It’s happened before, and maybe a similar entry was made here long ago. I am listening to a quiet piece of music. The music pauses before the next note, and suddenly, startlingly, a bird outside sings the very next note — same octave, same key, same pitch. The music goes on (only a moment has elapsed). The bird flies on. An almost palpable sensation is left in the room.
Is it coincidence? Or is the question left by the incident a conceit or delusion? If everything is caused by something else, then every possible event is bound to occur, isn’t it? Coincidence is then nothing more than the perception or interpretation that something has visibly and verifiably occurred.
I interpret the coincidence as suggestive and perhaps meaningful, but of what? No rationale or reason says that a coincidence must occur when I observe it.
In this case, imagination and intuition delight and thrill in finding not coincidence but convergence, while the dismissive mind is forced into a corner, having to calculate the odds of the event occurring, or at least occurring when I would notice it. Such calculations are beyond me. I settle back to savor the “convergence,” as I will call it, since it was so positive. Convergence is for good things. Only bad things are coincidence. Or bad luck, or fate.
“May you only have convergences!” might be a nice salutation.