Synchronicity in Sedona: The Moment I Wrote It and He Said It | Daryl Anka Bashar Experience

Friday arrived. The day I had been circling on the calendar, holding quietly in my chest. This was it.

I sat on the balcony outside our room, wrapped in morning air, holding a warm cup of Don Francisco’s Hawaiian Hazelnut coffee J had made. The scent felt comforting, almost grounding, like something familiar before stepping into the unknown.

In the distance, I noticed a sign for the Performing Arts Center. That was where the conference would unfold. I found myself wondering what golden piece of insight was waiting for me inside those walls.

Backpack ready. Water. Snacks. Notebook. The quiet tools of someone hoping to receive something meaningful. We arrived early. The doors were only open for vendors, so we lingered. J’s cousins had arrived, and we settled at a table away from the crowd. It gave me space to breathe, to connect, to ease into the energy of the day. I pulled out my camera and started capturing everything. Moments, expressions, small details. I could feel the excitement moving through me faster than I could contain it. Words kept tumbling out as I spoke. My enthusiasm refused to hide.

Then the line began to grow. We gathered our belongings and stood in line. Finally, we had made it through. When we moved toward the tables, the atmosphere shifted. Busy. Loud. Overlapping conversations. Vendors calling attention to their offerings. My senses started firing all at once. The kind of stimulation that presses in from every direction. I could feel myself approaching the edge of overwhelm, that familiar tightening in my chest when everything becomes too much.

We followed the flow, weaving through vendor tables surrounded by eager buyers. At one point I leaned toward J and laughed, saying it reminded me of the story I heard as a child about Jesus overturning the merchant tables in the temple. The comparison felt strangely fitting. Sacred space meeting commerce. We both laughed at the thought, finding humor in the intensity of it all.

We made our way to seats up front. I wanted to see everything. Hear everything. Feel fully present for what we were here to experience. The event coordinator stepped forward first, sharing her story and introducing what was to come. One by one, speakers followed, explaining their work and offerings. It felt like a parade of perspectives. Astrology. AI meeting spirituality. UAPs. Different voices attempting to interpret meaning, consciousness, connection.

Hours passed. Information layered upon information. By the end of the day my mind felt full and my nervous system felt stretched. I was tired in a way that felt both satisfying and overwhelming.

The next morning we returned early and chose the same seats in the front. Familiar now. Grounded in place. We had registered for a workshop that day. Daryl Anka, the channel for Bashar, would be presenting. I could feel anticipation building again, quieter this time, more focused. I realized I had not even opened my notebook yet. The one I packed with such intention. I started digging through my backpack, moving aside snacks, lip balm, charger cords, the usual small chaos I seem to carry everywhere, searching for a pen that had somehow hidden itself at the exact moment I needed it.

Then Daryl began speaking.

The room narrowed. Everything else faded. I was completely absorbed, hanging on every syllable. I started writing quickly, trying to keep up with the rhythm of what felt like layered meaning. One thought led to another, and as I wrote the second sentence I caught myself thinking, those two ideas together would equal synchronicity.

I wrote the word synchronicity in my notebook.

Almost immediately, Daryl said aloud, “That would be synchronicity.”

I froze.

I looked at J with wide eyes and slowly turned my notebook toward her like a kid revealing a secret message. She smiled, the kind of smile that says, yes, that just happened.

Later that afternoon he began channeling Bashar. Words fail to describe what it felt like. The energy in the room shifted in a way that felt calm but alive at the same time. He spoke with clarity, humor, intelligence, and an unmistakable presence of warmth. The kind of warmth that settles your nervous system without asking permission. Ten out of ten. I would absolutely attend again.

That evening we found ourselves lying on a football field, staring up into the night sky, watching for star beings and their aircraft. At some point we became convinced we saw movement that did not behave like ordinary flight patterns. And yes, I do believe I heard a star being respond. I fully accept how this sounds. Yet there I was, flat on my back, staring into the sky, feeling completely content with the possibility that the aliens might text back.

The next day brought a walk into the desert to connect with what was called the Tree of Life. Singing bowls echoed softly in the background as we sat in meditation. The desert held that deep stillness that makes everything feel both ancient and immediate.

Then the bugs arrived.

Apparently the local insect community had also signed up for the workshop.

Flies buzzed with confidence. Tiny winged beings circled with determination. Bees moved from flower to flower with impressive focus, clearly committed to their daily responsibilities. I tried to remain spiritually evolved about it. At least for at thirty seconds. Then my instinct took over and I began gently swatting the air around me while attempting to maintain a meditative posture.

Nothing says inner peace like silently chanting please do not sting me.

In fairness, we were the visitors. We had entered their living room, sat on their furniture, and interrupted their workday. The bees were organized, efficient, and clearly uninterested in our search for enlightenment.

I am allergic, so my communion with the Tree of Life became slightly more athletic than anticipated. Somewhere between mindfulness and defensive maneuvering, I knew it was time to make a graceful exit before my spiritual journey required an EpiPen.

Still, the experience held meaning.

How did synchronicity show itself?

If synchronicity begins as something subjective, an inner knowing, a quiet sense, an intuitive nudge, and then becomes objective, something reflected back to you through the outer world in a meaningful way, then you recognize the moment. The internal and external meet. Something clicks into place.

Before attending the conference, I searched Daryl Anka online. The first video that appeared was about synchronicity. That felt like confirmation. Then sitting in his workshop, writing the word synchronicity moments before he spoke it aloud, created a moment that felt undeniably connected.

I felt grateful to be there. Present for something that felt aligned.

Tomorrow we leave the hotel and head to a house in Sedona that my friend booked. I have intentionally avoided looking at photos. I want the surprise. I want to arrive without expectation and simply feel what the space holds.

What will the house be like? Will it carry the quiet strength of the red rocks? Will the energy feel different there?

Only twenty four more hours and I will know.