A message from the crystals & the clocks
The Time
Is Now
On synchronicity, stopped watches, and the eternal present
I want to tell you about the last few weeks. Because something has been happening — something I can only describe as the universe making very sure it has my attention.
It started, as so many things do, quietly. A number on a clock. Then another. Then another. For years I have noticed 11:11 and 1:11, those little winks from something larger. But in early February, the frequency shifted dramatically. It was no longer a gentle nudge — it became insistent, almost playful. Literally every time I glanced at a clock, there they were: 11:11, 1:11, 11:44. The kind of relentless repetition that stops being coincidence and starts feeling like a conversation.
I began paying closer attention. And of course, when we pay closer attention, things have a habit of revealing themselves.
Called Back to Time
Around this same time, I felt a quiet but unmistakable pull to wear a watch — something I almost never do. Not just any watch, but the one my parents gave me when I graduated from college. A beautiful, carefully made timepiece that had been sitting unworn for years. I wound it, strapped it on, and thought: it's a shame to neglect something like this.
I didn't realize, until much later, how loaded that word was. Neglect.
Simultaneously, two groups of crystals in my collection had become remarkably active — quietly insistent in the way crystals communicate when they have something important to say. One group I call the Ancients: a very specific lineage of Lemurian crystals whose energy is intimately connected with time and eternity. In visionary space they have shown that they arrived in our timeline intentionally, carrying the vibration of understanding the difference between time and eternity — holding that knowing for those of us who choose to attune to it. The other group, which I call the Watchers, had also been calling for my attention. I smiled later when I realized that the Watchers were now connected — through something beyond wordplay — to a watch.
The language of synchronicity is precise like that. It doesn't miss.
My Grandmother's Watch
Then I was organizing a room that had been — there's that word again — neglected. And tucked inside a jewelry box that had belonged to my grandmother, I found it: a 1950s Timex. Small, old, utterly still.
I fell in love with it immediately. I've been gently coaxing it back to life ever since — keeping it warm in my pocket, winding it a little each day, bringing it to my ear just to listen to it tick. It took over a week for it to fully unwind, and even now it doesn't run long on its own. But when it's close to my body, it's fairly consistent.
My grandmother and I were very close. There was always something almost magical about her presence around me, and I still feel her — through her treasures, through the way I seem to look more like her with every passing year. When I held that watch and asked what it had to tell me, the message that came was clear and immediate:
"The time is now."
I didn't ask follow-up questions. That was interesting in itself — my thinking mind wanted to, but something in me simply knew. The message was complete.
When the Universe Confirms Itself
A short while after finding the watch, a lovely customer purchased one of the Ancients from my shop. Her order came through at exactly 11:11 AM. Her package, when I went to pack it, measured 11 inches by 11 inches by 11 inches. And it weighed 11.44 pounds.
The numbers that had been appearing for weeks — all at once, in a single shipment
On the morning that order came in, I checked my grandmother's watch. It had stopped the night before — at 11:11. You cannot make this stuff up!
I sat with that for a long time.
The Watch That Is Learning to Stop
Here is what came to me in the shower the next morning — and yes, the shower remains my most reliable portal for insight.
I had been treating my grandmother's watch as something to be fixed. Something to be wound back up and kept running. But what if that isn't its purpose at all?
Time is a construct. A collective agreement. As a civilization, we have created it, consented to it, and fed it with our focus and our energy — much the way you wind a watch to keep it running. And most of us have noticed in recent years that something has shifted. Time feels like it's speeding up. People who have no particular spiritual framework will tell you this just as readily as those who do. The sensation is nearly universal.
What if that acceleration is part of a larger movement — not time running faster, but our consciousness outgrowing time's usefulness as a container?
The Ancients have always held this teaching: there is a difference between time and eternity. And eternity is not time stretched infinitely in both directions. Eternity is now. The present moment — not the ticking second hand, but the vast, still center beneath it.
We do not have to be bound by the tick and tock of duality. We can choose to live in the center — in the quiet eye of the vortex, the still point at the heart of the infinity symbol, where time is a useful tool in the physical world but does not define us.
My grandmother's watch is not broken. It is demonstrating something. It starts and stops in the gentle, unhurried way of a system that is transitioning — not breaking down, but letting go. Just as it took a full week of warmth and patience for the old tension in its spring to release, so too does this collective shift happen gradually, tenderly, one small unwinding at a time.
On Winding Things Up
There is something else I want to offer, because it came to me with a kind of wry clarity. When we wind a watch, we feed it our energy so that it can continue to run. We give it our focused attention and it rewards us with motion.
We do this with everything. We wind up arguments. We wind up outrage. We wind up fear. And whatever we wind, we allow to continue running — powered by us, fed by our focus, sustained by our collective agreement that it is real and important and requires our attention.
The universe, too, has its rhythms of winding and unwinding. In the Vedic tradition, Brahma breathes in and Brahma breathes out — the great cosmic inhale and exhale on which all of existence rides. I feel that we are very close to one of those threshold moments. A breath-turn. A pause between the old rhythm and the next.
And in that pause — that luminous gap between inhale and exhale — there is an opening. A window. An invitation to step out of the old winding and into something far more spacious.
What I Am Choosing
I want to be clear: none of this is about fear, or apocalypse, or choosing sides in whatever drama is unfolding in the world right now. I don't subscribe to the end-times narrative — not because I think everything is perfect, but because I understand that feeding fear winds the machinery of fear.
My work, as I understand it — my job as a human in this particular window of time — is to stay grounded. Neutral. Steady. To be a presence that people can orient toward when they need to remember themselves. Not to have all the answers. Not to know exactly what "the time is now" means in its fullest expression. But to notice what is, to stay rooted in the eternal present, and to trust that the noticing itself is enough.
I have a beautiful old watch in my pocket. It ticks when it wants to. It stops when it needs to. And every time I bring it to my ear and hear that small, ancient sound, I remember:
Now is not a moment in time. Now is where time dissolves into something larger. Now is the only place any of us have ever actually been.
The angels have been whispering. The clocks have been winking. My grandmother, I believe, has been gently tapping me on the shoulder from the other side — which is, I suspect, somewhere very much outside of time entirely.
Does anybody really know what time it is?
Maybe that's exactly the point.
With love, from somewhere in the eternal now —
Lisa & The Lemurian Rose