Thursday, July 2, 2009

Magic Numbers and Letters—Still Coming On Strong

In my book Into the Mystic (From the Streets of Brooklyn), I described how “magic numbers and letters” can pop into view on license plates (and elsewhere) carrying a special energy and, somehow, simultaneously, deliver messages from Spirit. I explained that “55” was my own personal magic number, and to illustrate this spontaneous divination process, related some of my experiences as examples, along with the experiences of others who have tuned into this magic number phenomenon. I also mentioned how I initially feared whenever “666s” would turn up, due to the biblical connotation, but eventually came to realize that this charged symbol could also deliver useful information from Spirit.

In this blog I’ll be discussing some recent license plate (and other) encounters which further indicate that messages from Spirit being transmitted thru magic numbers and letters that spontaneously come into view, can help us see in advance what everyday life has in store in the immediate future, and allow us to prepare accordingly—if we tune in. I relate these true stories in the hope that some readers may find the material helpful in recognizing, processing, and validating their own magic number experiences.

Since the end of 2008 and into 2009, the rock band I was in had been going thru some rough times, with a series of major disagreements and personality clashes destroying what was once a good camaraderie. After some to-do, we all settled the latest round of issues and got it back together enough to rehearse and prepare for a special April reunion gig. All was going well—certainly better than things had gone for a long time—and after the final rehearsal a week before the gig, the band seemed happy, together, and primed to give our usual solid performance.

Of course, there would be the usual logistical hassles, including one big trouble spot for me: whenever I have to haul drums to a performance, it’s a chore in itself. (In my next life, I think I’ll take up the flute.) Most problematic is lugging my long and clunky Beato bag filled with cymbal stands, mike stands, and other hardware. It’s just too damn heavy and unwieldy, and is murder on the body to carry.

Still recovering from arthroscopic knee surgery in January, I decided to see if I could make things easier on myself by getting an old fashioned trap-case on wheels to replace the monstrous hardware bag. However, I had reservations about reverting to a trap case since there really didn't seem to be enough room in the Prius hatchback to handle it.

Thinking about all this while driving south along Ocean Parkway to Norm’s music store on Kings Highway, I found myself in the center lane at Ave. N, near where I had an extraordinary mystical experience involving my unborn son Ryan so many years before (see Into the Mystic…, page 7 et seq.). This time I became surrounded by three cars with “55s” as part of their license plates. The special energy coming thru those 55s (my own magic number) foretold that everything was going to be fine with the purchase at the music store.

I relaxed and continued onto Norm’s. Once there, I told the salesman what I wanted. He suggested instead a “Gator” brand hardware bag on wheels (designed like a portable golf bag on wheels) which I had never seen or even heard of before. My only concern was that it might not fit into the hatchback, but the energy from the 55s on Ocean Parkway was so positive that I didn't worry. I “knew” things would work out.

Following my instincts, I made the purchase for $151.71—narrowly missing my magic number of $155, which itself was to become symbolic. Because when I got back to the car, the bag just about fit diagonally into the hatchback. I did have to finagle it a bit and knew that this would be a slight problem once the bag was filled with weighty hardware, but I could also see that the new bag would work out fine. Clearly it would have made much more sense for me to measure the bag before buying it, or double-park by Norm’s and test how the bag would fit in the hatchback, but it seems (in retrospect, and as a friend pointed out) that I had such confidence in the 55s that I didn’t even think to do any of that. And indeed, when I packed the bag and loaded it into the car on the day of the gig, there was no problem.

Leading up to the gig—which was foremost on my mind—a bunch of 66s and some 666s kept appearing. Not wanting to face the prospect of negativity on the horizon, I went into denial mode. But as the incessant 66s and recurring 666s kept popping up charged with that special energy, I knew things would soon be getting bumpy.

At around the same time that I was getting the 66s leading up to the reunion gig, there appeared a license plate “DNB 8755” (again when I was near Ave. N and Ocean Parkway, a "personal power spot" for me). The attendant special energy for this one indicated that DNB translated into “Dennis and [my brother] Barney.” And the “8755” came across as reinforcing that something positive (55) was definitely (8+7= 15 = 5+5+5) coming up for my brother and me. Given all the 666 prelude, this amounted to positive and negative adventures ahead.

