side of the highway.

I waited a bit, but no one came to claim it. So, I grabbed the seven rolls, and with some extra cash in my pocket, I couldn’t help but think how often things like this seem to happen.

A simple coincidence, but one that made all the difference!

One night, I followed self-mediumship instructions from Suzanne Giesemann’s YouTube site. I first asked for a name and, after quieting my mind, received “TICONDEROGA.” Surprised, I tried again and got “ETHAN ALLEN.” I Googled it and learned that Ethan Allen had captured Fort Ticonderoga during the Revolution—strange coincidence, but I continued.

I then watched some videos on Near Death and Afterlife experiences and asked for the name of my Guardian Angel, which I wasn’t sure I believed in. I got “ALPHONSE.” Later, I resumed listening to two audiobooks: Vineland by Thomas Pynchon and a biography of actress Clara Bow by David Stenn.

In Vineland, a character watches a biographical movie about Clara Bow—Pynchon’s invention. Then, in Stenn’s biography, Clara’s new husband cuts their honeymoon short for a role in Lightnin’, a film my mother had appeared in. To my surprise, I found that Lightnin’ also featured an actor named ALPHONSE, who had starred in two films with Clara Bow. The name was uncommon, even in 1930.

All of this happened in about an hour. I later asked ChatGPT about the odds, and it estimated the chance of these events happening simultaneously at 1 in 5 trillion.

These coincidences felt like something deeper at work. It reminded me of C.G. Jung’s words:

“The unexpected and the incredible belong in this world. Only then is life whole.”

A few weeks ago, I shared with my teenage daughter an amazing photo I had taken by chance, capturing a powerful spiritual image of shadows in nature. It opened her mind to new possibilities.

Days later, during a road trip, my daughter showed me a picture of a cloud she had photographed, which she believed resembled an angel. After Googling it, she said the image was of Gabriel. I thought it was cute but didn’t think much of it.

When we arrived at our destination, I was searching for a parking spot and, to my surprise, found one on a small street named St-Gabriel Street.

Curious, I decided to look up the Archangel Gabriel online and discovered that it was the exact date the angel was celebrated in the Church. The odds of such a coincidence were astounding.

I shared this with my daughter, and she was completely overwhelmed. It felt like a sign—truly amazing!

I grew up in a small town in North Carolina, with dreams of one day living in New York City. My older sister had a Bob Dylan album with a cover of him walking on a snowy street in NYC, and I often imagined myself there.

After college, while vacationing in Los Angeles, I visited a nightclub in Hollywood. At the time, I was working for a small record label in NC. While there, I struck up a conversation with a man who owned a record label in NYC and was promoting the band that was performing. We exchanged business cards, and he casually said, “If you ever want to move to New York and need a job, give me a call.” I didn’t think much of it at the time, assuming he was just being polite.

Weeks later, back in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, I was having lunch in a restaurant when a college friend approached me. She told me her sister was leaving NYC and needed someone to sublet her apartment. I jokingly replied, “I’ve just been offered a job and an apartment in NYC. I have to go, right?”

I called the man I had met in LA a week earlier and, to my surprise, he made good on his offer. I moved to New York and started working for Select Records in downtown Manhattan.

One snowy night, while walking with a friend in the West Village, I remembered that Bob Dylan album cover. It was as if magic had aligned to bring me to that moment. That was 1984, and I think of it as my favorite year.

In 2007, my wife and I, along with our five kids, were renting a house. We had recently filed for bankruptcy, and the dream of owning a home felt impossibly far away.

One day, by chance, my wife met a realtor who encouraged us to apply for a home loan. To our amazement, we were approved. We found a house within our budget, but it required a $6,000 down payment—a sum that seemed as unattainable as $100,000 given our situation. With no way to raise the money, I left it up to the universe.

That same night, when I had all but given up, I received an unexpected phone call. The caller explained that he felt “moved” to reach out. He was religious and believed he was acting on divine inspiration.

Years earlier, a close friend had passed away, leaving me as his only family contact. I’d inherited his website and domain names, including one called airwaves.com. The caller asked if I still owned it. I confirmed that I did, though I had never listed it for sale or thought it was valuable.

As it turned out, the caller owned a heating and air conditioning company called Airwaves HVAC and wanted the domain for his business. To my astonishment, he offered $6,000—the exact amount we needed for the down payment.

Within days, the deal was finalized, and we were able to purchase our home. It was a shocking and humbling reminder of how the universe can work in mysterious ways.

In 1994, after publishing my book Forbidden Science (titled Alternative Science in the U.S.), I was invited to speak at the British Society for Psychical Research (SPR) in London. The talk took place on October 18, 1994—a date that soon became significant.

Afterward, I joined a small group for tea and biscuits, including the SPR Chair, the society’s marketing officer (a young woman), another writer, and a vocal skeptic. This skeptic, who seemed determined to challenge my every word, brought up birthday coincidences. He explained that in a group of 23 people, there’s a 50-50 chance two will share a birthday.

I smiled and said, “Oddly enough, today is my birthday.”

The marketing officer immediately added, “It’s mine too.”

This moment stood out for several reasons:

1. The skeptic had introduced the topic of birthday coincidences to dismiss their improbability.
2. Out of a group of just four, two of us shared the same birthday—a far smaller group than the 23 in his example.
3. The coincidence occurred on the very date being discussed.

That it all happened in the headquarters of the SPR added an ironic twist, as if the universe—or the Imp of the Perverse—was having a bit of fun. Sometimes, even skeptics must pause and marvel at the unexpected.

My dad didn’t talk about the War. But on Thanksgiving 1968, we were at Mom’s sister’s place for dinner.

Dad had been in the Army in the Pacific theater, and he told us the story of being right at the front keeping watch out for the Japanese. Suddenly, a few Marines came up looking for souvenirs and asked where the front was. Dad jokingly told them several yards ahead.

Moments later, there was gunfire and the Marines came running back, cursing my dad and his buddies. My uncle, a Marine, who was married to my mom’s sister, yelled, “That was you?”

There on the WWII battlefield in the Aleutian Islands, my dad and his future brother-in-law met, however briefly.

My ex-husband, Adam, and I met in San Francisco in the 1980s. Very soon after, I learned my Uncle Darrell, my father’s brother in Portland, Oregon, whom I had not had contact with since I was a child when he lived in Marin County, California, was planning a visit to California to catch up with relations.

His wife called me asking if I would contact my siblings and we could all meet in San Francisco for lunch with him and his wife, two sons and their families. I was happy to do so, made the arrangements, and we all had a fine time, including Adam who joined us. When nearly finished visiting, my uncle inquired about my artistic endeavors, knowing I had acquired my artistic talent genetically (my father and his father had the same natural talent). I suggested he and his wife, along with Adam and I, go to my apartment and he could view some of my works.

On my very first visit to New York City, I visited the Hotel McAlpin for a comic book convention that was being held there. I approached the elevator. The elevator door opened, and I was greeted by a man who extended his hand for a handshake.

“William Stout!” said the man who shook my hand. It was Gordon Connell, the talented father of my (Los Angeles) band’s bass player, Melissa Connell. Gordon is a musical comedy actor. He was appearing at the hotel’s dinner theater. 

This was my first trip to New York; Gordon, like me, lived in Los Angeles at the time. What are the odds in that city of over eight million people? But that’s not the big coincidence, believe it or not.

Ten years later, I was back again in New York for a second visit. While walking down Columbus Avenue with my fiancé, I was telling her the story of my extraordinary Gordon Connell coincidence. When I got to the part of the story in which Gordon extends his hand and says “William Stout,” I reached over a railing at an outdoor restaurant and said, “Gordon Connell!” and extended my own hand to shake the hand of Gordon Connell, who was sitting there, having his lunch.

This morning, amidst the drama of a busy Sydney street (a transport interchange), I reflected on the magical manifestations of yesterday, from a coffee shop I frequent…

Last week, I experimented by suggesting to the universe a symbol for magic: CRESCENT.

Just to add to the growing repertoire of personally meaningful symbols, it continues to absolutely bombard me daily.  

I cast it out as advised by my friend, with no attachment, and then forgot about it completely… until yesterday when I was photosynthesising like a plant (enjoying that glorious vitamin D) at this same coffee shop. 

And a bus drove by with ‘3333’ on it…

As serendipitous as it is, this in itself has become no special event; I see triple/angel numbers of all kinds DAILY from this coffee shop on the registration plates of passing vehicles… Is it normal to see this number of synchronicities?!

Nonetheless these angel numbers caught my eye, and drew my podcast absorbed attention to… the word: ‘Crescent’ written just above the wheels of the bus. 

No way… I get these buses abundantly and never EVER noticed this! Huh! Go me I thought as I was picking myself up off the floor (spiritually I’d fallen off my chair)…

It seems I have pulled off a self prescribed synchronicity within about a week… how enchanting! 

Also noting how it occurred when it wasnt in mind at all, and I was purely in a present listening flow state. 

And how I’d cast this in the waxing phase of the moon and in line with my friend’s words the “cumulative effects” manifested right around the full moon. 

Thank you, universe!

So excited to find this community! Here are just a few of my coincidence stories…

In the 1970s, my mother lived in Malta where she babysat the daughter of a family friend. Years later when I was in high school in Louisiana, I was friends with a tall, hardy guy who could literally eat you out of house and home. When Grandma (my mom’s mom) passed away, we traveled to Texas for her funeral. When we arrived, my mom was on the phone. She had called the now-grown woman she had babysat in Malta, who had since moved to the U.S., to share the news of Grandma’s passing. While on the phone, the lady told mom that her niece and family were visiting, and the man her niece had married could eat more than anyone she had ever known. Mom said that it sounded like her daughter’s friend from high school. And yes, it was the same dude!

The same grandmother died 4/7/2004. My dad’s mom died 4/7/2010. So both my parents lost their mom and the same day 6 years apart.

My ex-husband and I started dating on 4/7/2000 (rough day for me!). His mom was 21 years and 2 days older than me. His dad was 21 years and 2 days older than him. Our anniversaries were 3 days apart. (Their anniversary ended up being the same day my son was conceived with my 2nd husband.)

I left Natchitoches, Louisiana 7/3/2003. Moved several times after that, including to Nacogdoches, Texas (sister city to Natchitoches) 7/3/2022 — exactly 19 years to the day.

