Opting in on 11-11

I believe in a lot of things that aren’t universal or near-universal in belief.

I believe the universe is conscious.

And hence reality is conscious.

I believe we are here to play in the fields of creation.

I believe death is a step into the next adventure. (Because the universe is conscious.)

I believe science in future millennia will come to resemble mysticism more than mysticism will come to resemble today’s scientific paradigm.

I believe what we think is possible is more important than what is really possible. (Because reality is conscious, it is malleable.)

I believe love can be summoned.

2.5 decades ago I fled a brief ruinous romance. Weeks later I fasted on Thanksgiving Day, biking to a mountaintop in Topanga Canyon. Sitting in a cave the size of cramped car interior I witnessed two butterflies flitting in an air dance around each other.

At that moment I decided it was a sign I’d find love again.

I didn’t know if it was a sign — I just decided to make it a sign.

One month later — the day after Christmas — love found me. At first I thought it was the frisson of reconnection — with a college girlfriend. Then infatuation. And lust, can’t leave that out.

Now, twenty five years later I know it’s lifelong love. We’re married, have a kid, an art gallery, arguments over the price of a car, and the best makeup sex.

Choosing to believe true love was around the corner because of two circling butterflies atop a mountain served me well.

This is all preamble to talk about today.

November 11.


Twice today, in the morning and in the evening, it will be 11:11 on 11-11.

For those of us who find certain number repetitions or sequences potent, it’s an event.

It’s not because the repeating ones are special in themselves. Humanity after all arbitrarily assigned months and days and hours to a planet that’s been spinning for billions of years, most of them without us.

If we’d come up with a different system this could have easily been the 13th day of the 10th month or the 17th day of the 12th month.

11:11 on 11-11 is a workable fiction.

But — what do you choose to believe about all these ones aligning?

If I can summon love from the desolation of a ruptured relationship simply by catching sight of two butterflies spiraling in the mountain air … why can’t what I intend at 11:11 on 11-11 be just as consequential?

You too get to choose.

Note: Supersize it
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