The Game of Threes is a strange way I look at the world. Superstitious to some, I guess. When I see a symbol in the world, I take note. Note: symbol. I move on. If I see the same symbol later, I take note, with interest. When I see the same symbol a third time, it becomes communication. With whom? With what? Depending on the circumstances, anyone.
Even you. Dun dun dunn.
Cygnus, my ex, used to refer to me as a scryer. She said I’d look at the constellations and draw direction simply by observing new ones. But before that, my dad remarked, when I was very young, that I had the interesting dedication to pick up on obscure patterns. He chuckled because he did it, too. “You connect dots that are there, clear as day, that others usually miss.”
I make observational leaps of faith, understanding people as “safe” or “not safe” via nonverbal cues. I follow a story, be it written or choreographed, and know the outcome much faster, because of this. “Oh. That guy did it.” How do you know? “The hints all point to him.” What hints? “Alibis, white space between the characters, distancing word-choice, camera angle pointing most decidedly toward everyone else in the room while minimizing his inclusion.” The patterns are very hard to conceal when you’ve trained yourself to see them.
But sometimes I have this game of threes. I wrote about it in my second Soren novel–he hears the sound of a killdeer bird everywhere: in the sound of a car engine squeaking down the road, in the nasal whistle of a passerby, and even in the sound the next-door neighbor’s microwave made. Then he actually sees one, and he knows he must listen. It’s actually taken from a real life experience of mine. While Soren’s got his own stuff going on, and his killdeer reference has much more nefarious undertones, it was taken directly from real life.
Am I the only one that looks for stuff like this? Is this a symptom of mania? I think it’s more a focus on something in the pattern–Magnolia pointed out a hornet yesterday, at the brewery we went to, then today I picked up my phone and a hornet rested on my hand, and then tonight when I got home, one was in an empty beer bottle all buzzing away. They were all symbols very active in my life. It wasn’t like I saw one on some distant wall, or heard one buzz by. And hornets aren’t one of my regular symbols anyway.
I wonder what it means.