My mom found out through a DNA site that she had a sister she didn’t know about. Right before Covid hit, I was working as a hotel inspector. I was visiting with a desk clerk and a DNA site commercial came on the lobby TV. She commented that her family had recently found a new family member because of it. I said yeah, me too! Turns out the lady that was now my new aunt was also related to the desk clerk!

I’ve experienced many synchronicities since meeting a man. Even the way we met was a coincidence.

Here’s how we met: He used to see me for years while coming and going from work; then no more. Then last year, he and a colleague bought a field in the same area where I have mine (where I work). One day at the end of last summer, I walked past him at the field but didn’t see him.

He recognized me and began driving around to search for me, but he turned left towards the street while I turned right to go back to my field, so he couldn’t find me. A couple of months later, I was at the field working my dogs, and he drove exactly in front of it. He didn’t have to take that particular road, but by coincidence he did and finally he was able to talk to me. 

It seemed we had known each other for ages. It was like my soul recognized his. Then other strange things started happening, like one night in winter I woke up because I couldn’t sleep and suddenly felt hot. The next day, I discovered the same thing happened to him that night.

Yesterday as I was leaving my house at about 5:30 p.m., I met two neighbours (a young couple) who were entering our building.

At about 6:45 p.m., I returned my building. At the same time that couple was also returning.

At about 7:45 p.m., I went down to put some garbage in the building’s bins, and for the third time I met the same neighbour (this time only the man, to be precise, not the whole couple), who was also putting some garbage away.

I have worked in elder care for eight years, a job I am passionate about and that brings me happiness.

During this time, I discovered that Georg Bachmayer, an SS captain and subcommander of the Mauthausen concentration camp, faked his suicide in 1945. I gathered evidence that he lived in Spain from 1968 until his actual death in 2008 at the age of 94 from Parkinson’s disease. I wrote a book about this discovery, focusing on it from a social and healthcare perspective with total compassion for dependent elderly people.

Interestingly, my father worked at Bayer, a pharmaceutical company that conducted experiments in Mauthausen, and Bachmayer was born on the same day as my girlfriend at the time, whose surname, Mathiesen, is strikingly similar to “Mauthausen.” The only available date to present my book in my hometown was May 26, the exact date of Bachmayer’s real death.

Frederick Forsyth, a renowned author who wrote about escaped Nazis, lived in Ondara, Spain, where I also resided while writing my book, completely unaware of his connection. Additionally, Forsyth was born in Ashford, England, the very town where I lived when I decided to dedicate myself to elderly care with total compassion.

The coincidences in my life related to this investigation are astonishing and have given deeper meaning to my work.

I landed a movie role in March 2022. My character was getting married to a man whose father had died, and he is struggling to cope with the loss.

In May, amidst filming, I matched with a man on a dating app whom I had matched with two years prior and spoke to, but never met. We finally met, then he moved to San Francisco weeks later, and we began dating long distance. I learned soon after that his father was ill, then his father sadly passed away that August.

Filming a similar plot felt strange. Six months later, my partner’s grief was sinking in, and he became empty. We had a confusing final FaceTime call in February that left me broken. The next day, in my therapist’s waiting room, I read an article in a magazine, titled “Make Peace with the Past” and sent him one final message of the featured article on grief and recovery.

Much later, the film’s director invited me to the movie screening in Chicago in April, to speak on the panel. I sat there watching the scene where my on-screen fiancé is in therapy, and to my absolute surprise the camera pans briefly to the cover of the same magazine’s cover, “Make Peace with The Past.”

I was speechless. I had never noticed this before in previous screenings. The magazine is dated May, the month and year we met. My ex eventually moved back to Chicago the following June, but we haven’t met again. I later discovered that we both became employed ten minutes from each other… we know a few mutual people and word traveled back that he has not been doing well.

I still love him deeply. There were multiple coincidences between us before we met… so it has been difficult to let go.

My son’s birthday was on August 17, and it was his first time spending his birthday away from me after his mom and I separated last year. They went to stay on the west coast of Florida for the weekend.

Around 3:00 p.m., he texted me saying his mom and her boyfriend and other people in the group were not paying much attention to him, basically ignoring him. It saddened me a lot, and I texted back, “You don’t need their attention that much — angels, spirits, gods and goddesses are guiding and watching after you.”

Honestly, I don’t know why I came up with this mystical answer. Thirty minutes later, he texted back that he felt so ignored and decided to dive in the beach for a few seconds just to escape those thoughts. He opened his eyes underwater to find necklace right in front of him that said, “Happy Birthday.”

I have spent the last seven hours searching the internet just to find a group or forum to share this.

I was surfing my YouTube subscriptions and a “suggested” video popped up. The title “Alcoholic Dies & Meets her Ancestors on the Other Side” snagged my attention. I was neither a subscriber to the channel “Coming Home” nor had ever seen Louisa Peck, the woman in the video.

Later that evening, I looked up information about an upcoming International Association for Near Death Studies (IANDS) conference. I attended a mediumship workshop led by Suzanne Giesemann in Spokane the previous weekend and had met with Rachelle Gehman, medium and psychic, the day before. Both Suzanne and Rachelle mentioned the IANDS conference, which piqued my interest.

While looking up the conference, the Seattle IANDS chapter came up in the search results, and I learned that the monthly meeting would be the next day and feature a young woman who recently had a profound NDE. I attended my first IANDS meeting. Kim, a joyful, warm, and open-hearted woman welcomed me (she would be the emcee for the meeting).

About ten minutes into the program, a woman entered the room and slipped into my row and sat directly next to me. It happened so quickly, yet I thought I’d recognized her. It would have been rude to turn and look directly at her, but I saw the blue ring on her left hand in the video and knew she was Louisa Peck.

At the end of the guest speaker’s talk and before audience Q&A, Kim came back to the front of the room and pointed to Louisa and me saying, “You’re connected.” I felt a hot flush and showed Louisa my iPhone with her video in my YouTube history. I bought her book, which she happened to have in her bag and with exact cash, which I very rarely carry in my pocket.

I had a coincidence experience that may be a two-parter…

I visited my sister on Aug. 6, 2024. The next day, Aug. 7, we released three moths they had been raising, which were hatching from their cocoons. One moth had distinct “owl eye” markings on its wings. Each was different, but I took note of the one that looked like owl’s eyes.

On Aug. 9, we took a trip to my grandmother’s house to see my mom, a three-hour drive away. When we arrived and stepped out of the car, a moth literally fluttered by and landed in the bush next to us. Of course, it couldn’t be the same moth we released, but it had the exact same “owl eye” markings on its wings!

The first major coincidence of my life happened before I even knew the word “coincidence.” On my third birthday, my younger sister was born. I never thought much of us sharing the same birthday, June 17th, until I began experiencing coincidences about a different number, 13.

After studying Taoism and the I Ching, I happened to find that June 17th (of the year I was born) was the 13th day of the Chinese lunar calendar, which was notable to me because the most coincidences I’ve experienced all relate to that lucky/unlucky number.

It turns out I was born in the 13th city council district. I have photos of myself wearing a T-shirt with a 13 on it from my childhood, because it was the name of my uncle’s company. I ended up working for someone else whose business’s name is Number 13, and while working for this company met my now girlfriend (on November 13th) whose birthday is March 13th, whose sister’s birthday is May 26th (13×2=26).

My girlfriend moved to the U.S. in 2013 when she was 13 years old. I realized my ex-girlfriend’s birthday was March 26th, and the letter M, of my first name, is the 13th letter in the alphabet (out of 26 English letters). I found out the lifelong mystery of what my true paternal last name was, having been changed 13 generations ago when one of my ancestors was beheaded on May 13th, hundreds of years ago.

These are far from the only coincidences I’ve experienced in my life, but they are the easiest to share in a short story. If anyone else knows what the number 13 might mean, I’d love to hear from them.

I was listening to Dr. Bernard Beitman’s podcast during a run. Here are some highlights and coincidences that tickled me during that run…

— I had forgotten my new dog safety whistle. Of course, a dog ran up to me, so I did what worked for my friend. “NO, NO, NO!” I shouted. He didn’t come closer. The owners came out apologized. I was thinking about how the whistle’s frequency is only heard by dogs when I heard the word “frequency” on the podcast.

— I saw a heart-shaped leaf at the same moment I heard the word “heart” on the podcast. A moment later, I saw another one.

— I found an old object I didn’t recognize until I got home and looked it up. It’s an old compass with a match container from the 1940s, used in World War II. I had just mentioned the 1940s earlier in the day in a post.

The podcast episode was entitled, “Discover Where Your Synchronicities Are Leading You.” The words are similar to the idea of a compass.

The podcast guest, Aeon Karris, talked about her travels and upcoming trip around the world, using phrases such as “go in two different ways,” “where am I going next?” “where am I supposed to go?” “we’re buried in the past,” “very different directions,” and “navigate the craziness of life.”

The word “navigate” was used five times, “direction” was used three times, “ground” was used seven times, “container” was used four times, “find” was used nine times, and “travel” was used ten times.

Funny that I have run by there many times and today, while listening to this episode, I find an old compass. And to think I almost didn’t go on that run. I’m thankful for the Coincidence Project and Dr. Beitman’s podcast!

My former husband and I bought a house, because he had told me, “If you find a house before I buy a motorcycle, we’ll buy it.” I was drawn to this house due to its proximity to the woods I love. Eventually, I was awarded the house in our divorce.

One night I was dancing with a man I’d never seen before and would never see again. “What do you do professionally?” I asked.

“I’m a lawyer for Friendly’s Ice Cream,” he said.

“Well,” I replied, “if you ever want to buy my house and two acres, it abuts Friendly’s main plant.” 

The next morning at 9:00 am, Friendly’s called me. Long story short, they bought my house, and I was able to pay off school loans, buy a condo and save money for retirement. 

—

Another time, I was in Nepal and woke up one morning to finally see the clear sky announcing the breathtaking Himalayas. I ran outside trying to get a closer view.

I saw a group of people in front of a small house. I finally found someone who spoke English, and she told me someone had just died in the house. Not wanting to be intrusive, I walked away following the English-speaking woman.

“Do you know anyone who could take me on a mini trek?” I asked her.

“As a matter of fact,” she replied, “I just opened a bed and breakfast, and we have a guide who could.”

