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  • It was late 2007. I was working the worst of the worst of the worst jobs. That kind of thing can happen when you're not paying attention. I had been so busy school-ing then residency-ing and Art-ing that when it started to fall apart I was far to wrapped up in the "muse-ing" to even notice. Shit... employment. Shit... my free ride was ending... but the work wasn't close to finished. So I took that terrible job and pushed through the Art-ing in the evenings.

    The Art-work-worked. It showed here and there. But then it was over... and, yet, that terrible job persisted. I would wrap myself up in many layers and commute the five minutes down hills and between ancient houses to the door. When I got to the door, every morning, I would breathe deep and think about my day. The thoughts got darker and darker. Not ill-adjusted... just downer-downer-down-some-more.

    Then something happened. On a normal day, like any other, I looked at the clock. (This act, in itself, was not unusual... clock-watching goes with the territory when navigating the worst of the worst of the worst jobs. ) It said 11:11. I made a note. 11:11.

    That night I went back up the hill between the ancient houses to the ancient house where I kept my stereo and computer and clothes. (It lived on Fox St... that is another story.) The evening progressed. I went to bed. As I floated in the in-between-World-of-waking-and-dreaming I rolled over and peered 11:11. I made a note. 11:11.

    That was how it started. Elevens. I saw them at work all the time. 11:11, 1:11... everyday. I began wondering if there was a life behind the numbers. One February day I was pumping gas into my 82' Toyota Cressida and the pump broke at $11.11. When I pulled in the driveway the elevens were dominating my mind. As I pondered these numbers I absently opened my phone bill. It totalled $111.11. I made a note.

    I decided the elevens were a sign... I wasn't sure what they were telling me. I wasn't sure why they had come into my awareness. But I was sure there was some kind of magic afoot.

    I quit my job. I quit dating. I quit looking outside myself. I reflected on all the elevens I had seen but never noticed. I started looking at life through those numbers. When I find 11 or 11:11 or 1:11 or 111 or 111.11... I smile to myself.

    My elevens have become my sexton. The numbers whisper directions. This may seem a very crude navigation system for my life but they are never wrong. The longer I follow them... the richer and more astounding my life becomes.

    Elevens whisper miracles to me and I listen deep.
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