Celebrating Psychosis – Thoughts on Mania, Wonder and Magic

Published on August 18, 2016 under Beauty

This is an experiment and I’m curious about something.  I’m curious about how much I can shape my future.  If I were to vision cast on here, how close might I be to predicting what might happen.  So-called psychosis crept up on me twice last year in 2015 and once so far in 2016.

I refuse to be afraid.  If it wants to assert itself, it will.  Sometimes it feels like there is this anger that I can’t be myself.  I can’t be who I want to be or who I’m meant to be.  I want to get back to that playful full grown child that I experienced myself as 5 years ago when I first stepped into mania.  I didn’t know it was mania and I’m still not sure that is an interpretation I subscribe to.  I’m not regretting that I have been and still am medicalized.  It’s a convenient way for others to save me when I venture too far along the not so beaten path.  “Oh she had a psychotic episode”.  This may be a good way for me to explain it away to myself as well.  But I’m not sure about this.  I’m not sure about my insanity when I’m sane, and I question my sanity when I’m insane.

It seems there is always questioning.  There is nothing firm to grasp onto.  Which of the many selves on the spectrum of selves is me?  None of them, or a mixture, depending on the day and interaction.  What do I want to experience of myself?  What am I here to experience and to create?  How can I best celebrate each day of my life?  What prevents me from living the best of me out?  To me it seems that somewhere between apparent sanity and overt psychosis is a state of celebration which resolves the apparent duality and opposites.  What do I want to celebrate and who wants to celebrate with me?  I want to celebrate the best of me, my joy, which resonates to bring out the joy in others.  I would like to do this instead of being a problem solver.  Perhaps in this time, place, and context, I am mentally ill, to others, and sometimes to myself.  But what am I moving towards?  Can I be the best of me?

What would I be?  What would I do?  Would I re-language mental illness and call myself “consistently inconsistent” and “relentlessly rediculous”?  Why do we value consistency?  Because it feels safe and predictable?

I continue to re-write things everyday, especially in the past year.  I’m unsure that this is making me happier.    I sit here amongst a pile of papers that I look at and re-write only to continue this process.  I don’t have a good memory for what I’ve integrated and what I have not.

My values include freedom, humour, effortlessness, laughter, wonder, joy, beauty, nature, flow, insight, generosity, possibilities, perception, trust, relaxing, light, silliness, health etc.

I would love to have a van to travel around in and sleep in so I could spend more time in nature.

I’ve learned about “Trickster Medicine” and it seems to resonate with my experience of altered states that went to far and were reined in by the mental health system.  I’m not against this system as it is here to save me when I explore to far into the realm of ridiculous playfulness to the point that no one else understands the game.  I’m left to play with symbols and archetypes that can be dangerous to my body in physical body in reality.

I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know what I’m trying to prove.  A proof would be a solution to a problem.  Play is just for the sake of the game.  Alan Watts would say the point of the game is to keep the game going.  Can the game change a little?  If I change my game, will this change the trajectory of reality?  What is informing this?  Intuition, insight?

I want to live in deep creation.  I want to dance even though I don’t know how, yet.  I want to carry a magic kit of happiness.

Life is life.  Life is magic and it doesn’t need any proof.  The fact that I am here and you are here is magic.  We are the magic and magician.  We are playing tricks on ourself to disguise how wonderful we are.  Somehow this feels safer.  Perhaps it is.  If that explosion of wonderfulness comes through you, you may be seen as insane.  How you dare you declare that you are wonderful.

I have thought that perhaps I could be a motivational speaker, shouting at people that they are wonderful.  At least this way, I might not be carted off.

I have proof to myself that life is magical.  That the flies weren’t afraid of me in the silly “fly whisperer” clip on youtube.  To me, this video I made spontaneously with the universe defies the laws of nature.  It shows there is a kinship with all of life at a certain level of consciousness.  It’s easier to commune with the flies than an ego.  The ego will create a wall faster than a fly will fly away.

To many ideas arise.  So far, I’ve seen this as a problem.  Can I celebrate these ideas as they arise.  Perhaps they don’t have to be a problem.  The insights come from clear seeing, perception.  Can I celebrate these insights?  How can they be celebrated instead of gathered?  They are not mine.

I’ve been researching mental illness for the past year.  I can see that it’s not about mental illness versus sanity.  It’s about the root of it.  That we do not live a life of celebration.  I cannot focus on trying to be sane or ways to fix my problem with mental illness, but with celebrating each day.  This is what spreads.  At least I would like to this to be so.  Otherwise life is a drudgery.  I get to a certain height and my ego is put back in it’s place of shameful misinterpretation.

This whole thing needs a new language.  I spoke this language in my first manic state.  I’ve read that two people can get caught in the same delusion.  Maybe it’s that two people can speak that other language.  It seems there is a language of play.  Perhaps it’s like gibberish.  Maybe when we reach this language as adults, we are ready to reenter the womb.  This is interpreted as one needing to kill oneself sometimes.  Perhaps we are quantumnly seeing wombs with this consciousness, but this feels like death.  I felt I reentered the womb. I felt I came out as numerous babies born in the hospital.  Maybe they were seeded with that consciousness.  Maybe that is true fertilization.  That sounds out there.

So many things I record as they would not be proven by science any time soon, nor would anyone see them as worth proving.  We are all collectively causing this in subtle or not so subtle ways.  Then we look for solutions to problems we have created.  We do not see we are all creators.

These are more like hypotheses of perception, of insight.  Insight are seeds of memes of potentiating hypothesis.  Perhaps others will pick up on them resonentially and study them one day.  But the truth of it was already seen.  Science is for the ones that can’t see the truth of it immediately and thus need to seek to prove it.  We rely on this delayed information because our brains are so dull.  Perhaps this is necessary right now, as if we saw immediately the effect of our delayed perception, I won’t say here what might happen.  We rely on the authority to tell us decades later in a scientific article, what we can already read in the inwardness of ourselves, if we have the eyes to see and the affection to look.

So it’s not about inventing a language as much as it is speaking from the language of perception.  I am living a dual life.  One that is desperate to be heard.  One that wants to scream that we are killing each other with our thoughts.  And another knows nothing can be done, as it’s already done.  So why not celebrate life and existence?  Why not sing to the trees and watch the birds.  At one time, I was a bird, yet at the same time, a small bit of consciousness still resided in this body.  There was a non dual awareness of being both.  Of being the dancer and the dance.  Perhaps that is the problem.  I’m making the dance into a problem.  Can these words be part of the dance?  I do love words.  They do not love me back.


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