And thus began one of my life’s most memorable experiences into what I described as heaven.

On June 2, 2024, during an AA meeting, I asked a guy name Jack if he wanted to share, and he humorously replied, “Not tonight, Josephine.” My name is John!

Later that day, I spoke with my ex-wife, who mentioned her new boyfriend was super nice but short, less than 5’6”. This led me to ask if she had seen the movie “Napoleon.” We chuckled and moved on.

June 3, I saw a post on Facebook with a picture of the Storming of the Bastille, a key event in the French Revolution and Napoleon’s rise. Napoleon was just under 5’6″ and reportedly once said, “Not tonight, Josephine.”

June 9, without any online searching, I received an email from Zinqué, a French restaurant in Los Angeles, about a Bastille Day event on July 14. Bastille Day commemorates the 1789 Storming of the Bastille. I had booked once in 2023.

July 11, I started to discuss these synchronicities, including the mention of another event involving Tristan da Cunha, one of the most remote islands in the world, 1,500 miles from St. Helena. Someone interjected when they heard the name St. Helena, saying that is where Napoleon was exiled in 1815.

The synchronicity involving Tristan da Cunha was: In 2015, while reminiscing and tracing my route to the Falklands War in 1982, I discovered Tristan da Cunha on a map. We had traveled from Southampton to Africa, then Ascension Island, and on to South Georgia in Antarctica before reaching the Falklands. My son was born 17 years before I knew of this island; his name is Tristan.

Going back 14 years, this incident sparked my fascination with synchronicity and a desire to understand the mechanism behind it.

I’d stumbled across Jung’s book on synchronicity in the bookshop. I read it from start to finish on the same day, getting to the final chapter while I was in bed. Towards the end, Jung makes a comment about the concept of “wishing” being potentially related. I’d also read somewhere that the time most likely to link the conscious to the “collective unconscious” was just as you drift off to sleep.

I decided to run an experiment on the power of wishing as I dozed off — by choosing a wish that was so unlikely to come true, that if it did, I’d know there really was something weird going on in the universe. I decided to wish someone (Hafez) back into my life. We’d met 13 years before, dated briefly in Sydney, before we went our separate ways. I moved 4,000 kilometers away to Perth. We completely lost touch after about a year.

The wish was simple: I wished that he would come back into my life. That was around 11:00pm at night.

Next morning, I made my coffee and sat down to check my email as usual. There was an email — sent at around 1:00am — from a lady I didn’t know telling me that her husband’s friend, Hafez, had asked her to track me down.

The weirdness didn’t end there. Hafez had arrived in Perth the week before, and the lady who emailed me lived just one street away from me.

Fast forward: Hafez and I are now married. It’s not all a “dream come true” but we’re doing okay. I’ve tried to replicate the process, with mixed results — and nothing as mind-blowing as that one! (Yet)

I was born on 23 February 2003, so you can see that “23” is in my date of birth.

When I was in twelfth grade, I watched a YouTube video about synchronicities, including seeing “angel numbers” like 1111. I read an article that said if your birthdate includes “23,” you will see this number often, and it means you have to believe in your manifestation and spiritual journey.

After that, I saw 23 everywhere, sometimes on car license plates, or when my gut feeling told me to check the time, and the clock would show 23. One day, I was writing something in my phone’s dairy when my phone froze, automatically typing the number 23.

Many synchronicities happen with me. Just today, I coincidentally got the video from the Connecting with Coincidence YouTube channel where Dr. Bernard Beitman asks viewers to share their coincidence stories on The Coincidence Project’s website. This is my story!

I was shopping online for work shoes. It was my first job post-pandemic that I had to go into the office regularly, so I needed to purchase multiple pairs.

I found some green platform boots I loved, but I toggled away from the page and could no longer find the pair I was seeking. I searched for a while for those shoes and double-checked my cart, but they were nowhere to be found. This was a discount retailer, and I figured that the last pair of those boots had been sold.

Ultimately, I found a pair of red boots that were somewhat similar, and I purchased those along with the rest of my shoes in my cart. Over a week later, a shipment arrived from the retailer, and I figured it was the boots I purchased. But it was only the pair of green boots!

Then days later, the boots I purchased did arrive. I checked my receipt and my order confirmation, and the green boots are nowhere on there. I searched my email and any purchase history from the retailer, and there is no record of me purchasing the green boots. But they still came to my address.

I wear those boots often and get lots of compliments on them. I forgot about the miraculous way they arrived, but now I’ll think of how they were destined for me as I wear them.

I’ve been listening to a random Bob Dylan playlist during my exercise warmup and cooldown. On my warmup, I noticed tangled vines and trees again, like my previous run. During the cooldown, I heard “Tangled Up in Blue.”

A day or two before my run, I had complained to my spouse that I got a blue toothbrush from my dentist. I had wanted orange or purple or pink. During my run, I looked down and noticed a toothbrush head in the dirt — blue. He joked that someone else didn’t like their blue toothbrush. I realized the only car that passed me on the very long section of this run was blue.

The other day, a Facebook post triggered a memory. I sang in my church’s folk group back in the 1970s. On my cooldown walk, Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” played. It was one of the songs we had sung. I heard the word “died” at the same moment I looked down and saw the decaying body of a fox inches from my foot, his mouth open and sharp teeth bared.

During my warmup walk, admiring the trees, I remembered how I had wanted to be a forester and was upset I didn’t get into the forestry program. I cried. After my run, as I wrote down these coincidences, a man on TV said, “can’t see the forest for the trees.”

Soon after, I sat down to continue reading Meaningful Coincidences, Chapter 5. The first page I read was about Roy Sullivan who was struck by lightning seven times. Unusual, but not because he was outside a lot. He was a forest ranger. Tragic story. He became depressed, paranoid about it, and died by suicide. Maybe it was best that I did not become a forester.

My youngest sister’s husband checked into hospital with a relatively minor problem and wound up dying there, totally unexpectedly.

A couple of years later, my sister was traveling with one of her friends. Experiencing some knee pain, she asked her friend to stop so she could get into the back seat where she could stretch her legs out across the seat. She dozed off there.

Upon awakening, she raised her head and looked around. In the seat beside her, with her legs in his lap, sat her deceased husband. While she heard nothing verbally, my sister understood he wanted her to go to the doctor’s office for a chest x-ray.

She did and discovered she had lung cancer. Up to that point, she had been totally asymptomatic. After several years living with that condition, she passed away.

Last October, the school I worked in organized a Halloween celebration. Somehow, I missed the message that students and teachers were supposed to dress up. In the staff room, my colleagues were wearing fantasy character costumes. My principal (Morticia Addams) said it was a pity I wasn’t disguised, since I’d make a perfect Triss Marigold (from “The Witcher”, popular on Netflix at the time).

A couple of weeks later I was in T.K.Maxx looking through their jewelry. A golden necklace with an engraved flower attracted my attention. The box indicated it was a part of a flower calendar series. Only one month/flower was present in the shop, and it was Marigold, representing October.

I didn’t buy the necklace, just the matching bracelet. Back home, I had second thoughts and treated it as a sign because my birthday is in October (the day before Halloween). When I returned to the shop, though, I couldn’t find the necklace. About to leave, I looked one more time to find it hidden behind other boxes.

Later, I chatted with my sister about coincidences, and she said they never happened to her. At the time, we were arranging our cousins’ visit, as we wanted them to see our sick dad for the last time (their mom, my sister’s Godmother, died a few years earlier).

Before Christmas, my sister told me she had phoned our cousin to tell her about the dream she’d had. In it, she saw our aunt presenting her new home. My sister didn’t remember many details, only that the house was located near a cathedral and there was a big garden with only one kind of flower: marigold!

The next day, I showed her the necklace. She got goosebumps. She also didn’t know that marigolds are the symbol of immortality.

P.S.: A couple of months ago, I learned my aunt’s birthday was also in October.

On our way to the library to pick up some printouts, we listened to the traffic on the news radio and happened to catch the business news: the U.S. Department of Justice was suing LiveNation.

Wolf joked that he had never paid for tickets to a sporting event! Wow, hard to believe. (But with his teaching job, plus restoring over 450 carousel figures, and before that, restoring hot rods and motorcycles, and now playing music and sometimes getting last-minute gigs, he’s had no free time for decades.)

I asked him about the time he went with “The Minions” (his group of teacher friends) to the Orioles game years ago. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Well, just that one time.”

We get to the library, and I go in to pay for and pickup some printouts. I’m waiting at the cash register and glance over to my right at the little table where sometimes they have some free goodies like pencils or bookmarks. There’s a sign for free tickets to the local minor league baseball games with a stack of the free tickets! I grabbed two. Not sure if we’ll get to go. If not, I’ll either return them or give them away.

And then the next night, we watch an episode of a funny TV show, and they’re on a minor league baseball field!

I like to run. People like to litter. I see litter when I run. I also like to think about and talk to my loved ones who have passed, including my mom.

Sometimes, when I run, I see miniature liquor bottles people have littered. One brand I see often is Fireball. A few years ago, at my niece’s wedding, a handsome young friend of my niece introduced himself to my mom and was playfully flirting with her. She enjoyed his attention and flirted back. At some point, he offered her a Fireball drink. She had never had one but tried it. (She didn’t like it.) Every so often, she would reminisce about that young man and the Fireball, giggling like a schoolgirl. It was so cute!

So, each time on my run that I saw a littered Fireball bottle, I’d think of my mom and her joy of that party, even months and years later. I wondered if those littered Fireball bottles could be a sign. Nah, I told myself. I asked for a sign from my mom. On my next run, I happened to look in the ditch. There was a Fireball liquor sign that had blown away from a nearby store. I got my actual sign!

Every now and then, I question myself and the ‘signs.’ The other day, I thought maybe signs have to be in threes to really be signs. The next day, I went for a run —different from my normal run. I happened to look in the weeds and, somewhat lined up, all facing label up, were three bottles of Fireball!

I got my sign of three! The other funny thing is, if I had to describe my mom with one word, it would be ‘Fireball!’

That night felt like a brush with death, and I don’t know whether it was a coincidence or something more.

I am a 26-year-old guy who used to spend a lot of time on mobile gaming and on social media. When I was 20, I played games late into the night, around 1:00am, and woke up at 11:00am. That was my lazy phase.

