This is a very long and involved journal. I know people don't usually read these things all the way through, (and maybe thats a good thing!), but this is one of the more personal ones I've ever written. So, if you want to get a glimpse of my twisted little mind, read on. If not...run screaming for the hills!
I think it might well help explain why I didn't have many friends growing up
"These who think -and their name is legion- that they know how the universe could have been better than it is, how it would have had they created it, without pain, without sorrow, without time, without life, are unfit for illumination. Or those who think -as do many - "Let me first correct society, then get around to myself" are barred from even the outer gate of the mansion of God's peace. ...
If you really want to help this world, what you will have to teach is how to live in it. And that no one can do who has not himself learned how to live in it in the joyful sorrow and ssorrowful joy of the knowledge of life as it is"
-Joseph Campbell "Myths to Live By"
I remember a time, and it must have been in second grade, that a fellow classmate held his breath so long in the lunch room that he passed out. I first heard abut it in Music class that day; there was a general buzz amongst us kids. "Why did he do it?", "Did he get in trouble?", "Did they call his parent?" were the questions that were on everybody's lips.
Everybody's, that is, except for mine. There were only two questions which screamed inside my brain at that point, and when I next saw the kid (his name was Jed, I remember, although I can't remember his last name. He had a twin sister named Jessie) I nearly man handled him in my excitement. "What was it like", was the first question. The second, and this suprises me a bit to this day, was; "What did you see?"
I was a strange child. I know that, looking back. I didn't have much of a knowledge of what "psychology" was, or "philosophy" for that matter; but I seemed to have had a pretty good grasp on the concepts even so. In a slightly mixed-up 7 year-old way at least.
I seem to have been convinced at the time, and lord knows how I got the notion, that if you passed out of somehow lost conciousness, you SAW things. And, even more interestingly, the things you saw were True; more true than the things you see in everyday life, although a bit more confusing.
Maybe it came from my reading of Greek Mythology as a kid (In those stories, heros are always falling asleep to be visited by the God's in their dreams). I'd become enamored by it when I was 4 or so; about the same time I went through the prerequisite "Dinosaur Stage" that all young boys seem to hit (in my case, my three big interests in Elementary School were; Astronomy, Dinosaurs, and Mythology). It later caused me a bit of a problem as I grew up; I'd had a better introduction to the ancient Greek religion than I did to my own. I remember telling a shocked classmate in 1st grade that Zeus "made more sense" to me than "Jesus" who I couldn't exactly wrap my mind around.
I forget how Jed answered my questions; although I do remember being a bit dissapointed. I remember thinking that he'd either forgotten, or was making the entire thing up. I was certain that, if he'd done it correctly, he'd have been given some great wisdom that I desperatly wanted to hear; not simply saw flashes of light. Flashes of Light; how droll was that?
A year or so before this entire incident, my Mother had a nightmare. My Aunt Bernie was staying at our house and went out to the road to check the mail. My Mother looked out through the front window and saw a bear stalking her sisiter and screamed to her. My Mother ran from the house to warn her, and they both ran back into the safety of the house where they were stuck with the bear stalking around outside.
Why she told me about this dream, I don't know; I think I woke up in the morning and saw her looking worried and asked her what the matter was. I listened to the dream and said; "You know, things in dreams sometimes mean something else. Like the bear might mean something else" (I don't think I understood the word 'symbol' yet, mind you)
So, yes, at the age of 6; I was psychoanalysing my Mother's dreams. I don't think I did that good of a job of it but, mind you, I was 6 years old. I couldn't even ride my bike yet (which is another story which I'll tell some other time; it involves my Dad throwing my bike into a swamp in frustration, and my Mother storming out of the house and reading him the riot act!)
I was talking to my Mother the other week and, although she's happy that I'm going to Grad School for History ("at least you're getting away from those horrid kids", she said in reference to my former students), she says that I'm missing my true calling and that I should be going into Psychology instead.
I pointed out that my Dad didn't become a Psychologist, even though he loves Psychology as well.
"Yah", he quiped, "I think he dropped the ball on that one, too. You both are so good at it."
The truth of the matter is that I really did think about it. For awhile it was up in the air between History, Psychology, and Business Managment (I don't know exactly why I was thinking of the later, myself). Eventually I settled on History because it was my Undergraduate degree, and because I really do cherish it.
