The Parable of the Lottery Ticket
On the way home from school the other day, my daughter and I stopped at a convenience story to get a snack. As soon as we pulled up, there were two, obviously inebriated “oldish” looking men standing outside, in front of the store. I use the word “oldish” because these men were not old in age. They had clearly led some hard lives, which showed on their faces.
As we drove up, I could see that these guys were looking at my car in an excited and animated way. As soon as I got out of the car, they started shouting, “Look at your license plate! Y’all got the same number!” They were pointing at the car parked right next to mine. The four-digit numbers on the license plates were the same, but arranged in a different sequence.
Meanwhile, I noticed that my daughter was still in the car. She was looking at these men and conveying to me that she was skeptical about getting out of the car while they were standing there.
On any other day, I would have told her that her instincts were correct. I have always told her to remove herself from any situation in which she felt even the tiniest bit uncomfortable. On any other day, if she had shown any hesitation whatsoever, I would have gotten back into the car and driven to another store.
But, this day was different. I assured my daughter that everything was okay. I grew up in the inner city where scenes like this were a part of the landscape. In my mind, these guys were two “drunk old dudes” trying to come up on some money to buy a beer, some cigarettes, or to play the lottery. Having grown up around dudes like this my whole life, my instinct told me that they were harmless.
Plus, I did not want my daughter to grow up judging people solely on appearance. I wanted to let her know that sometimes you have to look deeper. I get so tired, for example, when people look at young black kids like criminals and they have on backpacks and school badges, giggling and laughing while walking down the street. They are walking home from school. They are not going to rob you. In fact, chances are they are not even thinking about you at all. Just leave them alone.
Enough on that for now. Back to the story.
As soon as I saw that the four digits were, in fact, the same, I knew I was going to play the number too. I grew up in a neighborhood where people talked about numbers all the time. I know what it feels like when you think you had “found” your number. For these guys, they truly believed that they had “found” their number when they saw those two cars, lined up in front of the same store, with the exact same four-digit numbers.
Given my own family history with “the numbers,” as soon as these guys pulled out their dollar, I pulled out mine too. I know how people who “play the numbers” think. If I had not played, and the number did not hit, these guys would have been convinced that I had “jinxed”’them.
In fact, as we were in the line buying our tickets, the lady in the other car walked up. The guys started excitedly talking to her too, telling her about our two cars having the “exact same number,” as the guys said it. She promptly ignored them, got in her car, and drove away. No judgment there, but that is an accurate description of what happened.
After the three of us purchased our tickets, one of the guys added, “Make sure you play again tomorrow. Sometimes it don’t hit that same day.” We then wished each other “good luck” and went on our way.
It was actually a fun, nostalgic moment that brought back lots of good feelings and memories for me. These guys were so excited about “finding their number” for the day and it was fun to share in that.
Rejecting Randomness
That night, my daughter and I checked the evening lottery number. Our number did not hit. My daughter asked me if I was going to play again tomorrow, recalling the “two-day rule.” I told her, “no.” I then explained that playing the lottery was a fun thing to do in that moment given those specific circumstances, but that I disagreed with the lottery as a practice. We then dropped the subject and went on with our day.
The next day, when I was watching TV, the same number flashed on the screen. I laughed out loud at the coincidence! I took a screen shot and showed it to my daughter. My daughter asked me: “Are you sure that you don’t want to play that number?”
I said “no” again, and then gave her a bit more detail about why. I went into a whole diatribe about lotteries being a regressive tax that disproportionately affects the poor. I also told her that the whole concept of lottery, which relies on luck and chance (or “randomness”) was inconsistent with my belief in the certainty of the laws of the universe.
Over the next few days, I was in deep contemplation over this encounter with the modern-day version of “the numbers.” In particular, I thought of my grandfather, who was a “numbers runner” in Detroit.
A Family History With Numbers
My grandfather was born in Louisiana. He and my grandmother, who was born in Mississippi, moved to Detroit in the 1930s.
In telling this story, I almost used the word “migrated” instead of “moved” but then changed it to move. The reality is that “something happened” and they needed to leave immediately. I mean, it was one of those, “pack your shit and let’s go” situations. That is why I refuse to use the word “migrate,” which makes it sound like some Bible-like exodus.
There are similar “migration” stories throughout my family. On my father’s side, his mother, who passed for white, and his father, who was black, literally escaped Birmingham, Alabama, by hopping on the back of a moving train. One of my uncles left Mississippi because a white man named “Red” raped his sister. He had to leave immediately after he shot him. So, no, I do not use the word migration when referring to the stories I have heard about my family. As far as I am concerned, each and every one of them demonstrated heroic acts of bravery and courage to remove themselves from near terrorist-like situations.
Anyway, at some point after my grandparents moved to Detroit, my grandfather became a prominent “numbers man” in the black community.
My mother’s family was one of the first black families in a predominantly Italian neighborhood. My mother, who was known as a gifted piano student, took piano lessons in the neighborhood. In the backyard of their house, my grandparents had what is known as a “ghetto grape vineyard,” which my mother tells me was brought from Italy by one of the Italian families. The vineyard spanned across three yards. My grandparents house, which was flanked by two Italian families, was one of them.
