There is mounting evidence that as more and more people learn to do something it becomes easier for others to learn or do it. In one experiment, British biologist Rupert Sheldrake took three short, similar Japanese rhymes: – one a meaningless jumble of disconnected Japanese words, the second a newly-composed verse and the third a traditional rhyme known by millions of Japanese. Neither Sheldrake nor the English schoolchildren knew which was which, and none of them knew any Japanese. The most easily-learned rhyme turned out to be the one well-known to Japanese people.
(see the story “The Hundredth Monkey” below)
This and other experiments led Sheldrake to consider that there is a field of habitual patterns that links all people, which influences and is influenced by the habits of all people. This field would contain (among other things) the pattern of that Japanese rhyme.
The theory suggests that the more people have a habit pattern – whether of knowledge, perception or behavior – the stronger it is in the field, and the more easily it replicates in a new person. In fact, it seems such fields exist for other entities too – for birds, plants, even crystals. Sheldrake named these phenomena morphic and morphogenetic fields – fields which influence the pattern or form of things.
Biologist Rupert Sheldrake speaks about morphic fields and Systemic Family Constellations. He explains how all social animals, including humans, are connected by fields of information that are shared by all members. A therapeutic application of morphic fields in humans is an experiential process called Systemic Family Constellations.
CROATIAN: Znanstveno, ali lako razumljivo objašnjenje za fenomen prijenosa energije kroz vrijeme i prostor, za tzv Polje koje zna, The Knowing Field, fenomen na koji se oslanjamo i pomoću kojeg dolazimo do inormacija u konstelacijskom radu.
|The Hundredth Monkey
by Ken Keyes Jr.
The Japanese monkey, Macaca fuscata, had been observed in the wild for a period of over 30 years.
In 1952, on the island of Koshima, scientists were providing monkeys with sweet potatoes dropped in the sand. The monkeys liked the taste of the raw sweet potatoes, but they found the dirt unpleasant.
An 18-month-old female named Imo found she could solve the problem by washing the potatoes in a nearby stream. She taught this trick to her mother. Her playmates also learned this new way and they taught their mothers too.
This cultural innovation was gradually picked up by various monkeys before the eyes of the scientists. Between 1952 and 1958 all the young monkeys learned to wash the sandy sweet potatoes to make them more palatable. Only the adults who imitated their children learned this social improvement. Other adults kept eating the dirty sweet potatoes.
Then something startling took place. In the autumn of 1958, a certain number of Koshima monkeys were washing sweet potatoes — the exact number is not known. Let us suppose that when the sun rose one morning there were 99 monkeys on Koshima Island who had learned to wash their sweet potatoes. Let’s further suppose that later that morning, the hundredth monkey learned to wash potatoes.
THEN IT HAPPENED! By that evening almost everyone in the tribe was washing sweet potatoes before eating them. The added energy of this hundredth monkey somehow created an ideological breakthrough!
But notice: A most surprising thing observed by these scientists was that the habit of washing sweet potatoes then jumped over the sea…Colonies of monkeys on other islands and the mainland troop of monkeys at Takasakiyama began washing their sweet potatoes.
Thus, when a certain critical number achieves an awareness, this new awareness may be communicated from mind to mind.
Although the exact number may vary, this Hundredth Monkey Phenomenon means that when only a limited number of people know of a new way, it may remain the conscious property of these people.
But there is a point at which if only one more person tunes-in to a new awareness, a field is strengthened so that this awareness is picked up by almost everyone!
Elephants arriving to a funeral
Lawrence Anthony, the South African conservationist and ‘elephant whisperer’ died last March of a heart attack. Of all the remarkable life events of this outstanding person, the most extraordinary of all was his funeral, because arriving there, with no invitation or warning was a herd of elephants, who’d come to pay tribute to one of their best friends.
Anthony resembled a young and exuberant Ernest Hemingway, but rather than shooting game, he risked his life to preserve wildlife and their habitats from human atrocities, abandoning his early career in real estate to work in the African bush.
Anthony’s amazing list of achievements included persuading Africans wanted as war criminals to protect northern white rhinoceroses; teaching African tribes to set up game reserves; and rushing into war-torn Iraq at the beginning of the 2003 American invasion to save the animals left to languish in the Baghdad zoo.
Nine rogue elephants
In 1999, after setting up a 5000-acre game reserve in Thula Thula, Anthony was offered nine elephants who’d been considered troublesome and dangerous. He was truly their last resort. They’d escaped every last enclosure attempting to contain them, were storming all over KwaZulu-Natal and were due to be shot if he refused to take them.
‘They were a difficult bunch, no question about it,’ Anthony once wrote after deciding to keep them at his reserve. ‘But I could see a lot of good in them, too. They’d had a rough time and were all scared, and yet they were looking after one another, trying to protect one another.’
Anthony began using certain words and gestures to show the herd the difference between acceptable and unacceptable behavior, focusing his attention on Nana, the matriarch of the herd. After studying how they communicated with each other and learning how to establish his own communication with them, he gradually won them over.
‘I’d go down to the fence and I’d plead with Nana not to break it down,’ he said. ‘I knew she didn’t understand English, but I hoped she’d understand by the tone of my voice and my body language what I was saying. And one morning, instead of trying to break the fence down, she just stood there. Then she put her trunk through the fence towards me. I knew she wanted to touch me. That was a turning point.’
Blessed events shared
Eventually, Anthony was able to allow the herd to roam around the reserve freely. His experiences resulted in his bestselling book The Elephant Whisperer: My Life with the Herd in the African Wild, which was published in 2009.
Anthony and his wife Francoise became so close to the elephants that occasionally they’d attempt to set up camp in his living room, and he’d have to gently usher them out. When Nana gave birth, she brought her newborn to meet them a few days after its birth. When their first grandchild was born, Anthony returned the favor.
As the herd grew, and Anthony’s game reserve got more popular, he feared for the herd’s safety, and so deliberately had the elephants keep their distance, refusing to allow them to visit his home for the last 15 months of his life.
The elephant cortege
Several days after Anthony died of a heart attack, as if out of nowhere, a herd of 20 elephants arrived at his doorstep, led by two matriarchs. Separate wild herds had walked over 12 miles to make the journey to his home.
The family and others, who photographed the elephants making their way to the house, were amazed at the sight of the elephants not only because they somehow ‘knew’ about his passing but also because they’d been able to remember a route they hadn’t made for more than a year. But perhaps the most astonishing aspect of the funeral cortege was its demeanor.
As soon as Anthony died, the elephants had begun a slow and solemn single-file procession from their wild habitat to his home.
After paying their respects for two days and two nights, they turned to make their slow journey home. Nevertheless, the family says that they have returned several times since, to share their grief over the loss of their beloved friend.
This extraordinary situation begs many questions. By what mechanism, for instance, did the herd, at a 12-mile distance, know Lawrence Anthony had died?
This, like the work of British biologist Rupert Sheldrake, offers more evidence that a great deal of information beyond the senses lies out there in the Field, accessible to all creatures (which includes most animals, but sadly not as many humans) that stop long enough to listen.
It also is a powerful demonstration of the fact that love speaks a language beyond time, space – or species.