I love it when you've just spoken about an obscure interesting topic, or were preoccupied with same for awhile, and then you find in the newspaper the next day a comic strip that touches on that exact topic (esp when it reflects a particular thought you had about it).
I love it when a song you haven't heard in 15 years pops into your head and then a few hours later, you're at the drug store, and it starts piping through their speakers. Or you're at a friend's house, and their brother is sampling it for a mix, or you're at Target or some such, and someone has that album in the baby seat of their cart.
The classic: I love it when you think of a long-not-thought-of and perhaps unlikely person, and then a while later, the phone rings, and it's them. I had this happen to me relatively recently: Since not too long after I left Seattle, a pal named Amy slipped from the currents of my thinking and we fell out of touch. Four years later, in the late morning, on the bus, I randomly thought of her and remembered bits of conversation with her. I recalled driving her neat little car, having an evening at an outdoor café with her friends, etc. Then, I carried on with life and work and whatever else I was up to, Amy re-relegated to slipped-from-currents status. Many hours later, when I got home, there was an email saying I'd been friended at Facebook by Amy H., and would I accept? I just sat there for a few seconds, unbelieving. My skin just lit up with chills all over, my eyebrows launched up a lot farther than they are accustomed to being, and I had to scoop my jaw up off of my knees. The skin was the thing, man. I've gotten chills before, but never quite like that.
I love Déjà Vu. One experience in particular sticks with me, as I was not (and remain not) fully convinced it was simply a brain chemistry thing. It just feels cosmic and too meaningful and meaty for that. Not long after I came to L.A. the first time, 22 years ago, I walked out of a store and over to catch a bus at Sunset Blvd. and Fairfax Ave. I was at the South West corner of the intersection, when for some reason I turned around and looked North toward the hillside. The sensation that came over me was as completely real as it was surreal - I
remembered what I was looking at, I
remembered seeing this. I remembered this place perfectly well. It did not feel like a 'sensation' of memory, it didn't feel like a particularly intense Déjà Vu experience, it felt like "Oh, yeah, of course, this spot." I had never been to this spot in my entire life.
I treasure my sound rationality. When you ask me what I believe, the word science will be somewhere in the first sentence out of my mouth. I can't math my way out of a paper bag, but I know damn well what it is and means, and I love its elegance and logic. I love the law; I love the indisputability of 4-D science and math and the scientific method. But I also love, even a few degrees more, when that is called into question on some point or other. Quantum physics and mechanics says nothing if not "all bets are off". My cosmic coincidences do this too, at least in my own mind. I am compelled to toy with the mystery and wonder about things greater than our 4-D physical space-time continuum. I struggle with it, but I love it. My spiritual growth must necessarily be in concert with the truth as I understand it; I would rather that challenge of making only the leaps of faith I can with the added weight of a physics textbook.
I love magic and happily use that word for the sensation upon experiencing the cosmic coincidences and other inexplicable stuff. I love using it to describe the certainty of rightness of a fast-friend connection with a brand new person, the recognition that comes with that. I love using it to describe an instance where 'everything just came together perfectly' out of disorder or confusion, especially when it happens right on time.
I am a believer of sorts, really. I believe in love and that love trumps everything. I believe in a greater, all encompassing love that I have for humanity and our history. I think we're a charming and beautiful lot overall, the human race, and viewing it and being part of it has moved me to every point and subpoint on the emotional spectrum.
My spiritual growth has shifted and grown incrementally over the course of my cognizant life, with few critical spurts here and there, but one thing that has remained constant is my love for and belief in the spectacular power of humanity. It is transcendent even of its own humbler self, its faulty daily grind from which the elements of that magic are necessarily drawn. It is remarkable grandeur from rocky, chaotic little details and earnest progress. It is greater exponentially than the sum of its parts. It's cosmic.
By
Catherine
P.S. Thanks for having me, Nina. ((Hugs))
