Carl Gustav Jung coined the term “synchronicity” in the 1920s to represent what he observed in his patients as meaningful, but acausal, connections between their internal and external events, which he believed activated archetypes in his patients’ unconsciousness.
For example, if you witness a plane crash while you are blowing your nose, it is a mere coincidence. But if a black frock is delivered instead of the blue frock you ordered, and later on that same morning you learn a loved one has died, an otherwise ordinary external event is suddenly imbued with meaning. And if you also recently dreamed about death, the event is said to have manifested both externally and internally, perhaps indicating a connection or communication between the psyche and matter .
In my experience, it seems that an archetype just lights up when clusters of these external and internal events occur simultaneously, like an old-fashioned switchboard or a frantic message in a Morse code of its own. I intuitively know that my synchronicities are links between my conscious and unconscious. I knew this back in 1990, when I first began my symbolic quest, but I got busy. I didn’t have time to pay attention. But since this concept has been brought again to my attention, I realize I have been wasting an invaluable resource.
In the last few weeks, my synchronistic events have skyrocketed, as if my unconscious said, “OMG, we have her attention at last: Hit her with everything we got.” The synchronicities are occurring sometimes so rapidly that I can’t possibly write them all down, one after another, linking to yet another, and then crossing over each other. It’s like they are all tripping over each other.
This cross just keeps cropping up everywhere I look. I did not plan it, but the cross dominated my Jung & Me page. Then the cross dominated my Out of My Mind page. Then, taking a different approach altogether, the cross dominated My Latest Revelation page. And now it has dominated my Synchronicity page! I promise it is not me leading the way, but the symbol, or my psyche, that is driving the development of this website.
My Cross Synchronicities
Monday, March 18, 2013. I turned on the TV today a few minutes before noon to catch the weather. The View was on, and a guy (who was later identified as Lior Suchard, a mentalist and author of the Mind Reader) was drawing a cross inside a circle, with a squirrelly vertical-eight, like an infinity symbol across it.
It caught my eye, of course, because it reminded of the cross I had just drawn in my circle, which I had just posted on my Out of My Mind page last night. In a matter of a few days, my internal/external events became external on national television. It tells me to tune in.
The guy then drew a circle on the next page and asked Elisabeth (View co-host), who had been sitting by with her eyes closed, to draw in the circle what she had on her mind. Elisabeth drew the same thing, a cross inside the circle with the infinity symbol across it.
Of course, the symbols of a cross and a circle and an infinity symbol are universal. They could just be coincidences. But, as they say, timing is everything. My drawing of a cross inside a circle and Elisabeth and Lior’s drawings of crosses inside circles were independent events. What connected them was my apparent internal knowledge—that is, the knowledge of my psyche—that prompted me to turn on the TV at that precise moment.
Perhaps this synchronicity, that is, my psyche, is trying to draw my attention to yet another aspect of my soul through the infinity symbol: its timelessness, or endlessness, which I intuitively know but had not made conscious in the drawing of my cross. This paragraph was to be my conclusion of this column but—little did I know—my psyche was just getting fired up.
The Rosary Beads
While I was meditating on the meaning of an oracle card I had just read, my thought process somehow led me to think about the rosary beads that had hung from my Dad’s vanity mirror (as did mine when I was a teenager), and how on the morning that my siblings and I had met at his house last month, a few days after he had died, how those rosary beads, with its cross hanging from them, seemed to haunt me.
All morning I went back and forth about them: Should I take them or not? Certainly they shouldn’t go to auction, but I wasn’t Catholic, and neither were most of my siblings, none of whom seemed to notice them anyway. I had very mixed feelings about them. I kept taking them off the mirror, walking around with them, then hanging them back up. Finally, I took them down and walked outside to the garage, where my brother was taking care of business, and I asked him to give them to Victoria, the Spanish woman who had helped my Dad around the house for the past several years. I was pretty sure she was Catholic, and I thought they would mean much more to her than me. And I was sure my Dad would want her to have them.
But now, suddenly, I want them. I really want them. Now. Today. Surely God knew I would change my mind and has set them aside for me. I can give them to Victoria later, perhaps. But right now, I need them. I just texted my brother. When I had asked him to give them to Victoria a few weeks ago, he said he knew he had them somewhere, he just wasn’t sure where.
(Update, April 3, 2013: Turns out, my brother had set the beads down in the kitchen to take care of later, and they appealed to one of my sisters. At some point, they realized what had happened and without delay sent me my Dad’s rosary beads, which thrilled me.)