“So that crazy guy had a name. A perfectly normal one. Kyle, for God’s sake . It made things worse because it made them more real.” (Page 796, 7+9+6=22, of ’11/22/63′ Copyright 2012 by Stephen King)
I was born May 29, 1976 at 12:16 am. It would have been JFK’s 59th birthday. JFK was born May 29, 1917. My father Peter’s birthday is November 22, 1952. JFK’s assassination was the day of dad’s 11th birthday. My birthday is JFK’s birthday. My father’s birthday is JFK’s death-day.
As I said, I was born at 12:16 am on May 29, or 5-29. 5+2+9= 16. Here is the full 3 part name I was given at birth, or berth (bay-be buoy/ Row, Row, Row your boat/ body): Kyle Charles Grant. Kyle is 4 letters. Charles is 7 letters. And Grant is 5. 4+7+5= 16. So I was born on the 16th minute of May 29th, 5-29 (5+2+9=16) and then given a full name comprised of 16 letters.
By far my greatest passion as a child was baseball, the only sport I pursued, and to the point of obsession, always playing or creating make-believe games and leagues and whole seasons in my imagination. Fenway, at the Ken-more Sq. stop on the Green Line, with its Green Monster and Triangle and ancient, magical hi-story can do that do a kid. From the ages of 12-15, in Swampscott, Massachusetts, USA Little League and Senior Little League baseball, I was on the Town All-Star Teams, all four years in a row. And only one of those All-Star Teams went on to win the District 16 Championship, yes District 16, I shit you NOT. The year we won the District 16 Title was my last season, at the age of 15- and I wore the number 15, also, and I was one of only 5 or six 15-year-olds on the team, oddly comprised of a majority of 14-year-old phenoms, 3 of which have gone on to be famous in the world, one the founder of ‘Bar Stool Sports,’ one an ESPN sports-broadcast analyst and another a Major League Baseball Executive who came up with former Red Sox GM, current Cubs GM, Theo Epstein.
I turned 22 years of age while living in San Diego, California in 1998, when I was first reading the writings of Terence McKenna, specifically his ‘Archaic Revival,’ having just heard him on the Art Bell show. I had recently started going to bi-monthly San Diego UFO Society presentations, the first of which was Area-51 watchdog, Norio Hayakawa. I moved to San Diego from Mass (where I grew up) in ’97 with a woman named Jackie, who was 33 years of age. I found out during my third or fourth month in San Diego that it is on the 33rd Parallel, 33 degrees North Latitude, and that there is even a skyscraper downtown that has three angles at its peak and each one is 33 degrees. Before this synchronicity I knew nothing of 33 and its symbolism, let alone that Dallas, site of the JFK assassination, is also on the 33rd parallel, along with Baghdad, Iraq (I-Ra-q/ cue). . .
During that time, when I was 22 living in San Diego, on the 33rd Parallel, I had two part-time jobs to make ends meet, one at Henry’s Market on Park Boulevard, a convenient five minute walk up the Cali-alley, with the wall Graffiti ‘EXILE’ just outside the back of the tiny studio-apartment/ house at 4012 Georgia St. Henry’s with the bulk-bins and where I got my vegetarian cuisine fixings, this being my first foray into vegetarianism. Well, Henry’s Market had a number for each of its departments and the number of the Customer Service Department was: 22. The other part-time job I had during my time in San Diego, the first job I got with Jackie’s help, was at the Ken Cinema on Adams Avenue, opened in 1947. Ken Cinema was, when I was there, and may still be today, Theater Code# 220 in the Landmark Cinema Corporation.
When I was 33 years of age, I moved back to Massachusetts, after 3 years living in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I stayed for several months in the spare room my mom offered me in the apartment she had just rented on 33 New Ocean St.
In 2011, at the age of 35, I opened this WordPress site to share all that information with you, all of that synchromystic/ synchronistic auto-biographical information/ data.
At the end of 2019, I finally got around to reading Stephen King’s ’11/22/63.’
It was my first Stephen King novel, an 848 page one. When I was nearing the end of ‘The Overstory,’ which I enjoyed so much I started wondering what novel to read next, I thought immediately of ’11/22/63.’
I had gone to see ‘Doctor Sleep’ a couple moons prior, near Halloween. ‘Carrie’ was my early introduction to horror movies. I remember the blood pouring on her, scared the be-Jesus outa me, like the blood flood in ‘The Shining.’ Dad told me I reminded him of Danny. When we lived in the yellow house on Essex St., I would ride my big wheels in the cemetery across the street, with the cannons and cannonballs, riding among the dead, like Danny riding through the halls of the Hotel Overlook with the Spirits (Alcoholic B-eve-Ra-ges/ Al Ghoul).
So there I was, at the end of 2019, reading ’11/22/63.’ On page 117, the protagonist, Jake Epping has taken on the name/ identity of ‘George Amberson’ in the year 1958. He’s time-travelled through a bubble in Al’s (Al Templeton’s) Diner’s pantry, gone from 2011-1958. 1958 is the mirror of 1985, the year of Back to The Future’s release and 1+9+5+8= The Number 23, (starring Jim Carrey). The 23rd hour of the day is the 11th hour, 11 pm, the Witching Hour. Where was I when I got to page 117? I believe I was sitting in Whole Foods in Swampscott with coffee and breakfast. In 1958, Jake, who is a man from the future, in 1958, thinks of his parents- his mom would be 5, which means she was born in ’53, same as my mother, Donna. His father would be 6, which means he was born in ’52, same as my father, Peter.