At some point, my grandfather eventually got a “real job,” which in Detroit, Michigan, in the 1950’s meant going to work in the automobile factory. My grandparents then moved out of the Italian neighborhood and into a “nicer” neighborhood, which was predominantly white.
My grandmother had been a school teacher when she lived in Mississippi. She was considered very attractive and very smart. She was a voracious reader. Her attic was filled with books. She would correct our grammar and diction all the time, and would tell us when she thought when we were doing something “unladylike.” I get the impression that my grandmother was considered a “proper” lady back in Mississippi.
The less known history about my grandmother’s family is that they were said to have special “insight.” In Louisiana and Mississippi, my great-grandmother was known as a “healer” and medicine woman. I have been told that she would concoct “healing drinks” of herbs and plants. My great-grandmother would say that the recipes for her concoctions came to her in “visions” and dreams.
My grandmother often talked about having visions too. There are several stories of her predicting deaths and births before they happened. The most talked about story was the one she would tell about the death of her husband, my grandfather. She said that an angel had come to her and told her the exact date he would die. He passed away on that date.
My grandmother would also talk about dead relatives who had visited her. She would describe the clothing they had on, where they were sitting when they were talking to her, and what they said. According to her, the only thing she could not see were their eyes.
To be honest, hearing about this stuff when we were growing would kind of freak me out. I was always a little scared of my grandmother. I would go over to her house and pray that I did not “see” anyone.
My grandmother once told me that she had prayed for this insight to be taken away. Whatever her experience was with this insight, it was not a pleasant experience for her.
An Open Mind and a Curiosity
For all my life, I have been curious about this so-called “gift.” At various times in my life, I have wondered if this gift somehow passed down to me or any of my siblings.
At some point after this lottery ticket incident, I started to feel an overwhelming energy and presence. The phrase “see numbers” then came to my mind. I wrote it down. This energy felt like my grandmother. She was trying to tell me something. And, that is when the story started to unfold.
Spiritual Gift
I sensed that my grandmother did have some sort of pre-cognitive ability. For lack of a better description, she was able to sense, feel, and interpret energy. One of the ways she interpreted energy was by “reading” the energy “in” numbers.
Upon this revelation, the next thing I thought about was my grandfather’s numbers operation. I wondered if my grandmother had ever used her pre-cognitive abilities to “see numbers” in order to either help herself, my grandfather, or anyone else, to play the numbers. While I certainly do not know for sure, I sensed that this was the case. Please, no judgment. If you had essentially a “superpower” and you could use it to help feed your kids, you would use it too.
With this realization, it then became clearer to me why my grandmother had been afraid. The one thing I know about my own limited experience with “subtle energies” is that reading them comes with certain rules. Those rules are designed to protect “seers of energy” from activating unknown results (or “dark energy”).
If my grandmother had a gift and somehow used that gift in my grandfather’s numbers operation, then that explains how the “dark energies” were coming through. At that point, I knew and understood that my grandmother prayed for her gift to be taken away because she was afraid. She was scared of the dark energy.
Thereafter, I felt the presence of my grandmother trying to teach me how to use my gift in the “right way.” She is telling me that the key to “seeing numbers” is finding “your number.” She is saying that “your number” is the only number in the entire universe that is designed specifically for you. “When you see this number,” she explains to me, “you know with absolute certainty that it is your number.”
After that, she shows me what she says is “my number.” I have seen this number before. It is the exact same 4-digit numbers listed on the lottery ticket.
She then explains the meaning of each number separately. She wants me to understand what each number means from an energetic standpoint. She is saying things like, “You have to see and feel the numbers at the same time,” in order to understand their “real” meaning. “Look behind the number,” she says.
After a while, I get it. I can now see with 100% clarity how this is, in fact, my number!
Within that one, four-digit number, I see my birthday, including the birth month, day, and year. The number also contains the birth dates of each and every person in my current family and my family of origin. Within that number, I also see the numerical portion of each and every address I have ever had in my life. I then start thinking about other important dates in my life. The results blow me away. The exact date of each and every important event in my life is in the number too.
The list of connections was endless. By the time she was finished, there was absolutely no question in my mind that this was, in fact, “my number.”
My grandmother then arranges the numbers into a specific formation, which looks like a triangle or pyramid. When I see the arrangement, I had to just had to smile. My two best friends and myself refer to ourselves as “the triangle.” We have been best friends since we were in the 6th grade.
She then explained that these four numbers, when placed in this particular configuration, help to explain the nature and the origins of the universe. She said your number is like a password. Once you see it, it provides access to an alternative view of reality. She explains that finding “your number” is the key to “reading energy.”
After explaining everything, I get it! It is pretty complicated to explain but once you see it it is impossible to unsee.
I thanked my grandmother and promised her that I would use this “gift” wisely. Suddenly, I was no longer afraid. I had an understanding how the “dark energies” came into her life. I also knew how to avoid them. With this lesson, I am finally able to declare myself as a “seer” too.
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