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 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 try to survive in a culture where fitting in means denying who we are. Turning to self-sabotage, workaholism, risk-taking, self-medication. 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 how I was feeling and thinking. After being made redundant and becoming houseless. 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.

During my ‘spiritual emergency’, and thankfully I could know it as such. I was never pathologized. There was a pivotal point in which I felt moved by compassion to serve. I embraced my lived experience and its expertise. I had moved through without intervention what could’ve been labelled ‘early onset schizophrenia’, ‘mania’, ‘bipolar 1, or 2’, or simply ‘psychosis’. As a family member I had witnessed harms of the medical-industrial-complex, within charity, disability, and government health contexts. As well as harms from Public Guardian and Trustee. As I began to unpack mental health I could no longer separate it from all forms of oppression. I continued learning, educating myself, training. And I eventually accepted myself as an activist. With a feeling of solidarity, and being a part of something much wider than me. The ‘Engaged Buddhism’ and ‘Psychiatric Survivors’ movements.

When the father I lost. The man who I’d been told was ‘Paranoid Schizophrenic’ as a child. Who I can credit for having warning me of the bio-medical harm which perhaps saved me from chronic illness and early death. Passed away. I suddenly felt I had permission to lead a spiritual life. It is not surprising. My father had been a symbol of spirituality for me. I felt our going mad was a ‘mad gift’. A waking up to the truth of things. Not a hereditary disease. With practice, faith grew and I trusted that purifying my heart and mind would lead to showing up to help in wise and compassionate ways.

Today I welcome renunciation. Of course as I grapple with the wayward self. Renunciation takes effort. I am lucky to have much guidance and support from spiritual friends.

On this website I give notice of any offerings I make. And archive any work worth sharing that I’ve done in this life.

Please feel free to contact me if you’d like to connect.

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