SYNCHRONICITY and The Creative Process

Supernatural coincidences tell us we are on the right path even when we might feel powerless in the face of intractable circumstances, or when we don't know how to be more than we already are.

As when writing The Devilish Ruse of Father Cousteau, for example.

photo by Lon

The Devilish Ruse of Father Cousteau is set in Indianapolis during the 1930’s.

While I was doing research for my novel, my wife and I spent some time in Indianapolis conducting interviews, visiting the Speedway and investigating other historic sites. The story was set in a certain undeveloped part of town where a fictional dairy had been converted into a powdered-egg factory and warehouse. I wanted period maps of the city to ensure that the location worked.

The Encyclopedia of Indianapolis referenced a certain map company at a certain address that I supposed might have the old maps; after all, they had printed the originals. I couldn’t find the company in the phone directory, but there was an old number in the encyclopedia: I got a busy-signal. Forget about a webpage. When I drove to the address, the building had been demolished. Literally, there was a pile of rubble there, beneath which I imagined the phone was still buzzing. It looked like recent activity. But I didn’t know if the company even existed anymore. Not to worry: the State Library had old maps, and I found what I needed to carry on with my research.

" . . . a synchronicity doesn't have to mean anything to anyone but you. Synchronicities are not normative experiences."

Just for fun, my wife and I decided to drive to the coordinates where The Devilish Ruse of Father Cousteau is set. When we got there, there was an unmarked gravel road leading into a copse of trees—just as in my story. This road was not on the maps. At the end of the road, we found a warehouse that closely matched the setting of my novel: loading dock, big warehouse doors, peaked cupolas like on a barn. It was a Saturday, so of course no one answered the door. Actually, I was relieved—because a Twilight Zone eeriness had begun to creep over the afternoon. I'm sure you can imagine that. Myself, I tried to imagine how to respond should a Eurasian priest emerge from the door.

Such fantasies are all well and good in the context of a novel. But the business of writing a novel requires realism, logic and self-regulation. Nevertheless, my wife and I were buoyed by an undercurrent of numinous awe as we drove back onto the street looking for someone who might tell us about the warehouse.

There was a park next door and then a small, adjacent office building. The place looked closed, but I went to the door anyway to jot down the phone number. I supposed I could call later and ask about the adjacent warehouse. They might even own it.

The sign on the door said the building was the new location of the map company I had been searching for.

“The building was the new location of the map company I had been searching for.”

Next door. To a site I had conjured out of my own imagination. Which turned out to be real. Next door.

After I returned to the car, I sat in awe for a long time before moving on.

What Synchronicities Mean

To this day I have no certitude about what it meant or why it happened. To the point, a synchronicity doesn't have to mean anything to anyone but you. They are personal. Synchronicities are not normative experiences.

They are like signposts in the wilderness which tell us we are on the right path even when we feel lost and even when we are not sure where we are going.

But I can say this much: when one is engaged in a creative process, we want to produce something that transcends our normal understanding and experience. We want our creative work to be imbued with awe and transcendence. And that's what synchronicities do.