Global Consciousness

One of the websites I have logged in my ‘favourites’ box is the Global Consciousness Project which records the results of a 12 year experiment being run out of Princeton University. Following the outpouring of grief worldwide at the death of Princess Diana, the project’s originators decided that they should attempt to measure whether, 'when galvanised by significant events, a coherent world consciousness exists.'

The team has placed Random Number Generators at 70 locations around the world. As the website explains these “produce completely unpredictable sequences of zeroes and ones. But when a great event synchronizes the feelings of millions of people,[the] network of RNGs becomes subtly structured. The probability is less than one in a billion that the effect is due to chance.” 


So far results are listed for over 400 events. These range from natural disasters to World Meditation Days, from moments of major political upheaval to each New Year’s Eve. While I haven’t got a clue about the maths behind such terms as the Stouffer Z graph, it is quite easy to understand the basic data and when a major event happens it is interesting to check out if it had an impact on a global scale.

The next question then is if global consciousness exists, what are we adding? Fed by the media’s insistence on bringing us every piece of misery or salacious gossip from around the world is it fear and anger and a sense of separation or is it positive acceptance? When Facebook and Twitter are the embodiment of a global community, are we raising human consciousness up or dragging it down? And can we make a difference? Absolutely and always! Each individual’s input may be small but it is always significant, always powerful - it is the drop of water that carves through rock! As Caroline Myss puts it “Every thought is a tool. Every thought is a prayer.”

Estonian Singing Revolution

Last week I came across a piece of recent history that I had somehow missed. Watching the History of the Eurovision Contest, which I might add turned out to be surprisingly interesting, I heard for the first time about the Singing Revolution of Estonia.

Estonia is one of the three small Balkan states, along with Latvia and Lithuania that were forcibly subsumed into the Soviet empire following World War II. Estonia has long had a strong tradition of folk singing, with a choral festival running since 1869, so when Gorbachev ushered in the era of ‘Perestroika’ and the sniff of leniency was in the air, the people of Estonia took to the streets, not to protest, march or burn flags but to sing.

“We sang all night and everybody went home early in the morning. It was emotionally so strong that the next day there were even more people. The day after, there were even more people. People took out their hidden flags. They had these flags hidden for 50 years and now they took these out and started to wave them.”
Artur Talvik, participant.

Throughout the summer of 1987 over 10,000 people gathered each evening in the Festival grounds of the capital Tallinn to sing. By September 1988 they were able to organise a gathering of 300,000 people to form a massive choir sending a message reverberating all the way back to Moscow. This Youtube promo for a documentary on the revolution catches the energy of the period. 

In another act of peaceful protest over 1.5 million people joined hands to form the ‘Balkan Chain’ along the 600 km route linking up the three capitals of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. At one point Russian tanks rolled into the country but the order to fire never came so the people kept singing. In 1991 the Estonian Parliament declared independence without a shot being fired.

I was just blown away by the courage and commitment of ordinary people to have a voice, literally. And what wonderful evidence of the power in choosing to raise the vibration above confrontation and align with the positive energy of the universe.

Small Beginnings

As it was Mother's Day on Sunday I thought I should offer something on mothering. The following is a precis of a piece I wrote a few years ago for a magazine, on my experience of having a premature baby - 27 weeks.  The fight for survival of these tiny little beings, who look like old men and women, and grow into chubby babies  is both heart wrenching and awe inspiring at the same time.  This Birth Stories website offers some great accounts from families, of the stress of premature birth and the wonder of their tiny baby's survival.

Fifteen years ago I gave birth to a chicken fillet, or at least that is what he looked like. Ejected from my womb 13 weeks too early my 900g baby boy was scrawny, wrinkly and – well  - chook-like.

The nurses advised that we needed to mourn for the image of a healthy, full-term baby we had incubated smugly in our minds since deciding we were ready to start a family. They should have added that at some point I would also have to forgive myself and let go of the sense of failure.

Like many crises we witnessed the best and worst of people: from the negativity of some of my work colleagues deciding not to have a collection “just in case”, to the incredibly optimistic gift of a 1.8 metre height chart. There was the dedicated medical staff and the wholly insensitive “Oh you’re lucky to have the hospital looking after your baby while you are out and about”!

And in fact there was the rub. With my first-born fighting for life in a hospital incubator, I was “Mother” but how could people know. I stared at heavily pregnant women and pushed past those with a pram of pastels, as for ten long weeks we existed in limbo.

Then there was the intimate relationship with an electric breast pump. Once I was informed that the milk of a pre-term baby’s mother is constituted to provide the fatty acids and antibodies that should have been delivered in utero, I was obsessed. Occasionally now I try to perk the ’girls’ up by telling them they once produced a litre a day!

Other side-effects: I do feel an inordinate amount of pride when my six foot, handsome teenager regularly consumes his birth weight in chicken fillets! 

Conscious Eating

  My son is currently meeting the Live below the Line Challenge, raising money for charity by living off $2 per day for 5 days. He has eaten a lot of porridge, rice and lentils and while not suffering too many hunger pangs, the big shift for him has been an awareness of how much he normally shovels in, often without thinking. 

  I noticed this morning that he left bits of rice in the colander and in the saucepan, which is fine because he knows come Saturday, he will have money in his pocket and a range of food to choose from in the pantry. But it reminded me how in his autobiography Mao’s Last Dancer, Li Cunxin told of his anger at such waste in the west. To his family, living in poverty in rural China, every single grain of rice was to be treasured.

  For a while now I have been trying to eat more consciously – savouring the flavours and textures and just being aware that I am blessed never to go hungry. Why did I take that for granted for so long? Why do we take so much of our lives for granted? Because we never stop to savour what we do have – we are too busy stressing about and energising what we think we don’t have. However one of the laws of the universe is an incredibly simple equation: like attracts like. The sad truth is that if we perceive ‘lack’ and ‘need’ in our lives then that is precisely the energy and emotion we attract.

  Conversely if we take time to count our blessings (cliche I know) and to celebrate how much we actually have going for us, we attract abundance in all its many forms. So instead of rushing through the next meal with the mind running the “Right what’s next……” scenario, stop and contemplate the sheer joy of knowing "Right now, in this moment my family and I have enough!"

PS: Check out this great recipe I tried recently for  Dahl  - the dish eaten by more people in the world than any other. Have it as a soup or thicker with rice or as a dip - cheap and delicious.

Celtic re-charge

Hi, I had hoped to be able to write this during my trip back to my homeland but my parents don't have internet connection and it all got a bit too hard. Anyway, my 15 year old daughter Tara and I had a great time, reconnecting with family and friends and our celtic roots.

Tara was born on the same date as my dad - she used to say "Me and drandpa's twins!" - and I was reminded that they share many traits, not least a wicked sense of humour and mischief. It was also wonderful to catch up with my mum and  two sisters who regardless of distance are my main support system and great friends.

We did some travelling around and I have placed some pics on another page of this blog. I had forgotten how beautiful Ireland is and how strong her pull on my energy can be. It has taken two weeks now to re-engage with Australia and to gently release Ireland's pull. I know however that I am never fully un-plugged - my healing and understanding is fed and sourced from my Celtic genes. Friends and clients here say that I look energised - so maybe I had been away too long. Maybe as Michael O'Loughlin's indigenous relatives said to him on "Who do you think you are" the other night - "Not good to be too long away from Country."