The Bus of Synchronicity

Asher insists that each of us has a very active, innate ‘subtle light navigation system’ (which is a play on satellite navigation system — the term used for GPS in the UK). It nudges us towards particular actions or choices, and always for a good reason.

Recently, mine went into overdrive, but I was fighting it all the way. Let me share the story:

Almost as soon as I’d managed to find a seat a fair way down the crowded bus, my attention was drawn to a fellow passenger. This young man was sitting at the front, in a fold-down seat facing into the centre of the bus, avidly reading a book. Nothing strange about that; nothing particularly noteworthy about this person, so why was I drawn to watch him so carefully?

At one point he closed the paperback for a moment, and I recognised the cover. I had an identical, and similarly well-thumbed copy at home. It was one of my most loved books — Illusions by Richard Bach. I didn’t know anyone else who had ever read it.

Whatever-it-was that had first prompted me to notice the reader was now in full ‘SubtNav’ mode. It was urging me to make contact with him.

Absolutely not!

My natural British reserve kicked in. How was I supposed to strike up a conversation with a total stranger at the other end of a packed bus? What would I say, anyhow? The inner introvert was doing all it could to shut down this unwelcome hunch.

The hunch was relentless.

‘He’s reading Richard Bach. In fact, he’s just finishing it. Look at his expression. It’s clearly moved him. You need to connect.’

The inner introvert stood her ground. I’d be getting off soon. He looked as if he was settled in for a longer journey. Couldn’t be done.

‘You’ve got some of your business cards in your backpack,’ nagged the hunch. ‘Get one out and simply drop it on his book as you pass him to get off. Job done!’

By now, the inner introvert was getting anxious. Okay, yes, that was technically feasible… I dug around in the various seldom-used zip pockets on my bag. Sure enough, there was one of my cards.

But he’d think I was some deranged old woman throwing rubbish on his lap. This would be a crazy thing to do!

The hunch just kept nudging, ever more insistently, as my destination approached.

‘So what if he does think you’re some crazy old bat? He can simply toss the card in a recycling bin. No harm done. If you don’t do this, you’ll spend the rest of the week wishing you had.’

Seriously?

With a sinking feeling, I realised the hunch had won the day. Perhaps he would be curious and glance at the card… If I didn’t do as it suggested, I’d be left wondering.

My whole life, after all, relies on subtle cues and messages, delivered in strange and uncanny ways. I knew this had to be done. As I stumbled my way through the jostling queue of passengers leaving the bus, I dropped the card on his book and, not daring to look back, climbed down into the bus station.

‘So what happened?’ I imagine you asking.

The bus headed off, carrying the reader with it. I hurried off to my appointment.

Twenty minutes later, my phone pinged. I glanced down to see that there was a new email from a name I didn’t recognise, with ‘The bus of synchronicity’ in the subject line. I didn’t get a chance to check it until much later in the day.

Yes, it was from the person on the bus.

He told me he’d checked my website. Clearly, he had read the ‘About’ page, where it says I’m a retired teacher and Asher is neurodivergent and able to move out-of-body to what he calls The Realms.

Next, this man’s email told me he was himself an educator, a neurodivergent person and ‘a traveller of other realms’.

He thanked me warmly for sharing my information and said he would now settle to reading my blog and discovering more about our work.

Okay, hunch. You nailed that one!

I have no idea whether our paths will ever cross again, but this was certainly a strong reminder to follow intuitions, nudges and synchronicities.

The ‘SubtNav’/spiritual GPS is there for a reason.