Tag Archives: Angels

The Number 333, Vol. 2

333

“3:33,” the digital clock likes to tell me.

“Oh, here he goes again! Matt thinks he’s a numerologist!”

Believe what you want. I see the number sequence 333 ALL THE TIME. As I said before, I see it infinitely more than my semi-intelligent brain deems to be the statistical likelihood.

When I wrote about this the first time, I was amused to discover it was my 33rd post after hitting the “Publish” button.

This time, I knew it was coming. Post No. 333. There could only be one topic.

But, what to say?

What Does it Mean?

I still don’t know. But I love that I’m thinking about it.

When I wrote about this 300 posts ago, I made fun of some of the things I found on the internet in my quest for 333 answers. Because the most-common result when searching for 333 meaning is this: Angels and Ascended Masters are trying to get your attention.

<insert vinyl record-screeching noise here>

You fall into one of three camps:

Camp 1 – “Angels and ‘Ascended Masters’!?!? Are you phucking (you thoughtfully use “ph” to lessen the impact) stupid!?!?

My response: Maybe.

Camp 2 – “Well, OF COURSE it’s the angels, silly! What!? You thought it was just a funny coincidence all this time!? Hahaha!”

My response: Maybe.

Camp 3 – “I don’t live my life assuming I know anything for sure. I acknowledge I don’t have all the answers and try to stay open-minded.”

My response: Me too.

Several weeks ago, a friend set me up on a date with one of her friends. She included something akin to a cautionary warning: She has “unique abilities,” my friend said about my date.

Details were scarce. I didn’t know if I was dealing with Miss Cleo, the Long Island Medium, or just someone super-spiritual.

“She can see auras and detect certain energy,” I was told.

I grew up Catholic. I still am. Psychics scare us. But, dammit, if I’m going to walk a higher path, I’m not going to judge people and be afraid of things just because I don’t understand them.

As dates go, I wouldn’t call it successful. She insists she had a good time.

However, a legit friendship was born. She’s pretty fascinating. And the more I get to know and understand her, the more I appreciate her unique perspective on life. I have deep respect for how she experiences the world.

She’s the one who convinced me to try meditation, something I’d already been considering. Life-changing, I think.

I don’t need to be psychic to know what you’re thinking: “Is she for real? Does she intuitively know things?”

Maybe she’s just a good guesser, like me. But after hanging out with her a half dozen times? Yeah. I believe she’s the real deal.

I drove her to dinner about a month ago just to hang out for a few hours one random night. I pulled into a parking lot just off a road under construction. There was a huge dip as we pulled in that made both of us bounce quasi-violently in our seats. I do this thing where I instinctively put my right arm out to “protect” my passenger in situations like that, as if my floating arm is going to save anyone’s life in a car accident.

We were laughing about it as I apologized for the rough ride. “I didn’t know we were going to Moab!” I said, referring to a town in Utah famous among Jeep owners and off-road driving enthusiasts.

We pulled into a random parking spot seconds later. She tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the back of the Jeep Wrangler parked in front of us.

“You said you’re always looking for signs,” she said with a mischievous grin. “You could have pulled into any of these other spots.”

On the Jeep’s back window was a large Moab, Utah sticker.

Things like that happen when you’re with her.

The Source has several names: Mother Earth. Allah. Nature. The Universe. The Supreme Being.

My friend and I use “God.”

The place from where light and love and energy emanate. God doesn’t speak to us in a booming voice from the heavens, she insists. Nor from a burning bush. Nor from impossible-to-miss miracles in the sky.

Rather, we’re spoken to in whispers.

And for most of my life, I’ve tried hard to plug my ears and not listen.

It’s not convenient to cede control. I’ve always been too afraid.

Because then I won’t get to do what I want!!!

I’m trying to remember the last time doing what I wanted brought me peace and happiness.

Still thinking…

333: All the Time

I see it on the clock.

I see it on microwave timers.

I see it as my phone or Jeep dash display tells me how much time remains in the song I’m listening to.

I see it on billboards: “Hotdog and soft drink combo! Just $3.33!”

I see it on email timestamps.

I see it on my word counter.

I see it on my treadmill.

I see it on my odometer. Just this morning at a stoplight: 13,333.

I understand if you think it’s bullshit. I think lots of things are bullshit.

My friend says it’s the angels. She doesn’t think, she says. She knows.

She calls me a “light worker.” Not light worker, like I only do light work, but light worker as in I’m someone called to do good.

And maybe sometimes I do. I don’t know. These things aren’t measurable.

And I don’t know that I believe I’m called any more than anyone else to be a force for good in this world.

Everyone is capable of lighting up the darkness.

If everyone tried, there wouldn’t be much dark left.

Which sounds pretty nice.

I don’t know much.

But I’m convinced there are many things about life beyond our understanding.

And if angels or the Universe or random chance choose the number 333 as a tool to remind me to walk a higher path, then it seems worth paying attention.

So, that’s what I’m doing.

I hope you will, too.

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The Number 333

333

I see the number sequence 333 a lot.

Like, a lot.

And I don’t know what it means. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.

This has been happening for two years straight—right about the time my life started to fall apart at home.

