“As we wake up to the radical reality of a unitive narrative and our emergent opportunity as a Holomovement, we also will discover as a species, perhaps for the first time, who we really and truly are and who we can evolve to become.” [1]

For a long time I was taken by exploring emerging ideas stemming from the New Cosmology, about Planet Earth in its galactic origins, biological emergence and conscious awakening. It seemed important to know the facts, at least to the extent that I could as a non-science major and philosophically leaning person. I became enchanted by the work and creative style of physicist Brian Swimme and his poetic mentor, geologist Thomas Berry. Berry’s insights, in turn, built upon the expansive work of paleontologist and theologian Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, whom I had read years earlier (with practically no understanding). I wondered what would next attract me.

What a pleasure it was to discover the work of Jude Currivan by way of the State of Emergence podcasts. Jude explores the concepts of cosmic hologram and consciousness. I particularly liked her positive and deeply respectful sharing regarding her learning experiences among Indigenous People from various parts of the world. I was happy to see her chapter in the Holomovement book entitled, A Unitive Narrative: Cosmology Underpinning the Holomovement, which I have read several times. As a result, I am seeing parallels between what is happening on a universal scale regarding consciousness unfolding and what I see as an unfolding narrative within myself.

Previously, I wrote about my time living among the Quechua People of Bolivia, South America. I will pick up my narrative from there.

My work among the Quechua People was facilitated by a man who lived near me in the tiny town of Morochata, in the Province of Cochabamba. He understood the culture of the people and knew how to communicate with clarity and kindness. His name was Don Pasqual Villarroel. He came from the capitol city of La Paz[2] and had attended elementary school through the fifth grade. He was universally admired, both because he came from a far-away important place and because he had been to school. He was my liaison with all the leaders and people of the villages scattered throughout the mountains.[3]

One of my projects was working with the Department of Health to improve sanitation in rural areas by building outhouses, at least one for each village. To this end, I had a 12-battery operated filmstrip projector and a Mexican animated filmstrip series called Carlos Campesino. I lugged this equipment with me everywhere I went. I showed the filmstrips at night when it was dark. The people absolutely loved them. To my delight, the favorite of all was ‘How to Build an Outhouse.’ I always had to show it twice. The people were highly entertained and laughed and laughed. It took me a while to realize that the people could not imagine accumulating so much waste in one place! Nevertheless, during that time, outhouses aside, technology from the modern world became more and more valued as did the grasp that illness could be prevented and suffering relieved through modern sanitary practices and medical attention. Don Pasqual played an outsize role here in explaining things in a way that the people understood and appreciated. As well, he always showed respect for local shamans and healers. Steadily, more and more people wanted to know how they could obtain medicine and receive help from medical doctors for situations that were beyond the skill and knowledge of local healers.

However, while I could help the people access the materials needed to build an outhouse, what could not be accessed were the services of medical personnel for preventing and treating illnesses. Personnel for doing this kind of work in remote and difficult to reach places was not available and, furthermore, there was simply no budget for paying salaries for professionals even if they were.

At the time, I often wondered if it would be correct to introduce elements of the modern world to people who were living in a cultural milieu that was hundreds of years old, under an unstable and bankrupt government.

Influenced by Jude’s work, I now think that consciousness steadily expands in an evolutionary trajectory and that we need to go forward hand-in-hand sharing with each other in a way that is of benefit to all, regardless of our differing developmental stages.

In my days in Bolivia, regardless of political, social and economic limitations and concerned about the right of people to participate in the medical benefits of the modern world, I went to the City of Cochabamba, and consulted a medical doctor and cardiac specialist whom I knew. My basic concern was finding a way to provide medical services for the people living in practically inaccessible mountainous areas. The doctor I consulted with offered to meet with several young medical doctors who might be willing to brave the mountainous terrain and volunteer their services on a rotating basis.

Happily, thanks to the doctor’s quick work, this project got off the ground almost immediately permitting us to arrange regular medical attention free of charge for all who needed and wanted it. It was a pleasure getting to know the bright and very skilled young physicians who offered their services. They were friends with each other and very dedicated to their profession. They came on the weekends and, due to the organizing work of Don Pasqual, the local people took advantage of their services. I was happy to become friends with these doctors and greatly admired them. I particularly enjoyed their humor and always looked forward to their arrival.

Reflecting back, I think Jude Currivan would refer to this experience as a widening embrace of healing consciousness.

