Madness

Madness is a theme I was forced to look at due to mental health problems in my teens and early twenties.  Although I wanted to run away from it, it continued to haunt me. I never wanted to be one of those crazy people who lost touch with reality or lost control of my life,  and I told myself it wouldn’t happen to me. But the fear remained somewhere within me even though on the outside I mostly looked fine.

Art by Andre Koekemoer

When we see something outside of ourselves as broken, quite often we’re projecting something we don’t want to look at within ourselves. This was definitely the case for me and, dare I say it, possibly within society as a whole. To be clear, I don’t think mental health problems and the idea of madness necessarily belong together, but in my case, mental health issues forced me to look at my fears and explore what madness meant to me.

Years of therapy coupled with studies of ancient healing practices led me to discover that there is a world of energy beyond physicality. Discover is maybe the wrong term – I think it had always been part of my awareness, but I lived in a culture where the invisible realms were located firmly within the confines of religion. The psyche is connected to the physical body in ways we probably don’t fully understand. The idea that mental illness can be ascribed to an imbalance in brain chemicals formed a large part of the story I was told originally, but I don’t think it’s that simple. My mental health symptoms called me to explore the depths of my psyche and dive into the invisible world of energy where archetypes live. Here I had to transform the destructive forces into something beneficial. I use the word force deliberately, because the psyche can be immensely powerful, be it in a harmful or a healing capacity. Although these energies are not physical, we can see their effects in the physical world. When we experience intense emotion and the effect it has on our lives and actions, there is no denying that it is real, even though we can’t see it or touch it.

Facing my fear of madness led me to understand and better relate to the world of energy. In a sense, madness is crossing the bridge between the physical and the non-physical realms through the imagination. We can get swept away by the dark currents or learn to tap into the depths of the psyche for creativity and healing – there is sometimes a fine line, and it can even be both. Moving outside of the boundaries of the defined world can bring about creative or intellectual genius. Those who dare to dream or embrace new ideas ultimately lead the way, even though many have been told they’re crazy or stupid. But all of our man-made reality started as a thought or a dream before it took form in the material world.

I don’t think the invisible is solely the domain of the dreamers, geniuses and those who are mad. I think madness is an aspect of the self through which we create meaning and experience life. I don’t know too many people who would admit to having strange dreams or experiences that defy reality, but I think most of us have experienced the madness of love, which can be beautiful, intense and soul-destroying. Religious thinking lies at the dawn of human civilisation[1] and I consider this also a kind of madness. The world is simply too mysterious to know everything or even anything and to make sense of life we have to find a way of relating to the powers of creation that are beyond our understanding.

An important question to ask is perhaps who decides what kind of madness is acceptable or even beneficial and what kind makes someone an outcast. I remember a fable about madness I read in one of Paulo Coelho’s books, Veronika decides to die. It was about a place where people lived happily under a just king, but an evil magician wanted to destroy them. He poisoned all the wells so those who drank the water would become mad, but he didn’t manage to poison the king’s own water. The king found it impossible to lead with reason when his subjects were mad, and he asked his wife for advice. She suggested they should drink some of the poisoned water too if they couldn’t convert the people to sanity, and that solved the conflict.

History has shown that people can accept injustice or even commit atrocities when in the grip of collective hysteria. In the real world of the present, mental illness is more or less defined as a clinically significant behaviour or condition that is considered abnormal within a person’s culture and it causes severe distress.[2] If there had been a psychiatrist in the story of the poisoned water, he may have diagnosed the king with mental illness, but the reader would have known the truth.

I don’t think we can ever get away from madness, and I think we need it for personal growth. When confronted with it, we have some important choices to make. On an individual level, we may need to face our demons or listen to our soul’s calling. When at odds with the world, we can either allow collective madness to steer us away from our internal compass or we can stand strong in our truth and live accordingly. Metaphorically speaking, if a dark magician poisoned the water, we would have the option of drinking of it too just because it would be easier to get by in the world. But the better alternative may be to call in the good kind of madness and imagine a better world based on justice and love.

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[1] I highly recommend Supernatural by Graham Hancock for an in depth analysis of this topic.