There was also the fact that, if I became a psycholgist, it meant that I'd have to treat people. My experiences with teaching, where so many of my students were damaged in one form or another, scared me away from it. And, lets face it; most of my interest in Psychology (and Philosophy, and Literature, and Music, and Mythology....ahh, Mythology. Possibly the greatest love of my life, next to my beloved Wisconsin and Family) is purly personal.
Remember that story at the beginning of this journal? Well, I'm still searching for that knowledge. I've been plumbing myself for years now, off an on, trying to get to the bottom of myself, trying to mine the materials needed to reach my full potential. Jung would say that I'm trying to self-actualize. I'm not sure if I'll ever reach the peak of this mountain I'm climbing (and, I doubt it. I really don't think there is a peak), but I plan on getting far.
Its suprisingly dangerous work; the chances of getting lost in the tangled forest are pretty great. Especially as I don't, and can't really, have any guides for what I'm doing.
I remember my first year of teaching, I'd been reading a lot of Mythology. Not just reading it, but thinking about it constantly, turning it around in my head; meditating on it, if you would. I actually began to feel a....slipping, is maybe the best way to put it. It felt physical, although I know it wasn't. Things just suddenly seemed to be letting go.
IU recognized it, partially, and retreated as quickly as I could; down that path lead either illumination or psycosis and, to this day, I don't know which it was. I've been a bit more careful since then; but it still haunts me a bit. Mainly because I'm still not sure which of the two it was.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
And it's after 3 AM and I've been listening to a very weird (even by my standards) 22 1/2 minute piece I recorded circa 1987 on guitars and synthesizers and other keyboards with some weird effects (including some 'laughter' of loons at sunrise played backwards with varying echo effects) entitled "Nighttime Excursion Through The Synthetic Jungle" under the pseudonym 'Genji Muffenflower & His Eggplant Titmouse Orchestra.'
My brain is squirming like a toad.
First, Joseph Campbell rules. He's had not only a profound influence on me throughout my Life, but has been vastly quoted and influential in music. Jimmy Page and The Grateful Dead come to mind first - the latter actually worked with him on occasion, providing music for some of his shows. With a name culled from an American Heritage Dictionary entry referring to old Folk tales as well as being a term in The Egyptian Book O f Th Dead, this shouldn't be too much of a surprise, though.
Enough on Campbell and such. On to the passing out kid.
I was reading within the last year about kids VERY commonly suffocating themselves and each other intentially for the "high" (actually apoxia and its resultant neurolysis secondary - in other words, getting not high, but stupid -like inhalant-huffing). There was a sort of local kid found dead in her room having strangled herself for the rush.
Now, as to the "seeing things," I used to like spinning until dizzy, partly becasue of the stroboid effects on my vision as I whirled, and partly because of the ensuing dizziness. But, what first came to mind as I read this was something Neil Young once said about his epilepsy. Backstory- although he was in Buffalo Springfield and always around tons of psychedelics, he never took LSD because he was afraid, and it was a warranted fear, that in might exacerbate his condition. He had seizures on stage from time to time, to the extent that some bandmatesuspected him of faking it to get the attention of women (Neil was notoriously shy and insecure around the hipppie chicks at the time). Anyway, he said the experiences his friends described were just like his post-seizure mindstates. He said sometimes there would be a whole world with an entirely different cast of characters - my ex was not epileptic but during her alcohol psychosis states she would suddenly thing everyone was someone else - and people that never ACTUALLY existed - and would treat people according to the fictional persons she thought they were - then she'd have no memory of the entire chapter in her Life.
Back to Neil, in his post-seizure world, the people were childlike and lies were nonexistent. You know, like how a child is appalled the first tiem s/he hears his/her parents be dishonest in the least? He came out of one of these excursions into his alternate reality (often makes me wonder about the possibilty that these psychotic states might not be delusions at all, but may indeed be doors into truly existant areas in the Multiverse) and his personal physician, who lived on his Broken Arrow Ranch, suggested they don't tell pepole about the seizure to avoid unnecessary publicity or concern and to protect his privacy. Neil was mortified, still in the childlike semi-dream state and said something like "You mean . . .lie???"
Oh, and I think History was likely a good choice for you. That said, psychology doesn't necessarily mean having to overtly treat patients. There are areas of research that could be explored. Of course, those usually necessitate interaction with patients for the purposes of Observation, Interpretaton, and Speculation, which is, I suppose, not TOO far removed to treating them.
Well, I read your entire JE.
Will you make it through this entire comment?