Even now, after over twenty years, there is a certain mystery about exactly what happened, and why, especially why.
Seemingly out of nowhere, the world took on a certain magic, conjured coincidences, showed me new meaning in things, places, people, media.
Each time it’s happened since, in spite of being disturbing, I long for something more of the experience, as if I could take my pick of the moments like simply choosing a fruit from a tree. But sometimes, underneath the magic, all I find is fear.
Those first highs, when everything seemed possible, and I was invincible, were fantastic! The universe tangible, not only out there, but within. I realised I was connected to all throughout evolution, from the beginning of life itself, the creation of earth, other planets, stars and their elements which have become an essential, living part of us.
It did take time to heal, we are talking psychosis after all. The mind recovering from being broken, fragmented, deranged. And I feel that I’ve salvaged a deeper understanding from those events. Many of the new connections I discovered were real. There were moments when I felt I gained a greater insight, to a stronger world beneath the everyday.
It is enough
just to be
and, if possible, to embrace
while this madness
carries on, all around.
And those moments showed me what it is to appreciate the stillness of things, the nature of life, its essence as we respond to the world through our senses, notice a certain angle of the light, cool breeze on the face, birdsong, contact with the earth, a taste of spring. And also, even within buildings, especially old or ancient ones, there is some connection to be found, experienced, known, with those who have lived there in the past.
Only looking back to the times when my thoughts were racing, streaming a rush of ideas into notebooks, ever more frantic, did I discover those note were increasingly incoherent, illegible, mostly their pages appear meaningless now.
As a writer, this may seem like heresy, but there are times when to describe a moment with words might take away its soul.
There are times
when to describe a moment
might take away its soul.
Where would I be if I had not had the breakdown, no breakdown at all? I would not have been me. The experience has given me a new platform, a creative outlet, to offer a voice, permission to share something which may be of insight to others. It became part of my writing, a thread running through my life, my poetry.
And so begins the ending of a story.