[2] This is my concise version of the more elaborate technical definition from the DSM and reflects my understanding of what I learned when I studied psychology in 2007. I did an internet search when writing this article and found there is much debate around the concept.

Reflections on Myths and Abuse of Power

My studies of mythology strangely originated in my teenage ambitions to be a lawyer. I chose Latin as a subject on the recommendation of the lawyers in my family. I fell in love with Latin literature, which I continued studying even when law turned out not to be the right choice for me. I also studied psychology, which complimented Latin literature in an unexpected way: through learning about the work of psychoanalysts such as Carl Jung, the myths I studied gained new meaning.

I became interested in the symbolism of gold in myths after I wrote my first novel, which can be described as a creative experiment guided by my subconscious. Gold is a symbolic theme in my novel and it also features in the title, In Search of the Golden City. When I resumed my studies of mythology after a hiatus of about five years, the mythical golden age which originated in some of the oldest Greek literature was the natural choice for a research topic. The author whose work I focused on was Ovid, a Roman poet from the first century B.C. whose work is well known for its wit, ambivalence, and political commentary. Even though I had never had much interest in the political side of history, I couldn’t avoid looking at it, because the myth of the golden age had become a political myth in the time of Augustus - the emperor was said to usher in a new golden age. My favourite poet poked fun at those in power by comparing them to angry gods who took advantage of defenseless humans.

Mythology remains a somewhat mysterious subject. Many think a myth is simply an untrue story, a concoction made up by ancient people who did not have science to explain the world. I don’t think myths are untrue in any way, provided they are not taken literally. To me, they reveal some truth about what it means to be human, coloured by the culture of its origins. Joseph Campbell, a mythologist whose work I respect very much, said that the inner landscape of humanity has not changed much in several thousands of years, even though our outside reality barely resembles the world humans lived in a few millennia ago. When I studied the Golden Age and its connections with political power through the words of Ovid, I learned something which I think is still relevant today. Personal power is an important theme to me because of its importance in healing. Much as I would like to separate it from politics, simply because I have no interest, it is impossible to do so.

The Golden Age by Lucas Cranach the Elder

The myth of the golden age is possibly even older than the oldest known Greek literature and describes a fall from grace, much like the story of Eden. It first appeared in Hesiod’s Works and Days, which dates from about seven centuries B.C. Hesiod describes a progression from the golden age to silver, bronze and finally the iron age, which he laments having to live in because of all the injustice in the world. Interestingly, the myth of Pandora also features in this work as an alternative explanation for all the evils in the world. Although on the surface it may appear that women are made the scapegoat, I think it is a metaphor for that which we desire but cannot control. Perhaps it even points to the division between genders, which I think is more of a fragmentation within the individual and collective psyche than a battle between the sexes.

Aratus was the next Greek poet to describe the myth in his Phaenomena, which dates from about the third century B.C. Phaenomena means “things that appear” and the work describes the constellations and how they came to be there, of course in mythical rather than scientific terms. Aratus connects the golden age with the constellation Virgo. The maiden is associated with justice and the golden age is described as an era when she still lived on earth and mingled with humankind. When the fall from gold to silver happened, she gradually withdrew from human affairs, until the race of bronze drove her to take abode in the sky, unable to cope with their wicked ways.

In Ovid’s version of the golden age in the Metamorphoses, the movement from gold to silver, bronze and then iron follows a similar trajectory. Two things stand out in his version of events. The first is that the iron age coincided with the discovery of gold in the material sense, reminding that desires if left unchecked can bring out the less desirable qualities in us, much like the Pandora myth. The second is that although it was ruled over by Saturn, there is no mention of the gods in the text at all until the fall is near. After this section of the work, the gods take centre stage, constantly ravishing helpless humans and interfering in their affairs.

I won’t go into all the details of the myth and the Metamorphoses, which is literally a work of epic proportions. My conclusion, however, was that there was a connection between the fall from grace and the rise of power in the imperial sense of the word. As soon as men started striving for dominion over the earth, they became the subjects of angry gods, or the political figures favoured by them. From a philosophical perspective, one could ponder about the meaning of the golden age and whether it truly meant the absence of all ills. What is striking to me, however, is the division between divinity and humanity associated with a fallen state.

