Part 43 || Spillover Effect: Pattern on Rewind

SuperHeroes On The Run

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“Learning is nothing else than recollection.”
— Meno

The SpillOver Effect

It takes an anomalous mind to detect an anomalous pattern on rewind. I work with timelines and details — they’re how I move between macro and micro, how I spot patterns without losing the thread or the Devil hiding in the margins. Some things don’t assemble in real time. Sometimes it takes months. Sometimes years. Especially when people resist their Higher Selves and keep looping through the same lessons.

Looking back, it became clear that Snuffy and I were exhibiting what nonduality teacher Frank Dodson calls the SpillOver Effect—meaning doesn’t always move forward. Sometimes it reorganizes itself across time.

For kicks, I went to look if anything significant happened in my life on Snuffy’s Bee Day?

That’s when the timeline snapped into focus. I learned that I gave an interview to Kerry Cassidy in 2024 about Derek Chauvin and anthrax.

Then I noticed something else.

The year before that—on his birthday again—I had bought a one-way ticket to Miami. That was the day I left California for good. After 23 years. No return booked. My move to Florida — the Sunshine State — is stamped on his birthday.

Without knowing, I moved half a mile from him. We matched — twice — on Bumble, yet didn’t meet for an entire year. No force. No strategy. Just organic reassembly—repeated points of proximity, timing, and resonance doing its thing.

Much later, he would return the truck to me after another gap of time. The day turned out to be his 11th anniversary, from his hometown to the Sunshine State.

There were other overlap dates.

His dad was found guilty of murder on June 22, 1999. Twenty-five years later, on June 22, 2024, he and I met —on the 333 lot— for the second time to redo the contract. At the time, I was proofreading a final pass on a mangled version of my manuscript, Operation George Floyd.

That same day i emailed this note to myself. I think I was feeling into the Snuffy situation.

On my birthday, January 15, 2017, his father wrote a letter to a doctor who refused to help him — a refusal now the subject of a lawsuit. I had just turned 44 and was dealing with predatory high-risk processors siphoning money from my organic liposomal CBD sales.

And here I was now—moving to West Palm Beach exactly one year after Snuffy first texted me from his 333 phone number.

I went looking for patterns. Most people don’t. Most can’t. Pattern recognition requires stillness, not scrolling.

From the outside, these coincidences didn’t read like a story so much as a set of data points. In nonduality and field theory alike, coherence in a system ripples outward and reorganizes its context before the narrative ever catches up. Meaning organizes itself across time, independent of conscious intent or relationship. Sometimes it moves sideways. Sometimes backward.

This parallels concepts like the holomovement, in which coherence underlies and shapes what unfolds in the explicate world.

SuperHeroes On The Run

On September 29 — nines and elevens — I slipped on a Def Leppard T-shirt and did a final sweep of my apartment. I wondered if Snuffy had ever played their riffs while practicing guitar. I also wondered if he would stand me up. Then I caught myself and chose to project positivity rather than feed my core wound.

In a way, Snuffy was the one who aborted the possibility of us. Too much potential. Too much voltage.

But let’s move on.

He rolled in around 4 p.m. I was munching on a GoMacro Double Chocolate Peanut Butter Chip bar. It struck me as odd—I hadn’t eaten protein bars in years. Two months prior, I’d grabbed one at Whole Foods without ever having recognized the brand, and now I was eating up to three a day. Not like me.

Snuffy walked around, assessing the situation, and noted I’d made good packing. I opened the fridge, held up a bar, and asked if he’d ever heard of GoMacro and if he wanted one.

He chuckled.

“Oh yah i got addicted to them. I was buying them by the case.”

He admitted that they constipated him, and that was the one time he did an enema.

It was such a small thing, but it landed strangely. Another odd overlap.

I thought: I see myself in him. Not sameness — resonance. Similar wounds.Not sameness—resonance. Similar wounds. Similar analytical minds. Fascination with the sky. Same soul frequencies in a man's and a woman’s body across different time lines, colliding on the dawn of a Planet Parade.

As he broke down the standing desk, he turned on some old school rap hip hop. I recalled adjusting it once only to have him suddenly react in surprise, like he never seen one before. He told me it was cool.

I carried boxes down two flights of steps to the U-Haul. At some point, he commented that I was ripped. I smiled. He used to be a personal trainer; I took it as a compliment.

Later—back when I foolishly believed he’d gone missing—I came across his TikTok profile. There was a video of him on a beach with a kettlebell.

I fantasized …