On that night, which I remember vividly even six years later, I went to bed early around 11:00pm. My room is separate from the inner part of my house, like an office, and it’s quite small. Suddenly, I woke up and checked my phone; it was 12:30am. In the dark, I noticed something in the corner of my room. As I focused on it, my body became paralyzed. I couldn’t move at all, except my eyes.

I was confused, unsure if I was dreaming. From the corner, a black-shaded figure approached me. It was a lady with long hair and a dark but not scary face. She sat beside me, touched my head, and said, “You are a good guy, but you have made many mistakes in your life. Nowadays, you’re out of control, and you don’t have much time left. You need to live properly and be a good person.”

My eyes filled with tears, flowing like a river onto my pillow. The figure disappeared, and I was able to move again. I touched my body and pillow to confirm if it was real. To my surprise, my pillow was soaked with tears.

I was too scared to touch my phone or get out of bed. It was a sleepless night, and I closed my eyes tightly, covered my face with a blanket, and cried about my past mistakes. Eventually, I fell asleep.

The next day, I explained the incident to my mother. She told me to stay inside that night and not worry; she suggested it might have been a reminder from God to be a better person. All day, my eyes searched for the figure I had seen, and I am still searching.

I set off early to explore the pasture before storms came through the area. The past week has consisted of almost daily rains, overcast skies, and humid nights perfect for bringing out the first mushrooms of the year.

As I walked, it began to drizzle. Resigned to getting wet, I continued on. There were many mushrooms growing, although they weren’t exactly what I hoped to find. After bidding adieu to the cows, headed back to the car. I noticed bluebirds dotted along the barbed wire that surrounds the land, and I was drawn to sit and watch them.

As a young boy, one of my favorite things was identifying birds, so I took my time walking along the fence line. Once I came to a bend, I looked down to see a little brown thing, dangling off it.

At first, I thought one of the cows had gotten too close to the barbed wire and left some fur… until I took a closer look. It was a tiny shivering bat that with one of its wings impaled on the fence. It must have been there for hours.

Much like other creatures I’ve helped, it was terrified and nipped at my fingertips. I gently wrapped it in my shirt and got to work. Once I freed it, two things happened: the little bat flew off into the wood line, and I heard a loud clap of thunder as it began to pour.

There is something much more powerful than us that uses our presence like pawn pieces on the chessboard of life to help serve Its purpose and goodness. As humans, we are often put into the right place and given opportunities to be helpful when we least expect it for reasons that we may never be able to understand.

In September 2022, I experienced a spiritual awakening. It was triggered by a soft instrumental version of a well-known 80’s song. Soon after, I noticed coincidences happening daily and began to write everything down. I then began making video presentations with PowerPoint to try to figure out more and posted them on YouTube.

I later discovered that the song that triggered my awakening was part of an album called Synchronicity, and I was surprised to learn that this was exactly what was happening to me. The songwriter was even going through a similar situation when he wrote the song.

One night while reading about Carl Jung’s life for one of my presentations, I heard a glass shatter in the living room. A long 10” crystal had fallen from a modern-style chandelier, and the chandelier was rocking side to side even though it wasn’t windy that night. I didn’t think much of it until I went back to my reading and learned about something similar that happened to Jung. While reading in his room one day, a wooden table mysteriously almost split in half, making a loud bang. A few days later, a butter knife in Jung’s house exploded into four pieces by itself.

When I looked closely at my chandelier, I saw that part of the crystal that broken was still hanging from the chandelier, as if the glass had shattered by itself and made the lamp rock side to side.

This is just one of many strange coincidences and dreams since my awakening. I’ve even told friends about certain numbers I constantly see, then they themselves started seeing them, as if I have infected them with my synchronicities. For every video I’ve made, synchronicities have guided me, as if some entity is telling me I’m on the right path.

On April 22, 2024, unbeknownst to me, my daughter-in-law was in the hospital 200 miles away. I was staying with a friend and walking to the kitchen. Suddenly, I felt woozy and slid down the wall. My blood pressure was dramatically low: 80/40.

A ambulance was called. While in the ER getting IV fluids, my friend came in and told me that my daughter-in-law had just died. These events happened within 15 minutes of each other.

The following occurred Sunday, April 21, 2024, while I was browsing Wikipedia and YouTube. Earlier that morning, I had listened to some songs I liked, including “Right Thurr” by Howard “Chingy” Bailey and “Runnin’” by Tupac Shakur and Christopher Wallace (“Notorious B.I.G.”). This latter song is a posthumous tribute to the two rap singers, both of whose lives ended violently.

Later that day, I watched a film called The Red Baron with Matthias Schweighöfer as the title character, who was formally known as Manfred von Richthofen. The film also includes Volker Bruch, who portrayed the title character’s brother Lothar von Richthofen. (The previous Sunday, April 14, I had watched the film series Generation War, which stars Bruch.) The Red Baron also features Joseph Fiennes portraying Arthur Roy Brown, the aviator who was long credited with shooting down Manfred von Richthofen.

With this information, I later browsed Wikipedia and discovered several coincidences relating both to the film and the two songs, and the above film itself also included some information.

• Sunday, April 21, 1918: death of Manfred von Richthofen
• Thursday, March 9, 1944: death of Arthur Roy Brown
• Sunday, March 9, 1980: birth of Howard “Chingy” Bailey
• Sunday, March 9, 1980: birth of Volker Bruch
• Sunday, March 9, 1997: death of Christopher Wallace, “Notorious B.I.G.”

I am at a loss to interpret these coincidences, especially regarding rap music and a film about Germany in the First World War. I am also at a loss to interpret the significance of the calendar day March 9 in relation to April 21.

One year, I was both a victim and witness of crimes, which was traumatic. I got little support from the police until I complained, so although the incidents happened in January and February, I wasn’t referred for counselling until late March.

While driving to the counselling appointment, I debated whether to get coffee because I was meeting the counsellor at a library, and they didn’t have coffee facilities there. For some reason, I passed the shop that sold takeaway coffee, thinking, “Oops, I need to buy more Easter eggs!” (I can’t resist Easter eggs, and I’d eaten loads of the ones I’d bought for the kids!)

I parked at the library, where I had been many times before, and asked the receptionist where my meeting was. She said, “We have free tea and coffee today. Help yourself!” My jaw hit the floor. I had never ever been offered a drink there! I was thankful and amazed.

When the counsellor came into the library, she introduced herself and handed me a huge bag full of Easter eggs for my kids. I burst into tears. I must have seemed crazy to the librarians, but I couldn’t believe she had brought the Easter eggs. I was fully intending to buy more after the session!

In the meeting room, I explained the two spooky coincidences. For two hours, the counsellor let me cry out all the emotions I’d had since the crime incidents. I felt so much lighter and was absolutely astonished when she asked what my birthdate was. The hairs stood up on both our necks when we realised we share the same birth date!

I left the meeting feeling someone was watching over me and comforting me. It felt completely magical.

I was having a rough day, emotionally. I decided to talk to my deceased cat about my regrets as I was cleaning my room. I used to play fetch with my cat with my hair elastics. Just after I said I hoped she forgave me, I moved a piece of paper and found a hair elastic.

The next day, I went to an antique store. As I walked in, a cat that was nearly identical to my beloved cat came up to me. She had the same fur colour, same eyes, and the same distinct meow. She was very affectionate and followed me around a bit.

In October 2018, a close friend and I decided to spend our birthdays together. They occur a week apart. We met in my hometown of Albuquerque, and I arrived first. As I drove to the airport to pick up my friend, I had this flash of an idea: We should take a trip to her hometown of Brush, Colorado. She’d hadn’t been back in five decades.

On that trip, we visited important sites from her memory: the farm her parents built, the church where her father was an elder, and her old school. Then we looked for the cemetery where her parents were buried.

When we found it, my friend told a disturbing story about her uncle who’d disappeared from a mental hospital in which he had been kept because of debilitating PTSD from World War ll. There was a marker for him beside her parents’ graves to pay respects, but his body had never been discovered since the day in March 1983 when he walked out of the mental facility.

I was filming my friend as she told the heartbreaking story of her uncle’s fate. As I turned the lens toward his gravestone, I realized with a shock that, as we were standing in the blowing cold listening to the only living person who could remember him, it was his birthday. And not just any birthday: his 100th birthday.

We stood, with our hair flying in the wind trying to process how this event was even possible.

We wished him well wherever his body found its final resting place, and I still marvel that he could have transmitted a message to me, literally out of nowhere, to bring his only niece back to remember him on the 100th anniversary of his birth.

This coincidence is preserved on video.

We built a log cabin on a lake near Birchwood, Wisconsin. The location is related to where my daughter Erin’s college roommate lived. The construction of the cabin had a long and complicated backstory, and while living there, it was the site of many significant coincidences. One example is that Erin’s college roommate became my wife’s doctor.

We sold the cabin in 2018 and now live full-time in Florida. However, we return to the lake for three weeks every year to visit friends and stay at a resort on the lake. It’s fascinating how many coincidences have happened since moving to Florida that are directly related to Birchwood, a community of about 600 people, which is 1,300 miles from our Florida home.

Recently, I was writing the reservation deposit check to the resort we stay at during our annual lake visit. As I wrote the check, I got a text from Erin, who is a nurse in Connecticut. She told me she just had a patient who has relatives who live near Birchwood and the prior patient had the same birthdate as her college roommate, who led us to the lake. This coincidence connected Florida, Connecticut, and Wisconsin in a moment in time.

The long and complicated backstory to these connections started with another moment in time over 50 years ago and has continued to flow accordingly. So really, this coincidence episode was not a surprise. It’s just part of this ongoing adventure in a life filled with these moments in time that are connected across many miles. However, in relation to the size of the universe, we are all standing next to each other.

In 2011, after my friend’s mother died, my friend wanted more uncanny “contacts” with her mother, such as had already occurred. My friend was coming to Palo Alto to spend Christmas with me. As crazy as it seemed, as a gift, I tried to find someone in the area with a reputation as a clairvoyant who could help my friend.

I had heard ads on the radio for Sofia University, where they teach transpersonal psychology. I called Sofia and, embarrassed, asked whether they knew of anyone who might be able to do that. They said a student had recently obtained her PhD from them. She had come to Sofia to become more comfortable with the ability she had had since childhood to perceive dead people around her.