Then, 116 pages later, on page 233, we finally learn Jake Epping/ ‘George Amberson’s’ age, how old he is. After he has returned from 52 days in 1958 and is talking with Al Templeton in 2011. Al asks Jake his age. Jake tells him. He’s 35. Which means he was born in ’76 like me (Kylegrant76.com). Same age as I was in 2011, 35, when I opened this sight to share the synchronicity of my life, my birthday being the same as JFK’s and my father Peter’s birthday being the day of the assassination, November 22. Dad turned 11 on 11/22/63. A boy living in Lynn, Massachusetts who, as a young man 13 years later, would become a father for the first time, in ’76, father of a boy born 16 minutes into JFK’s birthday, 5-29 (5+2+9=16). A boy given a perfectly normal name. Same normal name as an important time-travelling character in a dystopian movie to be released 8 years later, in 1984, a movie starring a future California governor, former bodybuilder.
Then, getting real close to the emotional climax of the 848 page (88 mph) suspense thriller, on pages 795-796, I learned, along with everyone else who has read ’11/22/63,’ that the Yellow Card Man’s name is my name, ‘A perfectly normal one. Kyle, for God’s sake. It made things worse because it made them more real.’ It was just a couple of weeks ago. I was sitting right where I am sitting right now, in my bedroom here in (Jeru)Salem, Ma. I won’t soon forget that moment. Unless I get premature Al-zheimer’s (like Al-zheimer’s, but NOT Al-zheimer’s) from being so close to the ‘bubble/ rabbit hole.’
Put all this together, check out the contents of the first posts I made here in 2011, the ‘Cash Register Synchronicities’, ‘Little Numerology Card’, and see how eerily ALL of it connects with the entirety of ’11/22/63,’ not just here and there, but EVERYWHERE. There’s no chance it’s just chance. This is why Carl Jung coined the term ‘synchronicity,’ which means ‘meaningful coincidence,’ and is a term denoting ‘an acausal connecting principle.’ Phenomena beyond Cause and Effect, A-B, non-linear, and in total, flagrant violation of all ‘laws’ of ‘probability.’ The question most commonly asked when faced with these ‘coincidences’ is ‘What does it mean?’ And the answer totally depends on who you ask, of course. A rationalist, one who is one-sided, biased on the Ra-tional, or masculine polarity/ solar principle of consciousness, would tell you these types of things mean nothing. Thank God I’m NOT one of them. I simply would have debunked all this in a knee-jerk, or reflexive/ auto-matic manner if I was a Ra-tionalist by temperament/ attitude. Rationalists do NOT understand that there is a difference between belonging to a Religious Creed and having a Religious attitude. I do NOT subscribe to any creed of any organized Religion, but I do have a Religious Attitude, meaning I take it as a given that there is more to intelligence, more to the Psyche/ Soul/ Mind of man than just the Ra-tional. There is Ra-tionality in the Irrational, and obviously this is true vice versa, true both ways. Don’t believe me? Just watch how irrational a Rationalist gets when you tell him or her that they are one-sided- in denial. Persist and you will see the ‘Rationalist’ become hysterically irrational, irate and red-faced.
I think they, the synchronicities, mean not just some-thing, or one thing alone, or any old thing; Ra-ther, I believe they mean many things at once and NO things at all, (there are no nouns/ knowns, only verbs, no products, only processes) all at once. Just because it is silent, doesn’t hit you over the head and tell you what it means, just because it’s subtle doesn’t exclude its having one or many meanings.
What does ‘it’ mean?
What do ‘I’ mean?
What do ‘you’ mean?
What does a ‘tree’ (3) mean?
Have you ever really sought the answer? Have you gone on the quest implied by having a quest-ion? Seeking = See-king. Have you been conditioned by your consumerist pattern of living to expect quick re-sults, re-sponses, an-swers, for your convenience, comfort? Has too much comfort/ security (in a situation, life and death, which is inherently uncomfortable and insecure, enfolded by vast, gaping cosmic mys-tery) made you intellectually and emotionally lazy? Incapable of diving deep? Assuming psychology and philosophy are only for experts in psychology and philosophy?
And just because it wasn’t consciously intended doesn’t mean it wasn’t intended. Somehow. Always and never. For-eve-r.
It looks to me that the meaning is in the re-cognition. In the direct experience, which provides expertise, self-kn-ow-l-edge, directly com-moon-eye-k-ted, psyche to psyche, soul to soul in the only time we have, now.
I am part of a dimension torn free of the future. Did I not mention that already?
Could be, anyway. Is that not what all this hyper-linking, master-number synchro-mystic phenomena point toward, in that di-rection? It sure as hell does. Yes, it’s silent (but deadly, like a fart), open to w-inter-pretation, but when shit piles up like this, to deny it is merely to admit one’s unwillingness to face facts, one’s willful ignorance (ignore-ance-s-tree/ family tree/ 3/ free/ see/ sea/ letter ‘c’).
The fact of the matter is: I truly don’t want any of it. Especially the implications, the excessive response-ability, burden, weight, that it all implies. Being the King’s Her-o, Pro-tag-o-n-ist. The agony of it. Bearing the Cross. I don’t know if there’s anyone alive who can relate better to Bilbo Baggins than I these days. It’s also reminiscent of Pope Francis’s hi-story, his reluctance to take on the martyrdom of being Pope, Papa. I would prefer NOT to have all this connection to 11/22/33, Synchronicity, the Master Numbers of God, the JFK assassination and the only Stephen King novel I have read. And that’s probably why I have the connection.