The vast majority of the time, I see it on the clock. 3:33 p.m., typically. But sometimes, I wake up at 3:33 a.m. and see it. It’s enough to be unsettling, but not enough to really scare me.

I’m not like Jim Carrey’s character in The Number 23, or anything.

I see it on email and blog comment time stamps. I see it during football and basketball games. On data analytics spreadsheets at work. On odometers. On my iTunes. I’m surprised how many songs I have that are three minutes and thirty three seconds long.

Is It Signifying a Person?

This was my first working theory.

I’ve shared this 333 phenomenon with three people.

The first used the number 9 a lot. And 3+3+3=9. Once I called it to her attention she noticed it a bunch too.

And maybe the “phenomenon” is that simple. Once your mind is tuned to a particular number sequence, you simply take note of it with greater frequency.

But I don’t think in this case that can be true. I’ll just be running around my house not paying attention to anything, then I glance at the clock and—BAM—3:33. It’s kind of uncanny.

The second person I shared it with, as far as I know, doesn’t have any numerical ties. But she was seeing it a lot too.

The third person I shared it with is someone I have a rich history with. We’re childhood friends. I mention her a lot, but not by name. She’s having marital problems. And she’s my best female friend in the world. I can count on very few people to support me as much as she does.

We’d lost touch for a while over the past couple years. She had some traumatic things happen to her and her family. And I was dealing with my own family crisis here.

We reconnected after I told her that my soon-to-be ex had finally pulled the trigger and moved out.

In the Strange Things are Happening Department, this friend dreamed the night before my wife left that it was going to happen. So when I called her with the news, she thought I was playing a practical joke and that her husband had told me about her vivid and detailed dream.

I jokingly call her the Dream Prophet now. I don’t know whether or not she likes that. I also don’t know whether or not she’s an actual dream prophet. Jury’s still out.

But she has always used 33. Dating back to our childhood. She was a Boston Celtics fan. A huge Larry Bird fan. He wore #33. So, 3 and 33 were always her go-to numbers. For anything.

So I asked her one day: “Does the number sequence 333 mean anything to you?”

Her: “Are you kidding? Did someone tell you to ask me that?”

Me: “No. I’m serious. I keep seeing it. A lot. Does it mean anything to you?”

Her: “It means everything. Those numbers are my life.”

Could this be a sign of some kind? Something I need to think about, or worry about, or prepare for? Could it have anything to do with someone or something specific?

Maybe the Internet Knows

I’ve looked it up a few times.

The “consensus” on Urban Dictionary seems to be it means “half-evil” (half of 666) OR something along the lines of “I love you.” Because those two things have a lot in common.

If you type “333” into Google, you’ll find a blog called Sacred Scribes. The author comes off a little too New Age-y for my personal tastes but I’m guilty of liking the idea that angels might be sending me a message.

The blog reads:

“When Angel Number 333 appears consistently it implies that the Ascended Masters are near you. They have responded to your prayers and wish to help and assist you in your endeavors and with serving your Divine life purpose and soul mission.”

I know. It’s weird as shit. Settle down. I’m just exploring ideas here.

The blog continues:

“The message of Angel Number 333 is to have faith in humanity and the Universal Energies. The angels and Ascended Masters are working with you on all levels. They love, guide and protect you—always. When the Angel Number 333 repeats in your life you are asked to call upon the angels and Masters for love, help and companionship.

“They will give you guidance along your path, and if feeling perplexed or confused as to your life purpose, call upon the angels and Ascended Masters to assist. They are waiting for your call.”

The post closes with:

“Use your natural communicative and lightworking skills to aid, assist and serve others in positive and uplifting ways.”

Well, I do try to be uplifting and positive when I’m not being a whiny douchebucket.

Questions to Self: 

  1. Do I really believe I’m being delivered a supernatural message? I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I’m not so close-minded that I’m not open to the possibility. It’s legit. I see it more than what I deem to be the statistical likelihood. But maybe I’m just shitty at math.
  2. If it is a message, what am I going to do about it? Hell if I know. But if I can use it as a reminder to be strong. To be courageous. To try to be a light in an often-dark world. Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that helping me grow? Isn’t that using whatever gifts I have to try to help others? I say yes.
  3. If it’s not a message, am I some kind of Freaky McFreakerson? Mmmhmm. Probably. Scary? Sure! But it could make for some interesting writing material.
  4. If I’m currently a target of messages from angels and “Divine Masters,” what should I ask them about? Maybe I’m an angel medium. Ooooohhhh. The Angel Medium! Maybe that’s my calling! My purpose! “Oh, what’s that you say, Soon-To-Be Ex Wife? You want to take half of my furniture now? I’m the mother-effing Angel Medium and I’m about to sic some Seraphim on your ass. Prepare to have your shit ruined!”

Do you think that’s what the Angel Blog Lady meant when she wrote: “Use your natural communicative and lightworking skills to aid, assist and serve others in positive and uplifting ways”?

Yeah, me neither.

But we can’t be good all the time.

Update: I just hit “Publish” and read “This is the 33rd post published on your blog!” I swear on all that is good and right in the world that I didn’t know that was going to be the case. Freaky! I might be an angel medium!

Or just a stupid asshole. I’m sticking with the latter until I get a clearer message from the Great Beyond.

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