The University contact I spoke with told me that this person did clairvoyant readings and gave me her contact information. I decided to try her out before getting my friend a session with her as a gift. When I had my session, most of what she said didn’t seem that amazing to me. However, at the end, I brought out a very old piece of note paper folded in half. I didn’t let her see the writing on it, which was on the inside.

She held the piece of paper between her hands and went into a trance. She told me that she saw a room with a tall man sitting at a desk in a rolling chair. A cat and a dog sat at his feet. He had curly brown hair, a mustache, and glasses. He was writing and concentrating very seriously, and he had his arm around the piece of paper as if he wouldn’t let her see it. There was something on the wall in front of him with strange markings on it. She said, “This is a love note, and there were more.”

This dumbfounded me, because the note was one that had come down through the family to me from my Swedish-Finnish great grandmother, with neither of the two previous possessors understanding what it said. The top part of the note, a poem of longing in a rural dialect of Finnish, was translated by a Finnish friend of a friend. The bottom part of the note was in a code.

I found a professor of cryptography at the Aalto University in Finland who kindly decoded and translated it for me. It was a poem about parting and memory and was signed. I looked at census records from when my great grandmother lived in the Black Hills and found this man’s name recorded as him having lived there when she did, but I haven’t been able to find a photo of him. I’d love to know whether his physical description matched. I don’t know if the strange marks she saw matched the code.

As for my friend, by Christmastime, she was no longer interested in trying to contact her mother.

When I was in high school in Whittier, California, our psychology class teacher offered projects we could do. I chose to go, with my two best friends, to have a session with famous psychic Josephine Kellerman.

To get a reading, you had to park in front of her house in Yucaipa, California, in the early hours of the morning. She’d take the first 20 people in line and have them wait in her screened-in porch with many cats. There was a framed, signed photo of Ronald Reagan on top of her television — she may have given him psychic readings at the behest of Nancy Reagan after he was shot.

When it was my turn, she took me into a room with a small round table with something round (a crystal ball, I assumed) on top of it, covered by a cloth, so she could see in, but I couldn’t. To get into a trance, she tapped her fingers repeatedly and kind of snorted.

Among other things, she told me that there were five people named William in my family (correct), and that there was someone I used to know from somewhere else who was in a nearby church, was wearing a uniform, had red hair, and was in trouble.

This made no sense to me until a few days later, when I talked on the phone with my older brother who was up at Berkeley. He said that a red-headed friend of his, who had been on the football team with him in the midwest town we had lived in a couple of years before, was AWOL from the Navy and seeking sanctuary at a church in Pasadena (which was near me, in Whittier, California).

When I was a young woman, I had a phone conversation with my mother. I told her I had had a vivid dream in which my aunt and her daughter, my cousin, were sitting in a room that was empty except for the two straight-backed chairs they were sitting in, knee to knee, talking. In my dream, I flew into the room, hovering just above then, and said, “I’m here if you need me.”

Mom said that that was odd because she had just had a phone call from that aunt telling her that that cousin had just been in a car crash with her infant daughter.

Before my father died, we had become very close. I had lived with him for a few years while I was sick and recovering and then while he was declining. My brother and his wife volunteered to have Dad come stay with them to give me a break.

After a few months, I considered taking a 3-week trip to Italy with my partner, but I was concerned that Dad might die while I was away. My younger brother came to visit my brother and his wife and my dad, and they all felt that Dad was doing well, so I went on my trip and my younger brother returned to his home in Hong Kong.

In the last week of my trip, on my birthday, I felt queasy all day — the only day in three weeks that I felt off. Also, on that day, I noticed a plane’s jet trail in the sky and thought, “Hi Dad.” (When I was living with Dad, we’d take a walk every day, and he always pointed out jet trails. I knew that in the future, I’d always think of him when I saw them). That was the only day in three weeks that I noticed a jet trail. Also on that day, my partner started calling me “Sport,” not a common thing to call your beloved, and something Dad had sometimes called me.

On that evening, I was unable to connect my call with my brother and his wife to find out how dad was doing. A couple of days later, we got to Milan and had a good phone connection. My brother told me that Dad had died late on May 21st, my birthday in the US.

That means I was feeling queasy, noticing the jet trail, and hearing my partner call me “Sport” while Dad was still alive back in the US. His death must have happened in the morning of the day after my birthday, Italy time. This means to me it was like something in the ESP category.

Meandering through a store one day, I spotted a paper marbling kit containing paint, pieces of paper, a comb, and an instruction book. Cost was $7.95. Should I buy it? It might be a lot of work! I made the purchase, not realizing it would take me on a journey unlike anything I had experienced.

My kitchen became the studio/laboratory and over three years I created hundreds of specimens/ experiments. What would I do with this raw material? The first attempt at marketing was to sell greeting cards with the designs printed on decal-edged cardstock. The launch of Simply Marbleous began at artisan craft shows.

As it turned out, I had lost my job after eleven years due to the closure of the business. Then opportunity knocked. I could apply to a college program (2-year commitment) or apply for an entrepreneurial business development program. Only one choice: I applied for the entrepreneurial program. I had spent over a decade in Home Fashion sales, which offered a valuable foundation.

The focus of the program was to write a business plan. I now called myself an artisan/surface designer and was on the way to build my own original collection. Just before completing the program, an unexpected email invitation arrived for potential exhibitors in the upcoming interior design show. It took place over four days with both design trade and public in attendance.

Some naysayers thought I was jumping too soon, but I took the leap! It was expensive to participate in a trade show, so I found a partner to share the booth and costs. In retrospect, who knew what would unfold from the chance discovery of this marbling kit? Like fragments of a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces fit into a larger story.

At the show, I met a journalist from a major newspaper who was interviewing artisans for an article. I was included and after the show was invited to exhibit my collection at an upscale design complex in Toronto. So many “pinch me” moments in this story. It was an honor for an emerging artisan to participate in this “Grand Design.”

When I lived in the U.K. in the early 1990s, I worked for a newspaper in the art department. The person whose job I took, Therese, had married an American and moved to South Carolina in the States. I wasn’t able to meet her before she moved overseas.

A few years later, I moved to Charleston, South Carolina, to a condominium complex. I had a neighbor there across the street named Therese. I hadn’t met her, but I had heard she was British. I knocked on the door to introduce myself and explained that I may have worked where she did in the UK. She confirmed that she was the Therese from my old job two years previous. Not only that, she told me that she had lived on the same road, in the same town, where I had lived in the U.K.

We determined that she lived across the street from me in the U.K. — we just didn’t know each other. Our living room windows looked out at each other’s homes in two different countries.

One night, I dreamed I was in a room or space that was in total darkness when suddenly something appeared to swing towards me and pop me in the middle of my forehead. It appeared to be one inch long, with nothing above it and nothing below it. I heard myself ask, “What was that?” Then then the phone rang and woke me.

My husband, who had been downstairs watching television, called to me upstairs and said that my dad was on the phone. I groggily answered the phone, and my dad told me that my young 18-year-old cousin had hung himself in my aunt’s basement.

About a month earlier, my dad and I had visited his sister and other family members, preparing for the funeral of my 10-year-old female cousin, who had been killed at home accidentally two doors down from my aunt, at her daughter’s house. It was at this family gathering that I saw my 18-year-old, red hair, freckle faced, handsome cousin.

He was just a baby the last time I had seen him, and he appeared to be depressed. He told me he had lost most of his friends to gang violence and didn’t know what he was going to do after he graduated from high school. We talked for a few more minutes before my father and I said our goodbyes and left. That was the last time I saw him.

I was working at a festival last summer and began talking to a young Greek girl who was travelling around Europe and briefly visiting the UK. I mentioned having been to Greece and in particular a small island. I once had a Greek boyfriend there whom I had met in France.

It turned out the girl was from that same small island and was related to that boyfriend from 20 years ago! The island is so small that the chance of them being related was very likely, but that she happened to meet me randomly in a field in the UK was not. It blew both our minds — and his when she got back home and told him. We reconnected to reminisce and laugh about it.

One afternoon in the summer of 1980, I was napping and taking advantage of the peace and quiet. During my nap, I dreamed that my eldest brother was knocking on my front door. I opened the door, and he just stood there crying. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, “Momma.” I repeated, “Momma,” and then I woke up to someone knocking on my front door.

It was one of my mother’s friends. My mom lived a couple doors down from me. He said that the ambulance had just taken her to the hospital. He said she had hit her head in the bathroom and was unconscious. I hurried to the hospital and found out my mother had blood clots to the brain and would probably not make it. She was 51 years old.

Although she had a lot of challenges, she lived a full life with her family and passed away quietly in 2010 at the age of 81.

I took my father to the VA Medical Center in Allen Park, Michigan, in May 1990, after he suffered a massive heart attack at his apartment. In June, the doctors diagnosed stage 4 pancreatic cancer and gave him less than 6 months to live.

One night, I dreamed my dad was sitting in a barber shop on a bench between two men, when suddenly a man entered the shop and shot my dad. I saw him fall over onto the man on his right, then I woke up. It was 5:30 a.m., and I had to get up soon to go to school because I was taking nursing classes.

I decided to check in on him on the way home from school. Dad was now in hospice at the VA Medical Center with pancreatic cancer and heart failure. It was July 1990. As I entered the hospital room and saw the empty bed, my heart dropped.

His nurse explained that he had coded at 5:30 that morning and they needed to know if he still wanted to be resuscitated if he were to code again. I found him resting quietly in the intensive care unit.  He decided not to continue resuscitation and passed away quietly on July 16, three days after his 67th birthday on July 13, 1990, 30 minutes after our last visit.

I joked about an old ruin, saying it must have been built by Gandalf. My friend came back in a shock as the ruins had a little sign saying: “Built by Bishop Gundulf.” 🫣

We both were amazed, as we didn’t even know it was a real name outside the film, Lord of the Rings.

In 1977, barely 20 years old, I was hitchhiking home from San Diego on a Sunday morning. Standing at an onramp to the 5 Freeway, I noticed a cardboard sign on the ground that read “Huntington Beach.” Because that was my destination, I picked up the sign and held it up instead of using my thumb as cars entered the freeway.

