Every so often, I start seeing the numbers 11:11. What’s really spooky is that I’m not the only one.
It started several years ago, and I wrote about it somewhere on my old weblog but I can’t seem to locate the post. It started with purchases that totaled $11.11. Or change from purchases. Then, it seemed like every time I looked at a digital clock, it said 11:11. I go through spurts like that every once in a while.
It’s happening again. At least with the clocks — in my car, my bedroom, the VCR. I understand that it’s likely that somewhere in my subconscious I’m telling myself to look at a clock when I sense it’s that time. But that doesn’t explain why it only happens every so often, with no logical reason why it should start again.
I’m an irreverent non-believer, which you might not believe because I love to conjure rituals and am fascinated by synchronicities — especially because everything in life really happens so randomly.
Some people are born into poverty and ignorance and some into affluence and privilege. Some get cancer and some depressed and some breeze through life full of joy and energy.
Yesterday, I relaxed for a couple of hours at a friend’s pool — gossiping, reading, book-reviewing, keeping cool and privileged in a manicured back yard of the lovely home that she got in her divorce settlement. And across the city and across the world, others sweltered, suffered, starved. It’s a crapshoot that we begin where we begin.
One one one one. The beginning number. 11:11. Supposedly it means that I’m on the right track. I sure don’t feel like it.