It is normal to be mad…

For much of my life, I experienced suffering from the impacts of violence. As a young child, I found refuge in creativity. And grew up to be a performing artist.From 10 years of age till now (37 years of age) I experienced a more subtle kind of suffering. The suffering that comes from dedicating my life to chasing fantasy. 

No matter how good a performance. Regardless of how wholesome my performance intentions became. No matter what I was making or performing for.  It never was enough, I never felt satisfied. There was never enough appraisal, never enough fame or success, never enough external validation.I was feeding a perpetually hungry monster that lives off what others think.

Regardless how hard I trained. How much effort I put in. What qualifications I attained. I was unable to find stability. Constantly living on the edge. Unable to provide for myself, let alone others.

Creativity is a powerful form of harm reduction. Many of us are trying to survive in a culture where fitting in means denying who we are, self-sabotage, workaholism, risk-taking behaviour, sex, drugs, alcohol you name it. Anything to numb the truths of our individual and collective pain.

In my early 20s life was catapulted in a new direction. Thinking of this time I’ve often felt I could have died young in a horrible way. Instead, I went ‘mad’. And going mad saved my life.

I came in contact with the dhamma first through the widespread Goenka Vipassana meditation courses. I disclosed to a wise and compassionate friend that I was homeless and losing my mind. He sent me packing to eventually gage my first taste in the dhamma. Dhamma didn’t heal my trauma. It laid the conditions for healing to be possible.

For many years I practised Vipassana meditation unbeknownst there was anything else to it. Then, through the generosity of a romantic partner, much later, I came in touch with the teachings of the Buddha. And began my journey on the Noble Eightfold Path with the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha.

In the ‘mad’ period, where spirituality came into my life. There was a pivotal point in which I felt moved by compassion to serve. It makes sense that my sense of self preserved itself in this activeness in the world. I then attempted to save others from the horrors I had known earlier in this life. I became occupied by my identity of a peer educator, advocate, and activist. Feeding restlessness. 

When the father that I never knew. The man I’d learnt was ‘Paranoid Schizophrenic’ as a child. Who’s existence warned me of the bio-medical, system saving me from chronic confinement. Died. I suddenly felt I had permission to lead a spiritual life. Permission to let go. With practice, faith grew and I trusted that purifying my heart and mind would lead to showing up to help in a wise and compassionate way.

My father had been a symbol of spirituality. I felt our going mad was a ‘mad gift’. A waking up to the truth of things. Not a hereditary disease. I am forever grateful, for what both my parents have given me.

Today I welcome renunciation. Of course I grapple with my wayward self. It has taken effort. Much guidance and support from spiritual friends. And I cannot have certainty of what the future holds.

On this website I wish to give notice of any offerings I am making. And archive the work I have done throughout this life.

Please feel free to contact me if you feel drawn.

And if you wish to materially support, I have a Patreon account. Here I regularly share what I feel is most noble.