Within five minutes, a man in his 50s, a tuna fisherman returning home from weeks at sea, stopped his rusty pickup and gave me a ride. He mentioned my sign and that he grew up in Huntington Beach but had long ago moved to Oceanside. Learning I was a surfer, he shared memories of the surfing life in Huntington Beach 20 years earlier. After dropping me off in Oceanside and wishing me luck, I waited at the onramp with my sign, feeling happy about the ride and the stories he shared.

Only a few cars passed before one pulled over. The driver, aged mid-thirties, had seen my sign and told me he didn’t normally pick up hitchhikers but since he had lived in Huntington Beach ten years earlier, he pulled over. As we spoke about Huntington Beach, he asked if I knew Utica Street. I told him I lived at the Corner of Utica and Delaware.

Unbelievably, he told me he had lived on the same block. I tried hard to not believe him, but he had mentioned my small street before I had. Because he was heading home to San Clemente at the time, he dropped me off in San Clemente. By that point in the day, I felt like the entire universe was giving me a ride home.

At the next offramp, after ten minutes, I set my sign down. Just then a car pulled over, the driver curious if I needed a ride. Noticing my Huntington Beach sign as I entered the car, he remarked on the coincidence, revealing he was also headed there, having just moved in with his girlfriend. When I told him where I lived, he seemed shocked to learn that he was moving into the apartment right above mine.

Honestly, I was a little frightened by his story, but I had already experienced so many coincidences, I stayed calm. Then I learned he was telling the truth when he drove straight to my street, parked right in front of my apartment, and his girlfriend, spotting us from the balcony, waved and came down to greet him.

A few days later, they invited me over for pizza. As we ate pizza, his girlfriend told me she was from San Diego, and grew up on Arizona Street — the very street I had been hitchhiking from that Sunday. I kept that sign for decades, telling my story over and over. My wife finally tossed it in a move.

My sister-in-law, Kim, passed away at the young age of 34. A few months later, she appeared to me in a dream. We had a conversation where she whispered in my ear, “Laura is pregnant.” It was a real voice. The funny thing was, Kim was the type of person who could never keep a secret. She would even peek through the wrapping paper of Christmas gifts.

Laura, a mutual friend of ours and of my brother from college, had already had a few miscarriages because she had epilepsy and was a high-risk pregnancy.

The next morning, I called my brother and told him about my dream. He said, “I’ll call Tim and call you right back.” Then he proceeded to call Tim, Laura’s husband. He said “Hey Tim, is Laura by chance pregnant?”

There was some silence on the phone, and he replied, “Yes, but we haven’t told anyone yet, not even our families, as she has not yet reached 12 weeks.” My brother responded, “Kim told Kathy in a dream last night.”

Laura went on to carry that baby to term and that was their first child who arrived safely.

Like the Hansel and Gretel fairytale, my life seems to follow a series of signs like a path of breadcrumbs, which have led me closer to my life’s purpose. One such story is how I met my husband. I was returning from dancing at a conference in New Hampshire when a colleague and I drove past my husband’s grey Victorian and saw someone enter an upstairs room and turn on a light. I received a strong premonition that I would marry that man one day, so I told my friend, who was driving.

Another time, as Assistant Principal, my supervising Principal introduced me to Bob Wilson. I felt an immediately flush and, as he left, I could not disengage from watching him as he walked out to his car. It became obvious to my principal, and he said, “I thought you were seeing someone.”

Three years passed, and I was asked to bring several students into my office and call their parents because they ignored administrative request not to go outside where we had construction vehicles. When I called Sarah’s father into my office, as soon as he began to speak, I felt he was talking to me as a lover would whisper in your ear. The experience was so strong, I had to wash my face as soon as he left.

Later, I stopped into an art gallery in the same town as the school and introduced myself to the owner, Michaela. We chatted and I’d stop in occasionally. One day she said to me, “How come every time you come in here, I think of my friend Bob, and when he comes in, I think of you? I think I’ll make a dinner and introduce the two of you!”

We began dating and married two years later.

As I was listening to Dr. Bernard Beitman talk with another psychologist about coincidences on his podcast, it entered my mind that I had been meaning for the last few days to call a certain retail store about my bedding, which had been on back order for the past 2.5 months.

I paused the podcast to call the store, and the clerk told me she had been trying to reach me for four days using my old landline number. This made me chuckle.

As I was listening to a podcast about coincidences, a coincidence happened, and when I thereafter looked up Dr. Beitman’s website to learn more about him, I saw this opportunity to write about coincidences. So timely, indeed!

Mom passed away in her home, “found down.” An unattended death involves the Police and Medical Examiner. Sadly, Mom and I had been estranged for many years. Being her oldest surviving child, I was legally named the Executrix.

I called the crematorium and gave them Mom’s name only to be told they had no one by that name. I backtracked with the Police and Medical Examiner, confirming I had the correct information. After calling the crematorium again and they assured me again they had no one by that name. Now what?

The lawyer suggested I locate a copy of her birth certificate. After digging endless hours through her personal papers, I found it! Turns out the first name I knew Mom by was her not her actual first name at birth. “Ann” was her birthname, which she had moved to a middle name, using a new first name, the only one I ever knew her by. Mystery solved!

Several years later, I was stopped at a redlight on my way to work, this photo was the license plate on the truck in front of me… on Mother’s Day. I could not stop laughing. Happy Mother’s Day from “Mom”!

I went with a real estate agent to look at a house to buy. I turned to him and pointed to a house across the street saying, “This is the house I’m going to buy.” He thought I had misunderstood and said that was not house we were to look at, telling me the house I had pointed to was not for sale.

Less than five minutes later, a man pulled up in front of the house I had pointed to. Getting out of his car, he dug a small hole in the dirt and proceeded to put up a “For Sale” sign.

Here I am, 27 years later, still living in the house I said I was going to buy, the one that was “not for sale.” To this day, I still have no idea why I had pointed to this house.

I have been diagnosed with a genetic condition called EDS (Ehlers Danlos Syndrome). It is an inability to properly create collagen in the body. As a result, my entire body is frequently affected by sudden and lasting pains, flare-ups and, consequently, emotional instability. I am frequently racked with pain and depression.

This past week, my wife and I took a short vacation to Quebec City. It was gorgeous. We were there during their annual Quebec Winter Festival, so crowds were large and festive. As we walked through throngs of people, I was overcome with pain and had to suddenly sit.

As I sat squeezing back tears and praying for relief or even a modicum of ammunition with which to fight my flare-up, a voice reached me from inside a group of hundreds of people just walking by. It was just a snippet of conversation: “…and especially if you have EDS, don’t worry about it…”

I don’t know who these people were or where they came from, but that single phrase gave me hope — and the strength to get up and fight another day.

I dated a 38-year-old Russian woman for two years. We had everything in common, but it didn’t work out. She left me on Sunday, July 8, 2018. She died on Sunday, September 8, 2019, in a small plane crash in Marathon, Florida. She was an avid Marathon runner.

The NTSB report revealed the plane crashed in 8 feet of water, had a compass heading of 8, the runway was 5008 feet long, and the address was 8800. In her room was her favorite picture of rustic and colorful Russian windows. Inexplicably, there was a large “8” painted on one of the windows. A year later, the NTSB released her iPhone. It seemed hopelessly damaged, but I had it fixed and one of the photos showed her hand over a ruler with the 8-inch mark between her fingers.

A year after the accident, I took a plane ride over the airfield and asked the pilot, a man named Sol, to fly a figure 8 over the airfield in her honor. A few months later near my home, a large black dog attacked my dog from across the street. Its owner came running over. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She bore a striking resemblance to my late girlfriend. The same height and same age; she even had the same pageboy haircut with a patch of jade green, which my ex wore ten years earlier.

I had to show her the picture. She was shocked and agreed it was a striking resemblance. I didn’t tell her anything about her death. When I asked where she lived, she said “across the street.” She must have been lying, because I had never seen her before, and I never saw her since. I asked her the name of her dog. She said “Sol.”

A day later, a letter arrived addressed to my ex-girlfriend. It stated the sender wanted to return a beautiful cylindrical black lacquer box with gold paint. He said he had bought it from her 22 years ago and he was in ill health and wanted to return it to the artist who created it. He had paid $2,000 for it 22 years ago, and it was worth much more. He felt that she needed it back.

I called him and told him she had died two years ago. He said he wanted me to have it, that it was meant to be. When I received it, I was stunned by the detail and workmanship. It was an unusual piece, cylindrical, like a funeral urn. The box was entitled “The Tale of the Dead Princess,” based on the fairy tale of the Sleeping Beauty. I had been looking for a proper urn for her ashes, which her mother had given to me.

My coincidences are most often with words. I will hear a word (usually a word that is not common), and then see it in print within about five seconds. Or vice-versa.

For example, I was walking in the gym parking lot half-listening to a motivational program. I thought, “I want to buy an SUV, so I should start looking at SUVs to see what various models look like.” At that moment, I heard the word “Odyssey” from my audio program and within the next five seconds, the first SUV I saw said “Odyssey.”

Another time, I saw a billboard that said “clown,” and a few seconds later heard the same word on the radio. This has happened many times in the past few years. So much so that it doesn’t even surprise me anymore. Unusual, as it had never happened the first 45 years of my life. I suspect it may be related to the fact that I started meditating.

When I was 12, we went on a two-week vacation to Delaware. For the first time, we left our orange cat named Mango, and a neighbor come to care for him. When we returned home, he had sprayed in our house, so we knew he was scared. We were all sitting there when Mango formed words out of his meows saying, “I’m glad you’re back”.

We couldn’t believe our ears! Since then, I have experienced so many more.

When I was 15, I started having psychic dreams and daydreams that would end up happening in my life. I’ve had different ones ranging from dreaming about a cat and then waking up and having the cat from dream appear to dreaming about a boyfriend who was unfaithful before the event took place in my life.

I have also done my own experiments by asking my spirit guides/universe to send me signs, and a lot of times I get them instantly. About 8 years ago, I asked my guides for a sign in pictures I was going to take of the sky. Then I took the pictures. I didn’t see anything in the sky when I was taking them, but when I looked at the pictures, there was a very clear dragon cloud that I have been told was a dragon spirit.

I have been studying synchronization and psychic phenomenon for the last 23 years. It is fascinating and definitely real.