As it turned out, on the night before the reunion gig, I learned from Barney that all of the good will and camaraderie that had been restored during rehearsal less than a week before, had come undone—hence all the 66s. But I was braced for it, and dealt with it fairly well. To make a long story short, with all the negative energy, polarization, and disharmony going on within the band, I realized that this gig had to be my last with them. I told my brother and everyone else as much beforehand. Barney said it would be his last as well, and so “DNB” were atypically sticking together on this one, which was (from my perspective at least) the “right” thing to do, and reflective of the DNB 55s that had spontaneously appeared earlier.

Around this same time, another set of 66s helped brace me for issues at work involving a coworker who is very into playing “the blame game.” She had set her sites on me in an effort to detract warranted blame from herself and it was really annoying to have to deal with it. But...I had no choice.

Following a number of negative email exchanges involving the coworker, me and our boss, there was a group meeting scheduled for Friday morning and it was looking as tho the blame game could go live and in person, in front of an audience of peers. I knew I would have to defend myself.

With all this in mind the morning of, while I was parking my car in a garage near work, the attendant handed me a parking stub with this series of numbers: “160155.” The special energy coming thru the parking stub downloaded to me as predicting that things would be OK at the meeting. I got this thru the 155 carrying a positive connotation for me (me being represented by the 16 as October 16 is my birthday). And both 1s in the 16 and the 155 predicted that I will have “won” (1) before the day was over.

Then on the walk from the parking garage to the office, a “6060” license plate hit me as carrying the message that my coworker nemesis (represented by the two individual “6s” for her doubly negative energy) had “absolutely nothing” (represented by the two individual 0s). It also came across that the message was being delivered twice for emphasis and certainty (hence the “6060” and not just “60”).

Both the parking stub and license plate magic number messages tended to relax me and I proceed to the meeting in a strong frame of mind, ready to take the high road and say whatever needed to be said in a professional way. As things turned out, our boss—who was going to bring up the whole blame-game incident at the meeting—decided not to, and pretty much confided to me privately not to worry, that he knew what was going on.

On the way home that night while reflecting on the antics of my blame-gaming coworker, I got one more license plate message that was most welcome. This one read “ENZ600” and hit me as “So ends (ENZ) the coworker’s (6’s) nothing (00) saga.” I relaxed even deeper and as it turned out, that was the end of it.

One more series of 66s helped me relax about an avoidable personal problem that cropped up. I had scheduled the final follow-up appointment with my knee surgeon who had hung me up previously, after I had taken a half-day off from work to meet with him. This time, he hung me up again, but no one from his office even bothered to call to let me know. So another half-day off was wasted, this time with no notice. I really got angry when the receptionist told me that my doctor wasn’t in. I replied, “This is the second time in a row and no one even calls me?” then turned and walked away.

As I was leaving the waiting room, I heard the receptionist call out, “Sir! Sir! Please don't go. You can see the senior partner if you want!”

“No thanks,” I yelled back.

“Don't you want to reschedule?” she hollered out.

“No thanks.”

Now, I have to say I was not very happy about any of this—including my own reaction. But the office had ticked me off other times as well with needless scenes and my patience with them had been exhausted.

On the drive home I kept second guessing myself as to whether or not I had done the right thing by walking out of the doctors' office. A block before reaching my apartment, a car pulled in front of me with a special-energy charged license plate housing this series of numbers and letters: “5MCM154.” The bottom line message here was that I (the 5 + MCM for McMahon) was "just about" where I was supposed to be (154 being "just about" 155), and indeed I was a block away from home.

Just before seeing that license plate (which I would not have come across if I had remained at the doctor’s office), I had gassed up the car. The credit card receipt showed a charge of $16.54. There was a special energy attached to the receipt as well, which I noticed in retrospect. The 16 validated that there was a message for me (born October 16), and this time the 154 portion of the 16.54 jumped out at me as "almost 155" again, but this time separated by a little negative energy, i.e., the 6 in between the 1 and the 5 in 16.54.

In any event, the bottom line message was that I had in fact done what I was supposed to do (or maybe had been called on to do?). That is, I walked out of the office in protest. And as confirmation that this was appropriate under the circumstances, Spirit was delivering messages via magic numbers indicating that I was where I was meant to be at that moment in time—just about home, and not at the doctors' office.

Maybe the display of protest served no other purpose than to deliver a message to the office administrators that: “If a doctor is not going to keep an appointment, call and tell the patient," as a matter of common courtesy. You’d think they’d have already known that. If not, they know it now.

Thanks for reading.