Travelling to dentist in Edmonton Monday. How many people have the Burt Bacharach CD boxset? Anyway, Bobby Vinton’s “Blue on Blue” comes on as I’m listening in the van, which I ultimately play a couple of times. An olde favorite.
How many people who played “Blue on Blue” yesterday somewhere in the world happen to be watching Jeanne Moos on CNN? She’s talking about Comey and how he wanted to blend in with the drapes at the White House when Trump called him across the floor. She picks up on something he had previously said of not wanting to be noticed and called forth by Trump in a truly awkward social moment.
Of all the choices, Moos might have made yesterday, she decides to play an excerpt from “Blue on Blue”, of all the million possible songs with the color blue mentioned. True, she and I probably lived through the same era of pop music, but what are the odds that I, of all people yesterday in a far away place, would listen to that song Monday morning and that she would decide to use an excerpt from later in her humor spot later that day on CNN, which I just happened to tune into just then?
Synchronicity has happened to me and others I know from time to time. It is always an uncanny random overlapping moment. I can remember saying a word in conversation and two seconds later someone on tv happens to say the same word, as if we’ve been occupying the same place, time, and context.
Like so many people, I know that these connections are random and coincidental, but always there is a sense that someone or something has telegraphed a connection that I’m conscious of, though not understanding fully if it was intended for consciousness, if it means anything or if it suggests something larger and scriptedly or fatedly at work behind the flow of the day.