Another course in my degree programme was agricultural slavery in the ancient world. We also looked at modern slavery, which was only finally abolished a few centuries ago, merely a fraction of time in the known history of humanity. Much as this was an unpleasant topic, I think it is important to look at one’s shadow to progress in any meaningful way, and the history of my species is part of what I need to look at within myself. One of the most hailed philosophers of the Western world, Aristotle, waxed lyrical about the existence of natural slaves. The Latin word for slave is servus and it is derived from the verb servare, which means to save. Slaves were those who had been spared from being killed when they lost a war. It is strange how even in those days domination of another human being was justified, even by intellectuals.

Closer to home, I lived in apartheid South Africa for the first ten years of my life. I now live in Scotland, and nearly three decades later I’m pretty sure most people I speak to would consider apartheid one of the most abominable institutions in recent history. But having lived with it, albeit not too long, I know that it was simply how things were. There were white people who questioned it, but I think most did not, or they did not want to share their views too loudly, or they felt powerless to change anything. I’m simply speculating because I was a child, and I can’t remember everything. But I do know that the Bible was used to justify apartheid, and few would dare to question God. Furthermore, questionable psychometric tests posing as science was used on black people to “prove” inferiority and thereby justify policies of unequal education. Of course, these studies were later discredited. When the regime ended, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established to help heal the wounds of the past. Many good-hearted white people were shocked and horrified by everything that emerged – they could not believe what the government had been up to.

If there has ever been an era in human history where abuse of power did not occur, I would like to know about it – it seems as old as humanity itself. I find it surprising that we still hesitate to question those in positions of power, or even other forms of authority posing as people with lots of knowledge. I don’t intend to dismiss the expertise of those who are very knowledgeable in a given area, but I do think that there is always more than one way of looking at something. I find it somewhat ironic that after millennia of wars that probably did not need to be fought, human rights abuses that only benefited those in power and social inequality that seems completely senseless, few people have considered their own role in defining the collective reality.

This is where I make the connection between personal power, which is so important in healing, and external power. I don’t think it’s completely accurate to assume that we live in a world where we are subject to laws and power structures decided by others. I think we are the reality, and each person contributes to it, whether they do so consciously or not. No leader or government structure, corrupt or otherwise, could ever wield power unless it is backed up by the beliefs of hundreds, thousands or millions of people. No abuse of power could ever happen if it wasn’t fuelled by the actions (or lack thereof) of subjects.

In Ovid’s version of the golden age myth, the absence of laws was an indication of the presence of justice. I think that gives us a clue on how we can find our way back home if we feel oppressed. If we claim full responsibility for our consciousness and live by our internally guided truth, there is no more externalisation of power. Each choice we have can be a powerful one and an expression of who we are, and we are free to revise it and do better next time if we miss the mark. When external forces attempt to impose their will on us, we can see it as an opportunity to claim our sovereignty. I’m not suggesting we will all suddenly be enlightened and the world’s problems will disappear, but I think it’s a good place to start.

The question remains of what exactly is the golden age, and to me the beauty of myth is that we can interpret it in a way that we find meaningful. The common theme between the various versions of the golden age myth and Eden is the presence of divinity among humanity. There is reference to abundance in Aratus’s treatment of the myth, and the garden of Eden to me suggests harmony with nature and an interconnection between all living things. Perhaps the topic is too deep to fully capture through something as mundane as words. I don’t want to discount the idea of a true paradise on earth, but I think it could be as simple as knowing we are connected to the source of all life and the universe is in us as much as it is around us. Perhaps from that place of knowing, power over another seems absurd, because we are not separate from them. When we let go of relying on a saviour and the fear of death no longer haunts us, perhaps we can begin to explore the true power of love.

Of Bees and a Bucket of Water

I recently remembered an encounter I had with a bee when I was five years old, which resulted in my first inkling that I wanted to be a writer. Like most children growing up in warm climates, I walked around barefoot most of the time. I was mildly allergic to bees, so when I stepped on one, I couldn’t walk due to the pain and swelling. My mum’s remedy was to soak my foot in a bucket of ice cold water.

