Yesterday, 25th April, was ANZAC Day in Australia and I was a little sad.
Sad for humanity of course and sad for those Australian and New Zealand Army Corps soldiers who landed on the Gallipoli Peninsula in Turkey early on the morning of 25 April 1915 during the First World War (1914 – 1918). *
I become sad when I hear my neighbour Jean tell of two of her bothers who were killed there and when my husband tells of his two Uncles who died at Gallipoli. I can feel the sadness of so many.
What I really want to talk about here is mass consciousness, something that seems to affect us all. Mass consciousness is like we are all in the same great, big casserole pot of energy. Some of us are potatoes, some of us are carrots, some of us are the peas. But we are all in that pot together, all taking on the flavours, the energies of each other. We cannot help being impacted by mass consciousness. It is ‘in the air’. The point is we can really get caught up in it if we are not careful. Emotions do seem to run high on ANZAC Day – everyone’s sadness and grief surfacing, it all building and building. No wonder some of the old diggers just want to have a drink to forget. No wonder I just want to have a cry.
The 25th April is extra poignant in our household as it was the day my husband’s mother passed to the light. Every ANZAC Day for the past 26 years he and his brother have risen early and visited the place where their parent’s ashes lie together. This is followed by a quick visit to their childhood neighbourhood to have a drink at the local RSL Club with men with whom they went to school. By mid morning my husband is home – sombre, sober and reflective. Naturally. He gets through it by talking about it and getting on with his day. For some reason this year he talked more than usual about the morning and about his associated feelings. I simply listened. He gets not one, not two but three impacts of mass consciousness on that one morning and in a very short space of time – ANZAC Day, his Mum and his childhood.
My ninety four year old father fought in the Second World War. He doesn’t like to talk about it much. I feel his energies change when he does. It seems his grief and sorrow may be just below the surface. I am mindful not to scratch there.
Natural emotions can, on a day like ANZAC Day, be overwhelming and that is when we are in danger of being diminished by them, of contracting. And we don’t want that because we only ever want to expand. I am planting this story an an imaginery Garden of Connection, because we are all connected through mass consciousness. I am also planting it there because I have a sense that it is through pain that we do somehow, in a funny way that I cannot yet articulate in words, connect. I will water it with compassion and nourish it with memories.
Lest we forget.
** Photographs of my father, used with permission.