First, two points.
One, synchronicity. Totally amateurishly explained, it means something like acausal meaningful coincidence. To make an example rewritten from Jung, a woman tells him about her dream of a foreign special type of beetle. At the same time there is a sound of wings hitting the window, Jung opens the window and in flies a domestic beetle of a very similar kind. It is a coincidence, something takes place at the same time in the psychic/mental realm (the dream or telling of it) and in the physical realm (the beetle appears). It is acausal, because the dream retold some days later than when it took place could not have made the beetle appear, and the beetle could not have made neither the dream to be dreamt some days earlier or the telling of it to take place at that time. But the coincidence is meaningful to the person witnessing it. It is as if some unseen, outside force made the mental/psychic thing to take place at the same time as something physically happened. Some outside force is at hand, something perhaps paranormal.
Two, I am a collector of books. I take good care of them. They are neatly arranged in the bookshelves of my home. None of them are placed so that they could fall out, everything is strict, that is a madness of mine.
OK, the scene is set. The story of what took place yesterday.
We have been trying to sell the house, but it is slow. Yesterday was a viewing, but only a handful of people came and the agent said none wished to bid. So my wife and I in the evening sit down with a couple of drinks (not whisky). "This was a very bitter experience", I say, "very bitter". "Yes", says the wife, "bitter is the word". Then there is a loud crash coming from upstairs. Loud. "What was that?" says the wife, and bids me to go upstairs to have a look.
Up I go. Upstairs are some bedrooms and a floor between them. A couple of bookshelves, orderly and neatly filled. But in the middle of the floor lies a book, pages down, front and back cover up. It lies some three feet away from the bookshelf where it had stood. It had not fallen directly down, and there was no reason why it should have, as it was arranged in one of the shelves. It was as if it either had been pushed from the back of the shelf or drawn out from its place and tossed very hard on the floor. None of the neighboring books were affected, only this one. And the noise no way corresponded to a softcover book having fallen down, it was way to loud. It had fallen at an angle of 45 degrees from the shelf, some three feet forwards and three feet downwards.
The book lies with its cover directly to me.
Every book has a title.
This one too.
The title is written in large letters on the cover.
You want to know its title?
Sure you do.
The book's title was:
I put it back, go downstairs and tell my wife what had happened and say "Someone wanted to tell us something". "Yes", says the wife, "someone wanted to".
I think all you Jungians will take delight in this story.
And all you non-Jungians coincidence-lovers, please at least admit it was interesting/strange/chilling/a "wow"-thing.