Photo by sebastien rosset on Unsplash

I still remember the scene – it was in my parents’ bedroom in the home where we lived just before they got divorced. I was feeling confined and rather sorry for myself, hoping the cold water would do its job so I could again move around. I can’t remember feeling much else, but like all children I must have been subconsciously aware of all the emotional undercurrents, the tears that were not being shed and the fears surrounding the end of a chapter. A thought popped into my head that I wanted to write a story about a bucket of water one day. I didn’t know the plot, but the emotional thread had something to do with a little girl who lost her way and found it back home again.

I dismissed the idea as silly almost immediately, but the thought stayed with me for a few more years even though I felt embarrassed at the mere memory. In my immediate reality, the world around me crumbled and was rebuilt as two separate worlds, both of which still formed part of my life. It wasn’t perfect (when is anything ever), but everyone involved got on with their lives and found some sort of resilience.

A few years down the line I was forced to deal with my personal darkness, because my subconscious mind urged me to do so. It is impossible to say how much of my anxiety was linked with wounds from childhood, but the road to better well-being was long, arduous and intermittent.
Although I expected the healing journey to help me return to “normal”, or rather, help turn me into a normal person, it wasn’t the case. Instead, I opened Pandora’s box and a plethora of monsters attacked me, but they eventually turned into allies. I discovered pieces of myself I had forgotten existed, or perhaps had never been aware of. Along with the archetypal realm of vivid, confusing and sometimes terrifying images, I also re-discovered my ability to love, something I felt I had lost. My dreams had been hiding in the same closet as my monsters. Through my fear of unleashing my shadows in the world, I had also been suppressing my gifts.

It may not be obvious what bees and a bucket of water have to do with healing and it wasn’t obvious to my five-year-old self either. But now that I have an understanding of symbols, I think it was the universe’s genius way of showing me something about my path in life. Time and again, whenever I was incapacitated due to physical illness, injury or emotional turmoil, creative expression was my great saviour. Water is symbolic of the unconscious, and through plunging into this realm and turning the archetypal images into stories, the poison in my system lost its potency. Through turning to the healing waters of my soul, also known as tears, my pain gained a purpose.

The incident came to mind again only recently, about three decades later, when I was reading about an encounter with bees of another author whose work I admire. The book is Supernatural and the author is Graham Hancock, who was born in Edinburgh where I currently live and the incident coincidentally happened in South Africa, where I was born. Hancock ventured into the Drakensberg mountains to find and examine ancient rock art. The hypothesis he puts forward in the book is that encounters with supernatural beings inspired the oldest forms of creative expression and indeed brought about the origins of civilisation and religious thought. While he was studying the ancient art, he became aware of a beehive, which was very dangerous considering he had had severe allergic reactions to bee stings in the past. When he was stung, he had no serious reaction, but he remembered that bees had spiritual significance in the mythology of the San people of Southern Africa. To him the experience was meaningful and may have led to insight into the inhabitants of other non-physical realms and our relationship to them.

Hancock’s story encouraged me to again look at the experience of inspiration my bee sting brought about when I was five years old. My journey to mend the wounds in my soul brought me in touch with the wounded healer archetype, a phenomenon that occurs across cultures where healers find their calling through an experience of physical or mental illness. Through plunging into the depths of their soul, they meet helpers in other realms, who assist them in healing others. My efforts to heal certainly opened doors to other realms and led me to learn about shamanic healing. In my case, healing and creativity go hand in hand.

As little as bees are, if the San people had it right, they could be the soul’s messengers even when they are threatening. At such a significant time in my young life, these tiny helpers came to whisper in my ear how I could move beyond pain to claim the power in my soul. When I had all but forgotten about my aspirations, they reminded me, through literature, what my original dreams were.

The universe is teeming with life and intelligence, expressed in the smallest and largest of ways. My story about a bucket of water is maybe not the original one I had in mind, but thirty years later I am writing it to honour the little girl’s dreams. Because regardless of how small and insignificant she felt, and often still does, the universe was in her as much as in everything else. Although she didn’t know it at the time, she was capable of wisdom.

