Dynamite Shack Movement

I’ve finally moved into my new place. It’s along the same strip of tumbledown shacks, where I’ve lived thrice before. The place used to be a dynamite shack, where miners and lumberjacks safe kept explosives for their operations. It has eighteen-inch thick cement walls, which makes it well suited for writing, just as caves have historically been good places for reflection and art.

Last weekend, a friend was helping me organize some books. She is a professional Hypnotherapist from South Africa, and I’m helping her with her Biography. As I came out from an adjacent room, I realized that I had squeeze through the doorway sideways, because my shoulders were too broad. This could have something to do with all the heavy furniture I’ve been lifting over the past few years. Anyhow, I suddenly starting thinking about a photo taken a few years back, which showed me standing in contrast, next to a good friend, who is several inches taller, but fifty pounds lighter than I am. And as I walked through the next doorway, the friend who was helping me unpack, walked across the room to place that exact photo on a shelf, as it had been hidden in the box of books she was unpacking.

Thus, my first dynamite synchronicity.