Last summer, my friend was diagnosed with metastasized cancer, so I started doing healing prayers/ceremonies for her. We both started experiencing strange synchronicities. I think the stronger you feel love in your heart and the more you believe in your authenticity, the more you experience synchronicities/magic. There is magic everywhere if we choose to see it.

Today, 12 February 2024, while seated at Roggenart Cafe in Towson, Maryland with my friend Ron, an 80-year-old Vietnam veteran, discussing Dr. Bernard Beitman’s project on coincidences, among other subjects, I noticed a framed pastel portrait for sale hanging on the wall right next to me at my booth.

It was a fine, full-length pastel portrait of a small boy. I suddenly noticed the name of the artist: Darbie Beitman. I checked the spelling. It’s the same name! Then I looked up the prevalence of this name in America. Only 440 people bear this surname in America. This makes the odds 440 to 330 million, or almost a million to one, of encountering that last name.

Add to this the fact that I had just mentioned his name earlier, and I was seated right next to a portrait painted by someone with that last name (who is probably related to Mr. Beitman), and we have an extraordinary coincidence!

On a Tuesday, I flipped a coin. It landed on heads five times in a row, so I cancelled my travel plans. The next day, I got a call to help with an event for Friday and Saturday. During the event, a lady urgently needed to get to her car, so I went with her. Along the way, I ended up seeing Sasha going the opposite direction with her sister and niece.

After taking the lady to her car, I caught up to Sasha’s group and we had a quick conversation. I also told them about a party where we reconnected with some friends later that evening. As the party ended, her friend suggested that the three of us go for a drink. We went to a restaurant, and her friend stayed for a short time. After hanging out for much longer than expected, I asked her to pinch me to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, and she did. 

I first saw Sasha 11 years prior and was in awe of her smile. A month or two later, I saw her again, and we exchanged numbers. For the next decade, I put my best foot forward to have things go beyond a friendship but was not successful.

To my surprise, the second floor of the restaurant was open 24/7. The sun started rising, and she agreed to have breakfast.

Our paths had crossed many times including one year before when we met Sasha at a gathering a friend had organized and she was invited by his sister who I didn’t know. Although we talked by this time, I had given up any hope of anything significant happening. A few years before, she did my mom’s makeup after we “randomly” ran into her at a mall.

We got married two years later!

In January 2021, I finally got motivated to go through my father’s memorabilia. He had died in 2013. The first item I grabbed was a photo of his 1940s Catholic school class with names of the kids written on the back, including his best friend Max.

My son was going to a Catholic school that year as a third-grader so he could attend school face to face, and he didn’t like it. My aunt had just told me that my Dad also hated third grade because of a mean nun. In my hand was a photo of that nun! That alone was a coincidence. My dad also had not wanted my son to attend that Catholic School because kids played in the parking lot, which he found depressing.

In the diary my dad had kept for 20 years, many of the entries featured Max. Max’s daughter Michelle, my dad’s god daughter, had been tragically killed by a drunk driver in front of her house and in front of her children.

I thought my dad would be upset that we ended up at that Catholic school and that it was permanent. But I was reminded that he was a godfather and had some Catholic in him.

The next day, walking the dog, I spotted a card on the ground four houses from mine. It was a battered note to my son from his godfather, Brian. The note said “Congratulations on your first communion. May you continue to walk with Jesus.” My son’s first communion was five months before!

Brian and I talked about logical reasons why the card would have ended up there but agreed that my dad was talking to me and telling me it was okay. My son ended back at his beloved elementary school the next year.

One day, I was working at #18 on 18th Avenue, ZIP code 94118, in San Francisco. When I took lunch, I parked across the street from where I was working and began reading my book.

The character in the book was on his way to question a man whose wife had been murdered recently. The place he was headed turned out to be directly across the street from where I was sitting.

Another coincidence I had with the author was that the main character lived two blocks away on the same side of the street.

I met my husband through my best friend in high school. He had moved to Georgia from New Jersey and started to work at my old high school where my best friend was a teacher.

We met at a bar one night when he decided to go out with my friend in a large group. We ended up hitting it off and started dating. One night we went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I decided to ask him his surname because I only knew his first name, Scott.

He responded, “Cervino.” I looked at him with complete amazement. I said, “spell it.” I thought for sure it would be spelled “Servino”, but he started with a “C”. My jaw dropped to the table. He didn’t know how to respond.

I told him that two weeks previously I had returned from a little mountain village in the North of Italy called Cervinia at the base of Monte Cervino where I had been a nanny for four months in the region of Aosta where my father was born.

I knew at that moment I would marry him. We have been married now for over 26 years. Forever grateful to God for his whispers of knowing.

I was chatting with a friend online. He was at his wit’s end with his work. He is a video creator of God-like topics. He told me he just couldn’t go on, and if he didn’t get some kind of sign, he was going to quit.

As we were texting, I encouraged him to continue onwards. Then I looked outside and saw a strange cloud that I knew was going to turn into an angel or something special. It formed the shape of Jesus. I sent him the photo as we were chatting and told him, “This is your sign.” He wanted to see Jesus, and here he was in front of me.

I get photos every day of angels in the sky and have strong connections to birds, feathers, the angels, and Jesus and God. I go to church every day and pray the rosary (only in the last few months), but I KNOW the only way I see what I see is through God.

And yes, asking and having strong intention and being open are the ways in which you can experience everything! God, who created the Universe, can give you so many gifts, but you have to be able to understand them. I have many more stories.

See full image here.

About eight years ago, I noticed I was seeing the number 57 a lot. I didn’t think much about it at first, but it started to go into overload. I was seeing it everywhere.

Then one day I was hitting golf balls and hit an errant shot into a wooded area. I went to find it, and it was right in the area where my shot went, so I got it and walked out. But to my surprise, it was not my ball but a brand new golf ball — with the number 57 on it.

My other synchronicity is seeing two of the exact same car in close proximity to each other. To this point, I have seen about thirty of these occurrences.

A friend of mine experiences coincidences all the time, so much so that she felt strange and different as a child. I don’t have coincidences all the time but have had some notable ones.

I was sitting next to “K,” the mother-in-law of my son’s best friend. When the conversation turned to names, my wife said, like Harry S. Truman, I didn’t have a middle name, only a letter. K said she only had a letter too.

Then the conversation turned to origins. K said she is 75% Swede. I said, “me too.” Then K said she is 25% Irish Catholic. Again, “me too.” Then the conversation turned to handedness. I said I was the only left-handed person in the family until my third granddaughter came along. Remarkably, K said she is the only right-handed person in her family.

Now I understand my coincidence friend a little better.

I’ve had a recurring, evolving dream for perhaps ten or fifteen years. It began in the country on a grassy green hill. I walked around picking up scraps of lumber to make a small shelter. In a subsequent dream, a rather long tunnel is built from the shelter to an opening on an eroded dirt wall. At places, the tunnel became narrow and I struggled to get through.

The next dream gave me more and better lumber. The resulting structure was more like a large barn with the inside being a large hole in the dirt. Light shown through the gaps in the lumber and the roof leaked. A large canvas covered areas lacking lumber. A following dream added a main and second story floors. The basement was cleaned up with pictures hanging on smooth dirt walls. In the direction of the tunnel, it became dark and the walls narrowed.

The next dream showed long rows of shelves, floor to ceiling. It was like a large warehouse full of goods. There are semi-trailer trucks line up outside. Of course, there is much going on in each of these dreams, people, bad weather, sunshine, much crawling and walking around. One more dream added manufacturing and a gas station. I lived in one corner of the building.

I was a professor of physics, loved my work, and never planned to retire. But there came a feeling that “it’s time” to retire. On the day I had my retirement party, the dream returned that night. The building shifted, leaned and collapsed to the ground. Guitar became my passion in retirement. After some 4,000 hours of playing, you become quite good. The dream had spoken.

Took my kiddo to their Intro to Acting class yesterday. At the class, they received a voucher for a ticket to a musical the theater group is putting on in March. I posted about it on my Facebook page.

A friend of mine from my former job in another state messaged me that their nephew is the lead in that specific production! Didn’t even know my friend had relatives in this area, and now we may be getting together for lunch when they next come visit.

Late one Sunday night, Charles de Gaul Airport was empty. The only other person sat at the information desk. I don’t speak French. She explained in English how to get to Central Paris by train.

She made change for a ticket. Everything worked as explained, and I found myself sitting in a dark empty train. Now trepidation overwhelmed me about where to exit, finding the hotel, and my meeting the next day.

The train stops, still in the countryside. Another person gets on and sits down across from me. “Bruce,” he says. “Didier,” I reply.

What a strange coincidence. I met him at an international meeting in Boston. He toured the USA with another Frenchman and even stayed with me several days. He had no connection to my meeting in Paris, but I had an excellent guide to my hotel.

Many times, I have replayed events that felt like a cosmic message, a warning, of a life-altering event. My only child, Paul, a 26-year-old recent university graduate, was the joy of my life. I was never particularly overprotective, always encouraging him to go out and find his place in the world.

Yet having raised him as a single Mom, I worried about his welfare and safety. Paul and I were close, sharing music, books, and culture. He had a serious interest in music and once shared a song entitled “Black Eyed Dog” by Nick Drake. The lyrics, he explained, were about death.

Paul had close, lifelong friends, all college-bound after high school. He attended college out of state, so reunions during school breaks were met joyfully by the group. I sometimes complained that no sooner had he walked through the door than his friends would arrive to take him off.

A trip to Aspen, Colorado was planned where the other men had gone before, but Paul, being out of state, hadn’t been. I later learned Paul was ambiguous about going. He did share with me that he was troubled about how his friends had changed and felt the need to distance himself.

One morning, I walked past a cemetery and noticed a large headstone. On top in large letters was the name Paul. A chill passed over me, then seemed to pass. Or so I thought.

Having lived out of state, Paul’s driver’s license needed renewal, so I scheduled a DMV appointment for him. He decided to get up from where he had been sitting to retrieve the driver’s manual from the car to refresh for the test. Once he stood up, a woman crashed into the very spot he had been sitting, seriously injuring all sitting there. My son’s words were, “Well, guess it was not my time to die.”

This all happened within a very short period, but my son died in a plane crash with all his friends in 2001 while attempting to land in Aspen. Were those coincidences? I have wondered.

In 2016, a friend signed up for online dating. I reluctantly signed up also.

