Category: mystic

I’ve always believed in mysticism, not as superstition. But as the language of the Universe, symbols, rhythms, numbers, and crows that visited me in an unexpected place at an unexpected time. But they were there. Not long after my wife passed away, the crow woman was my loving nickname for her. For me, numbers are one of the many ways to listen deeper, to honor the unseen, to shape memory and resistance with rhythm. Some of that comes from my mother’s Cherokee Heritage, some of which flows through my veins.

My nephew keeps nudging me when he constantly posts just the numbers 333, that’s all, no explanations, just the numbers, but he knows I know.

I often see numbers repeated; it’s the constant repetition that matters. I’ve been seeing numbers a lot lately, this time it’s 1111 and 444, again and again. In many different places, on clocks, receipts, timestamps, and even in the quiet corners of memory.

1111 is the Breath’s invitation. A portal. A whisper from the Universe that something is aligning. It shows up when I’m on the edge of a new chapter—when the words are ready, when the healing deepens, when the sanctuary expands.

444 is the Breath’s shelter. A reminder that I’m not alone. That our ancestors, angels, or whatever name we give to the unseen, are walking beside me. It arrives when the work is hard, when the jaw clenches, when the lungs ache—and it says: “Keep going. You’re protected.”

Together, they’ve become part of my sanctuary strategy. Not superstition, but poetic geometry. A way to track the invisible architecture of healing.

“The match strikes at 1111.
The harbor holds at 444.”

I don’t claim to know the whole meaning. But I know how it feels. And that’s enough.

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