Desire and the Greater Will

We all need guidance at times, and everyone deals with uncertainty in different ways. Some people do research or ask the input of others. Some turn to ancient religious scriptures or modern spiritual practitioners. Some of us listen to our gut, but occasionally the answers are not clear. I have a habit of interpreting my dreams, in addition to some of the above.

My question a few nights ago was one of the more profound questions of human existence. What is the will of God? I asked because I believe we have an extent of free will as humans, but I also believe in destiny and a Greater Power. I think many great acts have been done because people chose their divine destiny rather than personal gain or whatever was convenient at the time. It is difficult to put into words, but at times there is power in a decision or experience that I don’t always feel in everything that I do. My question was how to align with this power through the choices I am currently faced with.

My dream material surprised me, because they showed things about my past experiences that were less than desirable. In the dream were two people I have felt a connection with in the past. One was a romantic encounter that did not work out and the other was someone I wished I could get to know better, but I never really had the opportunity.

The first encounter was a highly confusing experience I had as a teenager. I desired someone even though my friends told me to stay away from him if I wanted to avoid getting hurt. They were right, but nonetheless I valued the experience because I learned something about unconditional love. Much as we would like infatuation to be safe and comfortable, it is usually not the case. Still we can respond to the feeling and learn through our choices. In my dream I spent time with this person and the contact was amiable. I even defended him when another woman, presumably rightly, made demands on him and expressed her frustration.

The second person in my dream showed up and we had a friendly conversation while others around us were fighting. The chat was nice, and perhaps expressed something about wishes that were never fulfilled.

A third symbol in my dream was a grey house-cat which was confined to the kitchen of the house where I used to live. Genetically the cat was from a wild place in the far north, such as Lapland. It wanted to escape the kitchen and explore its wild origins, and I knew I could learn from its journey. On waking in the morning I felt that the cat represented something about belonging. In its domestic space it was not quite at home regardless of appearances. The wild space was less safe and perhaps not suitable for a tame cat, but nonetheless it instinctively felt drawn to its origins.

I had to think about what these themes of desire, belonging and exploration meant to me, especially considering that everything was not perfect in the dream. We often think of divine will as those moments when everything falls in place, but maybe that is not the case.

Desire is an invitation to love. Without responding to desires we don’t deepen our understanding of life. It may be the safe option to steer away from where our hearts lead us, but it may not bring us closer to our destiny. Desire is usually not an experience of wholeness or perfection. The disappointment we feel when things we care about don’t work out is a painful reminder that in the human condition we cannot control everything.

Adam and Eve by Lucas Cranach the Elder.
Public domain via Wikimedia commons.

The grey cat encouraged me to think about our true origins as humans. When I look for divine will, the underlying motivation is usually the need to reconnect with Source/creativity/love. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, the cat in my dream demonstrates something about the tension between wild nature and tame nature. Adam and Even became self-conscious and started wearing clothes when they became distant from God. Likewise the cat was frustrated in its domestic condition. Its desire to return to the wild, of which it only had instinctive memory, raises the question of where the cat’s true home is. As humans then, is it our nature to be broken but cultivated, able to make rational decisions or at least be under the illusion of free will? Or do we still have our wild naked identity underneath everything we cover it up with? Can we recover a lost paradise within ourselves?

I don’t think that these questions will be answered in my lifetime. But I think the dream told me that desire is the gateway to paradise. Through desire we can know what it means to be human, including feeling broken. If we embrace our humanity, we may find something of the divine in mundane reality.

Conforming to Non-Conformity

Through my life I have gained a reputation among some as being non-conformist. More often than not I don’t intend to be unconventional, but I have at times felt rebellious towards tradition. My drive to break free from mainstream modes of thought has largely been motivated by existential questions, but I have wondered if I am just making things difficult for myself.

Image by André Koekemoer

At times I have looked for connection among the marginal, hoping to find some freedom to express myself there. What I have discovered is that there are expectations even among the peripheral. In very liberal company I have felt hesitant to admit my thoughts and feelings as much as in conservative company. If one has to conform to a new set of rules within a given paradigm, one does not escape the restrictions of social order, no matter how non-conformist it may be.