Before I signed up, I had a dream that one of my male friends was teaching a martial arts class, attended by two students. The first student was the ex-husband of one of my best friends who had passed away in 2001. The second student was a former student of mine from 2001 — about age 9 when I knew him — scrappy kid with a good heart.

In the dream, my student was grown and had a sweet, handsome face. The three men in the dream were completely unrelated in real life. I woke and grabbed my phone to write it all down because I knew there was a message.

Then it hit me. My dead best friend’s husband and that former student? They both had the same name. Jeffrey. So, I commenced telling my friends to take notes: The next man I am with is named Jeffrey.

Later, I started emailing with a nice man who seemed new to online dating. We chatted for a while, but he hadn’t shared his name. He asked me out and sent me his Facebook profile. I recognized his name right away!

I knew this man. We had attended the same church in high school — two states away. I hadn’t recognized him in his online dating photos, and all I remembered of him was an intense phone conversation in 1979. His Facebook profile revealed a sweet handsome grown-up face and filled in the gaps of the 37 years in between.

He had lived down the road from me the past 20 years. Our children had attended the same martial arts class. So, we met and — against all my reservations — dated and eventually married. And of course, you know his name.

In 2008, an old friend, G, called to say she would be near my town one weekend. Friends of hers from Colorado were renting a beach house nearby, and G wanted to come to my house and visit afterward. At the time, I lived in a carriage house. The main house in front is a bigger home with five bedrooms. My landlord at the time was like family. 

I asked my landlord if she had a guest room available for G. Landlord said she would try, but she also was expecting her cousin that weekend. Her cousin was renting a house down at the beach….you know where this is going.

G arrived at our house and confirmed that she had just spent the week with her friends from Colorado. Her friends were coming to our town to visit with their cousin. We tried to gently let G know that this was the cousin’s house. Big surprise.

A decade later, in 2018, my husband and I went to a concert here in town. During intermission as the lights came up, a familiar looking woman stood up in the center of my visual field. I said to my husband that she looked a lot like my old friend G, who lives three states away, and isn’t it funny how everyone has a twin somewhere. The woman looked at me and yelled my name. It was G. 

She ran up to me and we had a quick chat. She told me that on the way to the show she had been telling her friends about the last time she was in my city, and how weird it was that I knew her friend’s cousin, etc. Then the lights come on at the show, and I’m standing right there.

Kind of coincidence has happened before I knew about coincidences. I  thought to myself that I had a guardian angel that was making my lucky events happen. They were trivial, and I didn’t think about the lucky impulse that seemed to have caused me to go to the place where I needed to be.

I sewed a lot and often had to look for the exact color ribbon for a belt or trim without finding it. But one day on the way home, I saw a yard sale sign that I decided to go to. The decision was made by a part of me that has led me many times to what I am looking for.

The first thing I saw was a belt in a box of belts that I ordinarily would not have looked at. But the belt was partly hanging out of the box, and I was amazed because the color was so unusual. Trivial, but a really good example of an apparent foresight.

In the summer of 1966, I was working in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and my mother had informed me that some relatives would be taking a vacation and would be passing through Colorado Springs in a few weeks. They would be leaving their hometown, where the drive to Colorado Springs is approximately 1,000 miles.

One day leaving work, I took my regular route home, whereby I would drive approximately six miles, then enter the Interstate Highway, drive another mile and exit the highway. Driving home this day, I entered the highway and had driven a few minutes when I looked to my left and saw that the car next to me were my relatives passing through Colorado Springs on their trip.

We recognized each other and exited the highway to exchange greetings. My first thought was, “What a coincidence that my relatives after driving 1,000 miles and I driving six miles could meet each other on the Interstate Highway at that particular moment.” Just a delay of one second while driving and we would have missed each other completely.

With our modern technology of communicating with cell phones and using GPS to determine location status, it would be impossible to duplicate this encounter. It would require the coordination between myself and my relatives and the coordination of all the travelers that would be driving along the same routes.

However, if body souls existed and could communicate in some way with each other, then meeting someone along the highway at a particular moment would be possible to do, and it wouldn’t be a coincidence. It would be a planned coordination encounter.

I had a dream in which my friend ended his life. Upon awakening, I decided to go lay eyes on him. Unbeknownst to me, he had been very sick and was awaiting bloodwork results.

While talking to him, I noticed his eyes were yellow. I notified his spouse about his eyes and asked her to ensure that she sees the bloodwork results, especially the liver function. The results came back that evening. Come to find out, there was cause for immediate hospitalization, and this would put him at the top of the liver transplant list due to liver cirrhosis (a brand new diagnosis). He spent half of the next month in the hospital.

With his history of suicidal thoughts and alcohol use, I suspect that had I not warned them of the test results and been able to hug my friend and tell him I loved him, he may have attempted suicide within a day or so of my dream.

Two months later, he’s hanging in there, and is now sober, unable to work and waiting the six months before he is allowed to get on the transplant list.  But he’s alive.

On a walk with my friend Lorita, we ran into her former neighbor who told her his daughter had passed from cancer just after graduating from high school, when her whole life was ahead of her. Lorita asked him, “Do you feel better knowing she’s in a better place?” He said he believed she is in the ground and that’s it.

I drove Lorita home and we decided to pray for her friend before getting out of the car. I told her I prayed God would give him a sign his daughter was in fact “in a better place.” Just as I said that a lady jogged by. Lorita said, “Oh my God, she looks just like his daughter who passed and even has the same long strawberry blonde hair.”

As she said that, the jogger turned around, knocked on my window, and said she was reluctant to ask but felt Jesus was telling her to ask us if we needed help with prayer. We explained what had just happened, then she got in the back seat and started praying out loud. We chatted for bit, then the jogger left.

I told Lorita that the woman’s prayer had sounded strange. Lorita said the woman was praying in tongues. I said that was weird to me, but Lorita said it was meaningful to her. She explained that her brother is a minister and she had asked him about tongues. He told her that if she was meant to know about it, it would come to her.

Just a very interesting Sunday morning. I felt our prayers were heard. I wish Lorita could run into that man again to see if he experienced a shift in his perception. This was probably 25 years ago, but I’ve never forgotten it.

I am Polish, living in Germany, and had never planned to visit the U.S. — but I changed my mind last year.

Since 2018, I have been experiencing synchronicities with San Francisco. Everywhere I went, I heard people talking about San Francisco, and everywhere I saw the Golden Gate Bridge. “That’s just a common symbol,” I thought. But then the coincidences got weird.

One day at school (I’m a primary school teacher), a boy said to me, “Can you tell me what’s on my T-shirt?” Well, there was Golden Gate Bridge and the words “Explore California.” He could have asked anybody, but he asked me, and he was wearing that T-shirt that day. But I still couldn’t believe in that.

Then one day I went shopping, and in the shop was a shelf of free books. They were old, boring books, so I wasn’t interested at all. Then I had this strange, strong feeling and heard an inner voice, “Go there.” So I looked, and there was a new city guide of San Francisco.

After so many coincidences, I decided to buy a ticket to San Francisco. And it was best travel of my life. I spent 10 great days there, met gentle people, and had fun.

This is a synchronicity story that occurred during a big transition in my life. I was in the process of changing jobs after three years of searching for a new position. I had been frustrated but finally found the right job.

At this time, I had a lot of synchronicities and had started reading a book about synchronicity by Elisabeth Mardoff, a German author of the book of Das Kein Zufall Sein (That Can’t Be a Coincidence). She wrote that when experiencing big life transitions, she sees green scarab beetles, just like in the famous story of C.G. Jung.

Because I couldn’t quite believe in synchronicity, I said to myself, “If I see a scarab beetle, I will believe. ”

One week later, I was sitting on the terrace with my husband and my neighbor (a psychologist). My husband said to me, “What’s that crawling your way?’’ Well, it was a green scarab beetle, the same as in the story of C.G. Jung.

It’s been five years, and I haven’t seen a scarab beetle since then. It changed me and made me a believer.

My heart still flutters!

In August 2023, I was talking to my husband extensively about a dear friend/roommate (I’ll call her “N”) from Japan whom I hadn’t seen since Bill Clinton vacated the White House. I was thinking about her, hoping her life had turned out well since she left for Japan to marry a man she never met through a prearranged marriage. N did not want to go back to Japan, but it was her duty to honor her family. We were both scared for her and where her future may lead.

In September 2023, I received a “Friend Request” and it was N! I could not believe it!!! I sprinted in place, yelled with tears blinding me. N said she joined Facebook to find me! From Japan!

After all these years, I thought she disappeared, but I never stopped thinking about her. To make my heart beat even faster, she did find true love within her prearranged marriage. What more could a girl ask for? My husband didn’t seem nearly as blown away as I was, especially since I talked so much about her to him for the first time in August. I received the “what’s the big deal?” look from him and my dogs.

Coincidences freak me out in a good way and occur quite frequently. The fact that these unordinary, non-scheduled occurrences present themselves to me and I recognize them makes me feel like I’m getting life’s little happy shocks.

My father was killed in an accident when I was a child. I’ve missed him all my life.

Fast forward to the present, I ask the universe for a sign from my father to mark the anniversary of his death. Then I remonstrate myself: I clearly need to get a grip, this being 62 years after his death. Yes, but in other dimensions does time even exist?

That evening on TV, the first choice Netflix presents is “All the Light You Cannot See”, a series based on the book. I had read it previously and been struck by the resonances of times, places and names with my father’s life.

I sit down to watch with my husband. Suddenly, we become aware of choral sacred music playing in the background. Strange accompaniment to the film… no, in fact the radio has come on spontaneously. That’s odd, we think as we turn it off.

The following morning, I come to my senses: that’s more than odd, is it the sign I requested? Especially as it coincides with the theme of the film (WW2) where a daughter is trying to communicate her love to her father who is missing, by radio.

I decide to journal the synchronicities this incident has revealed to me. As I’m writing, the radio switches itself on again and plays a requiem! Never before has my radio turned itself on and off. I feel loved and held by my father more than at any time in my life.

The next day, the radio randomly plays a programme about fathers and daughters. The person interviewed is a musician who has a deep spiritual relationship with her father who was killed before she was born.

What have I learned from this experience? My father is reaching out to me, loving me with his presence. Love is eternal and the highest form of consciousness, and we are all connected in one vast Interbeing!