When Every Day Matters

Have you ever had an experience where you said, “Wow, what a coincidence.”  Maybe it was more.  Maybe it was a synchronicity. Let me explain through a Jungian perspective.

Carl Jung, the prominent Swiss psychiatrist, believed synchronicity meant ‘more than a coincidence.’  Jung, the thinker and founder of analytical psychology, connected synchronicities to the bigger world: the collective unconscious.  These were not just assumptions on his part, Jung believed the collective unconscious was universal, meaning common to all people, because he listened and researched for decades the overlapping stories and myths that people shared with him, people from various cultures and societies worldwide.  Jung also recorded people’s dreams from these many cultures and uncovered repetitive and often dominant themes and motifs.  He called these themes archetypes and reasoned that they resided in a collective unconscious.

Some examples of universal archetypes are life, death, love, mother, father, child and the hero’s battle between good and evil. (Think Luke Skywalker in Star Wars.)  The archetypes might have a different symbolism specific to that culture’s religion or cultural myth but the archetype remains the same.  Consider the Virgin Mary known for her mercy as the all loving mother for the Christian community but Kwan Yin the Goddess of Compassion for Buddhism.

Therefore, if we wish to evaluate an event’s synchronicity, Jung believed certain elements and conditions needed to be present: first that the episode transcends a concrete event in a spiritual way and that outside events did not cause the synchronicity.  Second, that the synchronistic occurrence must reflect back personal meaning to the individual experiencing it.  Third, that the event is tied to deep emotion within that person.  Fourth, that the synchronicity occurs at times of important transition in an individual’s life as after a death in the family or divorce or serious illness when how one proceeds afterward in his or her life seems unclear. (Clifton Snider, Ph.D.)

But how does this translate for you or me and how would it appear?  Well, allow me to share two personal examples of what a synchronicity actually looks like and why a synchronistic experience feels extraordinarily meaningful to the person having it.

Last Thursday I boarded The Amtrak Vermonter and headed to Burlington to visit a friend and colleague I met in 1993 at The C. G. Jung Institute in Kusnacht, Switzerland.  Eleven hours later my friend Jackie met me at the station. That evening we dined in. Following dinner Jackie abruptly leapt from her chair, “Mare, I want you to ’see’ this.”  Adeptly winding a little music box she handed it over.  Two lady bugs - lemon yellow and cherry red in color - spun and twirled about.  Beethoven’s beautiful “Fur Elise” tingled in the air.  And here is the first synchronicity when time became suspended between two worlds.  You see, my friends, Fur Elise was the favorite classical composition my deceased daughter Katie played often for me, a fact that Jackie had no idea about.

This awesome synchronicity led to a few tears, a tender hug, and a glance heavenward on this my first trip back to Vermont since dear Katie died.   Yes, this experience hit my heart hard and fast because for me it transcended earthly existence because I felt it was a sign of Katie’s presence, a Devine presence, or both.

The weekend ended - as all things do - and I headed back to Philadelphia.  This is where the second synchronicity begins to unfold.  Shortly after leaving Vermont, the train stopped and a young family of three boarded. We exchanged smiles as they seated themselves across the aisle.  From the corner of my eye I couldn’t help but observe the little boy’s joyful spirit.  Naturally, I didn’t want to intrude (or did I?) but about an hour later I saw he had nothing to play with so what’s a therapist, mother, and grandmother to do with all of her extra paper and pens?

I leaned toward the father and inquired if his child might like to have a pad and pen.  They asked him.  He nodded affirmatively.  I passed the pad and pen over to this little guy and returned to my reading.  Fifteen minutes later he stood next to my seat.  “Hello!”  I looked up and smiled.  He handed me a picture.  It was a drawing of a woman and a little boy.  The woman had glasses on.  I had glasses on.  I looked at him smiling so luminously.

“This is you” he said “and this is me!”  He told me he was six years old.  I was so delighted by this sweet and generous gesture and his emerging ego strength.

“What a wonderful picture you have drawn!  Thank you!  Would I be able to keep it?” He tells me that yes, it is mine now, and I think this is the best train ride I have ever had.