My search has led me to the insight that structure is valuable. Even when I don’t always like the notions on which it is built, there is a price to pay for leaving it behind. All traditions have their pros and cons, much like all kinds of freedom have benefits and disadvantages. In fighting paradigms that are perceived as a hindrance to freedom, a new kind of expectation can arise of conforming to non-conformity.

The best way for me to reconcile myself with tradition is to recognise the humanity in it. The rigidity I feel subversive towards comes from a need for security which I also share. I comply with many standards even though it might not stand out as much as the ways in which I don’t conform. Likewise, people with a more traditional mind-set certainly have many ways in which they don’t follow the rules. We all have things to learn from one another.

Self-love is not Always Convenient

The matter of self-love comes up time and again. Being on any kind of healing journey requires patience and kindness towards the self. I believe that this forms the basis of a balanced relationship with others. But what does it really mean to love the self? I think it requires more than thinking positive thoughts.

The parts of ourselves that we reject are those aspects we see as weak and a hindrance. Trying to remedy it by thinking positive thoughts is merely another way of suppressing it. In this way we separate our thoughts from emotions. Dividing the self into desirable and undesirable or strong and weak does not facilitate wholeness.

It is easy to love the self when life is flowing. It is a lot trickier when one is in conflict with the world. I have asked myself if loving myself means sticking to my way when I truly think it is best even though it might be wiser to be open to feedback. My fear of lacking self-awareness is a mask for fear of isolation. Here begins inner conflict, and this is where the matter of self-love becomes complicated. Standing up for one’s convictions is one thing, but at the expense of the need to be loved it can cause more fragmentation.

Love is not always convenient. It sometimes asks us to make sacrifices or go through darkness. The same goes for self-love. It would be nice if self-love were always straightforward and asked us to favour one way above another. But in the midst of confusion there is no such clear remedy.

Self-love requires presence to all aspects of one’s being even amidst turmoil. That is the best I can come up with.

Spider Symbolism: Resistance

Recently when I was feeling very stuck I had some imagery coming to me and I turned it into a poem (loose definition). I then made a drawing to accompany it. The spider and her web were apt symbols because of the association with danger and bondage but also creativity.

I am reminded of the classical myth of Arachne, a female personification of the spider. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses there is a weaving contest between a mortal woman, Arachne, and the goddess of crafts and wisdom, Athena. Not only was Arachne extremely skilful, but she also exposed the crimes of the gods through her weaving. The infuriated goddess turned her into a spider as punishment. As a remnant of her human gift, the spider still spins her web.

Shelob & Me

The mortal and the divine are both present in the story. I would contend that Arachne and Minerva are mirror images of one another. Suppressed creativity can turn into darkness, as symbolised by the lonesome spider. The feeling of oppression, although inconvenient, often would not leave us alone until we claim our creative gifts. My poem is called “The Resistance”.

The Resistance
Like a shadow of the night she comes
Enfolded in darkness
In her hand is a scythe
Gleaming in the moonlight
The door is closed, but she comes in uninvited
Takes a seat on my bed.
I pretend not to be afraid, but my throat constricts.
I ignore her, waiting for the sun to come up.
But time stands still. She is not going anywhere.
She makes me cry.
Why are you holding me back? I hear myself moan.
Why are you making me weak?
The room fades out as her presence turns into a nightmare

A spider she is, and I the moth stuck in her web
The sticky strands clamp wilfully around my wrists.
I try to scream, but my throat is tight
Blue fangs, red eyes
Coming in for the attack
She wants to prey on me, paralyse me
Turn me into an empty shell
Poison moves closer, the end is nigh
Her foul mouth leans in for the kiss
The red eyes connect with mine, become larger
They show me gaunt figures
Lifetimes of suffering
The unloved ones know not how un-alone they truly are
Despairing, they look as trapped as I feel
So many gifts going to waste.
I sympathise with the spider, and surrender
She bites, and my mind is lulled into a soporific sleep
A goddess is holding me, takes me up into the night sky
I sit on the moon and look down on a beautiful creation
A woven tapestry
Magical story created from the self-same strands that held me
This is why I won’t leave you alone, she whispers,
Know yourself.