Coincidence in it's highest form. Make sure that when you catch it on the clock, you spare the moment for awareness.
Last week (or was it the week before... fuck, what's going on these days?) I took my friend Kyle(bear) to see Antony and the Johnsons at Carnegie Hall. For those of you who know Antony, it sounded much better than it was. That's unfair. It was a gorgeous show, even though, as with all old theaters, my overgrown 21st centuryAmerican body was uncomfortable in those 20th century old theater seats... However, I was admittedly disappointed that Antony has (at least for the present) shirked his ethereal and effeminate diva chanteuse atmosphere for one that is more technical. Instead of being behind the mic, Antony was behind the piano, taking breaks to have a aged jazz performer, Jimmy (something.... gotta look up his name. I am sure he is important. I mean, he sang "Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child" and Elton John's "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word" for chrissakes) come out and sing and be handed roses, and giving over his encore performance to Lou Reed (it seems like the two are hopelessly in love for this lifetime with each other) which is all fine, but taken in altogether, I feel like we didn't get to see that much of Antony in the concert, which is the reason that hundreds of people were there. Although Antony did do a fantastic riff on Whitney Houston's "I wanna dance with somebody" involving a fantasy with the lovely Shania Twain. It was truly a highlight, although he didn't sing Rapture or River of Sorrow, two songs from his first album that make me crumble. Most of the songs were from later albums that I am less familiar with.
But moving right along to the jist of things... Kyle and I had an amazing night together, which is usually what I give him for his birthday, and then we headed to the Ameritan hotel for snazzy, overpriced drinks. This is where Meghan the bartender comes in. After Kyle and I did some catching up over dirty martinis, the bartender sort of became part of our conversation. Of course, she is a performer to, and could tell that we were from the timbre of our voices (which is always a compliment... god, I sound like such an actor douchebag right now) and she talked about the fact that she did voice-over work, which is something I want to get into. We also noticed her spiritual detox book on the bar, and assumed that she was into the holistic mysticism that these days gets lumped into being "new age." After talking about all the things we all do, we traded email addresses, and I noted aloud that it was interesting that hers ended in 11. I told her it was one of my favorite numbers. And she asked why immediately.
I told her it was because it had a special symbolism for me since I was a teenager. To be honest, it came from 11:11, which I knew for a while, was significant to others outside of the sphere of my best friend from home and myself, but didn't realize was such a huge gap in space and time. My best friend growing up, Lauren, and I used to catch 11:11 all the time on the LCD clock in my cloudmobile (the white Jeep Grand Cherokee that I drove around that was my parent's and was also my freedom for several years) when we would get stoned and hang out in the parking lot by the Metro Rail station in Fullerton, CA. 11:11 extended beyond the car for the two of us, but it was always kind of our 4:20; something we would catch and give knowing looks and congratulations to one another for spotting.
When Meghan asked me why I liked 11, I essentially told her that my best friend and I used to catch 11:11 all the time, and it meant something to us.
She was obviously enthused by the connection and urged me to "google 11:11." "There's some stuff going on with 11:11," she said. "You'll see," she told me.
Well, that shit is true as hell. There is some shit going down with 11:11. Essentially, as it beconed a certain recognition from Lauren and myself, that is essentially the role of 11:11. It is a reminder of consciousness. It is a reminder of awareness. It is a reminder of the synchronicity in this world, of the plane where sprituality and geometry connect.