Dear reader, I know what you think. He’s gone completely mad and he’s had his mystic crisis. Can’t help it, I’m bipolar. I can attempt to sound rational on the subject but I cannot exclude myself from my own theory. It would be lying and lacks cleanliness in the sense of Nietzsche’s terminology. I’m in my own world vision. It is very difficult to bear this burden on my frail shoulder. Again, being bipolar enables you to be crazy and normal, to be within and to be out. We human beings cannot figure out the truth because we live in there. We cannot have an external point of view of our world for we are prisoners of it. Isn’t it craziness that allows this external point of view which provides a more acute perspective than the one of a healthy person?
I will undoubtedly never be able to answer this simple question: Is the experience that I described in the previous post an evidence of my madness? I have no answer. The strangest thing is that this experience did not have any explicit impact on the behaviors of my first episode. Certainly, I thought I was god but there was no mental reference whatsoever to this unique experience. I believe my brain wanted to deny and forget this terrible trauma. Moreover, in manic state, there are so many ideas in your head that you just can’t cling to one. You’re bound to live in an ever whirling present. All in all, what followed this event didn’t depend on this event…Consciously. However I believe my subconscious was surely dealt a hell of a blow.
I mentioned earlier that bipolars tend to sort out delusions from the rest. Precisely, the revelation is part of the rest which you cannot come up with a satisfying explanation. Of course you think of delusions, disturbed conscious state or abnormal electro-chemical transmissions between neurons. When I got back to euthymia, the event was stored to the place you can see at the end of the movie raiders of the lost ark. I think that the warehouse idea is great for it blends an element of mystery and a kind of x-files touch. Some months after the end of the episode I, mystery lost a part of its thickness. The question mark was made not uniquely made of unknown; it was also based on my own ignorance.
Life sometimes provides us with partial answers. You need to let chance guide your steps. My mother is a strong believer. To her, Faith is a continuous and clever dialog with reason. I have inherited this sense of dialog. For me, the interaction is between reason and craziness. My mother buys books and I must admit that I often read them. They are about faith and Jesus. I like to read randomly and get immersed. I am an easily swayed sponge. I had to be nothing until the jigsaw pieces fitted together. A new book was lying around above the piano. My mother’s books ultimately land on the piano. Maybe books are the music of the soul. The title of the new book reads: “Enquêtes sur les anges gardiens” (Investigation on guardian angels). It surprised me because my mother was not used to reading this kind of literature. I didn’t pay attention; I had to get off the beaten tracks. I needed something unusual which would resonate with the analysis I had carried out of my first manic episode.
According to me, there are three categories of book: The ones that you devour, the ones that you taste and the ones that you don’t read. The ones that you devour take you three days to read. They are in essence stories, things easy to understand which consolidate, reveal or reinforce what you already know. The ones that you taste are difficult. They teach you new things that you don’t understand in the first place. It is like climbing a mountain, travel to the unknown and get back to where you started feeling less stupid than before. Books you don’t read are simply the books that you don’ read. They’re not part of the random selection on your life path to truth. Let’s put this straight. You never discover truth. At some point, you simply realize how wrong you were. There is always an eye behind your head that reinterprets the past on the basis of what you have learned.
The reading of the “investigation on guardian angels” belongs to the first two categories. You devour this book like a popular book but at the same time the reading drives you to some other paths which were far from me. The author’s vision was appealing to me: I’m not religious; I don’t believe in this bullshit but there are strange things happening here though, something similar to my own craziness. Let’s put that again straight; I don’t believe in guardian angels however the book had open a door. Something spiritual could be expressed outside the rigid framework of churches. I did trust the book because the last chapters provided a clarification to the mystery of my revelation. Indeed, I could put now a name on my experience: “Near death experience”, NDE.
The objective of this blog is not to elaborate much on NDE because a scant literature must exist on the subject on the internet. All I can say is that my experience follows the same pattern as this phenomenon and whenever I hear from it, I pay attention. It is of extremely importance for people suffering from a mental illness to not feel exceptional or unique. This leads to messianic delusions. The sheer fact to name the phenomenon makes you accept its paradoxical banality. There cannot be millions of messiah. That’s not logical. This is the message I send to my next episode: there’s nothing extraordinary and, think about it like the wink of a woman’s eye.
It was not a complete delusion then. Millions of American have shared this delusion, thus, I don’t believe it is one. The only question of interest for me is whether or not it was congruent with my manic episode. Was I in a near death state? I hardly believe so; I was in a hospital kept under medical scrutiny for something which was not serious. I was in a super good shape, you can imagine. Was it this magnesium prick that started the whole thing? Did medic made a mistake in my treatment? If my brain stopped breathing, how could I say hello to dad, terrified but lively? All I can reasonably say is that my NDE happened when I was manic. This is the first observation. The second is I believe what see and what I saw was a terrible force that my “brain” called “loved”. Maybe I will allow myself to talk about things like soul (my simplest me) and god? These words sound a little bit unusual these days…
That was not the end of it…
Frankie goes to Hollywood / the power of love
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
The power of love
A force from above
A sky-scraping dove.