“What is your name, dear boy, so I will always think of you and this special day together on the train?”

He looked directly into my eyes with the hold of a king and answered in the voice of an angel, “My name is Vishnu.”

I am spellbound. This was my second synchronicity.  Here is why. This little boy’s name was not Johnny or Tommy; his name was Vishnu, a major god in Hinduism who is normally depicted with four arms.  In each hand he holds something symbolic.  In one hand he holds a conch shell because its sound ‘Om’ represents the sound of creation.  In another hand he holds a chakra (small weapon) which represents the purified mind.  In another hand he holds a lotus flower which represents spiritual liberation.  In another hand he holds a mace which represents great spiritual, physical and mental strength.

I felt astounded and humbled that a little child with a prominent and religious Hindu name would so randomly cross my path.  This synchronistic experience felt not only meaningful to me but transcendent.  Why?  Because I am in a personal transition and I felt it was yet another sign of Katie’s presence, a Devine presence or both supporting me.

Mary Jane Hurley Brant, M.S., CGP

February 27, 2010

The synchronicities mount.  Last Saturday evening my husband and I attended a wonderful surprise party for a dear friend’s son just back from his second and final deployment as a pilot in Iraq.  At the party, while conversing with one of the other guests, the subject of this fellow’s graduate school came up.  I was aware that both he and my husband completed their MBA work at the same university. I got to laughing about that coincidence when something made me inquire further, “Did you live in Newark, too?”  He said he did.  I said that we did also “on a street where all the physicians in Newark lived.”

He said, “Mt. Prospect Avenue?”

I said, “As a matter of fact, yes!”

He continued, “555 Mt. Prospect Avenue?”  Yes again.  Of course we discovered it was also during the same time period!  I’m so excited about this synchronicity I grabbed his wife to tell her because ironically she is in my “Mother’s Finding Meaning Again” group.  (I had asked her to join when I heard her son had died suddenly two years ago.)  She and I agreed to share this synchronicity at our next meeting because we mothers consider these incidents sacred whispers from the spiritual world where we believe all of our children now live.  It’s also something that offers all of us great consolation and comfort.

Our group met last night. As I retold the story, the mothers’ eyes grew wide and I couldn’t help but notice how quickly they placed their hands over their hearts listening.  After some comments among us, another mom in our group shared details of the origins of her relationship with me.  I would like to write about those details now because this all fits together.

Back in the 1980’s this beautiful young woman contacted me asking support for her father who had been diagnosed with a terminal cancer.  Learning about her dad’s illness I discovered that she herself had young identical twin girls who had been born with cystic fibrosis. I confide that the additional information about her children broke my heart because I realized the seriousness of that diagnosis.  I also couldn’t imagine how hard this mother’s life must be.  This encounter occurred several years before knowing that I, too, would someday be walking in her shoes when my teenager would be diagnosed with a brain tumor.

Well, time moved forward for this little family and I did what I could for them.  This ill father made it such a privilege given his sincere, sweet and non-assuming personality.  I felt close to him.  Regrettably his cancer progressed and even though everyone just wanted him to get well; it was not meant to be.  Because I felt close to him I stopped into the hospital one afternoon to give him a little hug but he had already slipped into a coma.  Standing by his hospital bed I observed his earnest face and felt overcome with sadness at the brevity of this good man’s life.  Why is life so short I thought?  Do we say enough?  Do we do enough?  I lightly kissed his forehead, said a silent prayer and quietly left.

Naturally this dying man was on my mind.  It’s not easy for me to forget one part of my life just because I’m in another part.  I mention this because as I slept that first night I dreamed my dying client stood in front of me before he silently, and without speaking, leaned in to give me a gentle hug.  I woke with my heart pounding; I could not return to sleep.  At 7:30 a.m. I called his daughter.

“Oh Pat, how is your father doing?  I just had a dream about him and he gave me a hug.”

“Oh Mary Jane,” she responded, “my father died in the middle of the night.”

