I am not a believer in Numerology, per se, but I have become a believer, especially as I have gotten older, in an order to things that transcends what we consider to be our normal methods of perception.
This notion fits perfectly between the realms of science and pure mysticism. In fact, I see this as a sort of middle ground between the two dimensions; the place where just because we don't "see it", doesn't mean "it", doesn't exist.
(Cue the "dee-dee-dom-dom-dee dee-dom-dom dee-dee-dom-dom-dee-dee-dom-dom with Rod Serling's shadowy cigarette smoke silhouette.
"Quantifiable evidence is only as good as the devices doing the measuring; the yardstick stopping at three feet doesn't mean that's all there is to measure."
I love pure science; I am a passionate believer in its beauty and intricate perfection. I don't want to get in a rocket based on "a pretty good feeling this is going to work" anymore than I want to blatantly deny the existence of something I can directly perceive with my senses.
The late Bill Hicks describes it perfectly here, in his rant on alternate perception, as only he could.
Language, illicit drugs and hilarity warning; as well as a couple of extra minutes of some truly refreshing thoughts from a sorely missed genius.
Please join me on the other side of the Orange Cloven Hoofprint.
Who's to say something of our selves, a sort of transient energy only "felt" in certain places, times and situations, isn't real? I'm purposely avoiding labels and specific words here to keep the image open.
Who's to say a sharpened sense of this awareness by some people more than others, isn't real? How do we really decide how to define reality?
In the course of my life, I have adopted some rituals; some "peculiar habits" (aka superstitions) my friends and family would say, that have become routines for me. Constantly burning La Virgin de Guadalupe candles, picking up "heads up" pennies, the number thirteen and, among other things, choosing to first give the benefit of the doubt to most folks, (at least until their damn fool behavior proves it unwarranted). I believe that following these practices seems to be working to help keep me aligned with some unseen universal symmetry.
For me, it all ties together perfectly, the same way a spring feeds a waterfall and the waterfall, in turn, replenishes the spring; never ending, never beginning, yin and yang energy, neither created nor destroyed.
I feel that I have enjoyed a measure of success in life; I am reasonably healthy, have great sons and am not destitute. There is a part of my belief system that has decided that while these practices may have began as silly rituals devoid of any real measurable positive consequence, they may be, at least partially, responsible for the tide of my good fortune.
One person's religion is another's eccentric peculiar habits.
I'm a glass half full guy choosing not to give credence to the skeptics' cries that, by the same logic (or lack of logic) things may also have gone much better had I not pursued these activities.
It's the voodoo, that do the hoodoo, that you do, so well. (Mea culpa- It just reminded me and I couldn't resist the link)
Which brings me slightly closer to my original thought; my scientifically unwarranted affection for the number thirteen. My personal attachment began when I wore it two years in a row as my little league baseball uniform number beginning when I was about ten or eleven. Something about it just felt right.
I had chosen it, or it chose me, long before I knew of its commonly associated "coolness"- thirteenth letter of the alphabet is M, man - M, like marijuana- cool. The Maltese Cross with the number worn on a chain by surfers or inked on bikers. Friday the thirteenth, the day, not the movies.
I was a youth looking for something to tie things together a little better than the stories I was getting from the traditional religious sources. I read in my "Life- American Heritage Book of Folklore", the homespun folklore legends and the American Indian creation myths. The tales of animals and nature surrounding humans interchangeably interacting in a symbiotic order held a fascination that the bible's tales of smiting and arbitrary decisions seemingly made at the behest of voices, did not.
Which brings me at long last to the true subject of this diary- my DKos UID number and sign up date.
I have long been strangely fascinated by the almost hypnotic quality of my DKos UID- 222212. A randomly assigned designation that simply cries out in it's elegant simplicity. All those twos and that lone one; the one seems out of place, alone, in the midst of all those twos.
I noticed when the digits are added together, the twos and the one, it makes eleven. Eleven is two ones. One plus one is... See? I told you, weird, right? It's all about the two.
And the date I actually bit the bullet and joined. I decided I wanted to comment or something, I don't quite remember. It was completely random (?), though I do remember I read and bookmarked this diary by Winsmith (great read btw), the night I went from lurker to member. Something about the intensity of the diary's dialogue and, of course, looking back I realize it also involves my least favorite usual suspect, Ronald Reagan.
At some level, the Orange Chariot of Fun beckoned, the Great Orange Satan spoke; and I pulled the trigger, and joined.
The UID was issued and as with all things of this nature, what is "truly random"? I didn't choose it but it is mine. Random assignment by virtue of necessity. However it's attributed, I am glad to be here and have that old time feeling that it was for some, perhaps as yet not fully understood reason, meant to be .
Or maybe it's just all a huge coincidence, a contrived concoction conceived through wishful thinking.
I would accept that and simply move on if it weren't for the date I joined, September 9th, 2009.
9/9/2009.
Add those numbers up. 29.
Two plus nine, 11.
One plus one...
the missing(?) Two.
Weird, right?
Peace, ya'll.
11:15 PM PT: No place to tip in a tipless diary.. .as I said, sincerely thanks for coming out , please tip your waitress, we'll be here all night...
peace.