In the city there was a government owned and run hospital for indigent citizens. I had taken very ill patients there in the past, but the conditions were deplorable, and I had decided not to go there again. In my conversations with the doctors, I learned that this hospital actually had in its storage unit, state of the art medical equipment, which it could not afford to install due to a lack of funds and a totally inadequate and very deteriorated infrastructure including no running water and the lack of regular electricity. This situation seemed hopeless as the government was bankrupt without a path for recovery in the foreseeable future.

As time passed, the doctors began talking about forming a group that would work to raise funds privately to upgrade the hospital and install the aforementioned equipment, which was still in its original maritime shipping crates. I thought this was an excellent idea for them to pursue. However, I was surprised to be asked to join them at the hospital to look over the equipment as a first step toward effecting this idea. I did not want to do this because of my very negative feelings about the hospital but I felt I could not refuse because of all the help they had provided me, and because of the bond that had been established between us. I decided to make the trip to the City, although without enthusiasm. When  we entered the equipment storage space, though, my interest was sparked immediately because the first thing I saw was the equipment for an intensive care unit. At that time, there was no intensive care service available for anyone in Cochabamba, much less for poor Indigenous People. And I actually knew something about installing intensive care units.

Many years prior to that time, when I was in college, I took a part-time job at a hospital in Boston that was creating its first intensive care unit, a new concept at the time. I was hired as assistant to the secretary of the hospital administrator and assigned to do the secretarial work associated with the new unit, which was in its planning stage. These were pre-internet times, so to prepare myself I collected every available piece of printed material written about the subject of intensive care units and studied it intensely. I participated in every aspect of the unit as it took shape, even working overtime to get everything right. Because I was young and totally inexperienced, I always carried a clipboard and took copious notes. I think the clipboard actually functioned as a protective shield.[4]

This youthful experience slipped away from my active memory for many years, as I went on to other jobs and other challenges. Now, two decades later, Bolivia had the possibility of creating its first intensive care unit in Cochabamba, then the second largest city in the country. I found myself irresistibly attracted to this project.

In very little time, with the authorization of the government, we established a foundation to benefit the hospital and, clipboard in hand, I proceeded to take an inventory of all the new equipment available before anything was removed from the shipping crates. I then inventoried all the old equipment currently in use. Meanwhile, we raised money through every imaginable means. Once we had a start-up fund and fair money raising prospects for the future, we took out a bank loan using the ancient car of one of the doctors as collateral and plunged into the work of remodeling the rickety hospital. We began with creating the intensive care unit (ICU), which drew immense interest and support from the public and, very importantly, from the governing board of the medical school of the University of Bolivia. This led directly to creating a diagnostic support center and high-risk operating room, and much, much more. We found that, generally, hospital staff were eager to learn new techniques and brush up on forgotten standard practices and methodologies. The day we inaugurated the new ICU was wonderful and intensely uplifting. Highly motivated, we labored on, creating and implementing one new unit after another.

Our staff on the occasion of the ICU launch.

Ultimately, the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) financed building a new modern hospital and one of my young friends, Oscar Ferrufino, MD, became its first medical director (fourth from the right in photo).

Finally, what began among the Quechua People in remote communities in the Andes spread in ever widening circles, meeting the needs of a much larger population. We began with instructions on how to build an outhouse and finished with building a hospital. Indeed, one of the eight points describing the Holomovement states that ours is a self-healing cosmos, which, in its widespread awakening of virtuous social projects, is establishing what may be described as analogous to a planetary immune response. This seems doubly applicable in this case because the social project had to do with actual healing.

All these memories are evoked because of my expanding understanding of the evolution of consciousness and the Holomovement’s irrevocable insistence on our coming together as individuals, as groups, and as society, relentlessly drawn toward bringing forth a unified global civilization of well-being for the whole Earth and for all people.

It is now midnight, and, as I complete this work and this day, letting my happy memories and long narrative rest, a sweet night prayer arises within me – Shield my joy!

There is still more to examine in Jude’s Holomovement chapter, which I will do in my next post.

[1] The Holomovement: Embracing Our Collective Purpose to Unite Humanity, Light on Light Press, 2023, Edited by Emanuel Kuntzelman & Jill Robinson, Chapter 2, A Unitive Narrative, Jude Currivan, PhD, p. 73.

[2] Sucre is the judicial capitol while La Paz is the Seat of Government.

[3] The people thought that I too came from LaPaz and could not imagine the world beyond this distant and quite vast place.

[4] Later, I learned that the rest of the staff thought that I was an administrative supervisor because of the clipboard. I have been partial to clipboards and the symbolism of the shield ever since. This would become more meaningful in a later experience, in a different country under radically different circumstances.