You may wonder how my client’s daughter and I reconnected after all of these years?  It happened quite naturally because one of my neighbors mentioned that she had a friend with two seriously ill children and not long after that conversation I picked up the newspaper and read the inspiring story of her daughter’s lives.  What mother could read a story about two children dying six months apart and not feel torn open with that tragic loss?  When I formed the mother’s group I invited her to join because Pat gives new meaning to the definition of a courageous mother.

Oh, did I mention where she now lives?  How about a ten minute walk from my home.

April 24, 2010

Last night my husband and I attended a party at an artist’s friend’s beautiful new home where two synchronicities occurred but tonight, I will address only one.  My painter friend and I met a few years back in an art class.  Her skills with a brush put me in a trance.

We came up the walk to this house in a serene setting on the Main Line in Philadelphia not far from The Willows.  No ding-dong Avon calling because she and her engaging boyfriend greeted us with laughter and a hug at the mailbox - Debbie’s way for, in addition to being an accomplished painter, she excels at putting people at ease for fun, friendship and flair.  The house filled up in minutes; everyone chatting and admiring how the space sparkled with colorful expression.

A glass of cold Chardonnay, hints of oak - yum, my favorite - now handed to me by Deb.  It lifted my spirits higher.  A lively conversation with Gerry about our lives commenced where she shared how she had highlighted many sections of When Every Day Matters.  I offered how we might like to discuss those parts meaningful to her someday soon.  You see, an author never tires talking about his or her own work, particularly with a person who actually “gets” its message or wishes to explore personal meaning and I’m all about meaning.

In mid sentence - whose I do not recall - I looked at my glass stem’s personalized dangling charm.  You know, that little trinket which identifies your glass from all the others at the party should you become distracted and put it down for a piece of cheese.  That tiny silver claim that says “this is my drink so please find your own glass and don’t sip from mine!”  I finger it, twirl it, then I actually see it.  “Oh my God, I think this is a dragonfly.”  To which she responds, “It is.  Does that have meaning to you, MJ?”  Yes, I tell her, and I proceed to share a dream I had only weeks before about pulling two such creatures, one-by-one, out of my throat.  Her eyes are big as twin moons now and she inquires did I know the meaning of the dragonfly?   Only that it is spiritual, I responded, and that I would check further into it which I just did.  Seems the dragonfly also represents change.  It also doesn’t live long.  Well, I guess there’s a lesson here from the dragonfly which coincides with mine to make every day matter and here’s some additional information http://www.dragonfly-site.com/meaning-symbolize.html

The synchronicity for me is three fold: one, it is meaningful to me from childhood and fishing with my father.  Two, the impact the dream had on me viscerally.  Three, receiving this symbol at a very spiritual person’s home.  You see, any charm could have been on my glass: a flower, a hat a tree, but I was given a dragonfly.  Our hostess, Debbie, knew nothing of my recent dream nor how this night adventure resonated in my soul long after I had had it and long before on many summer afternoons with a worm, a hook and my father by my side.  I couldn’t wait to tell her.

She smiled as she always does when these spiritual events occur because Debbie is a seeker and a believer and, as Kahlil Gibran wrote years ago in The Prophet, “their coffer is never empty.”

April 25, 2010

Tonight my dearest friends came together to celebrate our friend Ray’s birthday.  We always save cake and ice cream for later in one of our homes.  Tonight it was Tammy and Robin’s.

I walk into their living room with my husband right behind, our birthday boy and his wife, MarySue, singing and laughing.  My eyes fly to the coffee table where a little stone plaque sits with a picture.  Can this be?  I pick it up.  It’s a dragonfly.  I hold it and look at Tammy.  Always generous, always with her arms wide open to this amazing universe she says, “MJ, obviously this is meaningful to you.  Please take it!”

I did and I share this moment with you, the believers of life.

Tags: archetypes, chakra, coincidence, collective unconscious, dragonfly, dreams, Gibran, Grief, hope, Jung, meaning, om, synchronicity, Vishnu

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 7th, 2010 at 1:17 am and is filed under BLOG: When Every Day Matters, Grief. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.