Sometimes It Helps To Be A Little Mad

There are times when I am asked about my life, about the changes that I have been through, the places that I have been, the things that I have done.  As I explain the events of my recent past, as I describe my experiences, as I list the countries in which I have visited and lived, as I give the reasons for doing what I have done, I hear my own voice as if it were spoken by another.  I hear the tiny vibrations of air that pass between my lips and form into words, and I wonder if in fact, when it comes down to it, could it be that perhaps I am just a little mad?

How then could I explain my life if it were not otherwise?  A person of rational, sound thought and mind would surely not lead the life that I lead.  To have at one time, known a life of comfort and security, of which so many others can only hope, and to have left it all behind, to strike out into the unknown, with no real sense of where I was going, what I was going to do, and what would happen after I did it.  I disposed of all of my possessions, systematically, machine like, devoid of any emotional connection to them.  I decided that everything, except some small mementoes and sentimental items would have to go.  I saw everything only as a link back to the past that I was trying to leave behind, a knot that bound me to my old life that I needed to sever.  It was as though a madness were upon me, driving me on, telling me that these things had to be done.

It is almost eight years now since I heard myself resigning from my job at IBM.  Those words came out in a moment of madness that, at the time, I thought I might come to regret.  I knew nothing back then of all that was to come, I knew only that I wanted some other path for my life.  If it had not been for my madness, I could not know what it was to scuba dive, I would never have stroked my hand down the side of a tiger shark, I would never have pulled my car up on the side of the road and watched a male lion who stood barely six feet away, I would never know what it was to listen to whale song under the ocean, I would never have met so many incredible, inspiring and amazing people, I would never have seen humpback whales leaping from the ocean, I would have never glided with giant manta rays through the ocean, I would never have turned my hand to writing, I would never have helped those people I have helped, nor inspired those I have inspired, I would never have learned all that I have learned, and I would never have understood that the secret to life was held in a single, simple word called love. 

Without that moment of madness, my life would be different.  I cannot say it would have been better or worse.  I know only that which I know now, which is that since the moment when I resigned, I have never felt a single pang of regret for the life that I left behind.  Perhaps down the other path I would have found my love, my partner and my family?  I will never know.  Would I trade that for all that I has happened to me in these eight years?  Never.  That particular dream is still very much alive and one that will come to fruition when the time is right for me and for her.  That is just the way it needs to be.  

If I am suffering from a touch of madness, then from where could it originate?  As I was sitting up in bed this morning, reading and sipping my morning coffee, my thoughts turning towards my chaotic life, I made a decision to begin to write my thoughts down.  As I commenced the writing of this post, I had a thought that leaped out at me.  Perhaps I was born with the madness in my blood and in my soul.  It was not a thing that I planted and grew, rather, it was already within me, biding it's time, slowly growing its roots and waiting for the right moment to push its head above the soil and show itself to me.  That one single moment of time when it knew I would begin to listen to its voice.  So, if I did not invent the madness for myself, if it was already within me, from whence could it have come? 

From our mother's and our father's comes our blood.  From their parents, so too came theirs and so forth and so forth, back thousands of years to the very dawning of human existence, nay, to the very dawning of life on this planet.  With their blood comes the DNA and genetic code, the building blocks of what creates me, what creates you, of what defines how we will look and how we will think.  Is it possible too, that within the blood that pulses through our veins, that we also carry an accumulation of all of our ancestors hopes, dreams, whims and urges?  Within the blood, could there be a secret essence of life, a purpose that drives us ever on.  Perhaps, that is why we feel our dreams and our emotions so keenly from the heart.  The heart is the centre of  the blood flow, everything goes in and out from there, so naturally, that would be why we hold our dreams and our love within our heart's.  Why could that not be true?  That the blood line of our ancestors must go on, ever evolving, ever reaching out, until we have evolved spiritually and fulfilled our one true destiny, until we have accomplished the goal that was set before us at the dawning of time?  I like this thought.  It brings a smile to my lips and a joy to my heart.  The thought that I am continuing the dreams of my father and my grandfather brings me closer to them in spirit.

Even if the blood theory is wrong, it makes no difference.  We are taught from our parents and they from theirs.  With each passing generation, we are moulded by their learning, by their views of life, by their hopes, their dreams, their failures, their joys, their disappointments and most importantly of all, by their love.  From generation to generation, the accumulation of spiritual evolution is passed and as we, in our turn, carry that flaming torch, it is up to each of us to decide how we will write our own story.  How is it that we will help turn the wheel of spirtual evolution and what is it that we will pass down the line, to those that come after?  In the movie Dead Poets Society, there is a moment where Mr Keating (Robin Williams) recites a poem by Walt Whitman that contains the line, "That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."  What will be the verse that I choose to write in the play of life?

We can chose to move the spiritual evolution forward, we can turn the wheel and in doing so, add our own piece to the jigsaw.  Perhaps ours will be the last, perhaps ours will be only a tiny part of a much greater picture, perhaps ours is a magic piece that brings everything together, paving the way for those that will come after.  All that matters is that we do turn the wheel.  I don't see spiritual growth as a choice, I view it more as a duty.  To carry out that duty, we need only listen to the voice from within - the voice of our heart.

There it is.  The heart.  It always comes back to this one single, beautiful, miracle of nature.  The heart speaks with the voice of love and the voice of love originates from the centre of universe, it is the power that holds everything together, it is THE force of the universe, the force of life.  I've written before of being heartstrong and it is true of every single person on this planet.  The only thing that makes a difference between each of us, is whether we chose to act upon the callings and the urges of our heart's. 

When you look into the eyes of a certain person and in your heart a voice calls out, you are presented with a choice: act, or do not act.  It is that simple.  If I choose to act, then I follow my heart's desire, I follow a whim of madness in thinking and believing that this other person who stands in front of me may feel the same quickening of their pulse, the same racing of their blood in their veins, the same flutter of their heart.  It is the same feeling that occurs when you think of your dreams, when you hold a picture of a certain mountain, an ocean, a river, a desert in your mind, or when you picture yourself as a teacher, an artist, a writer, a singer, a chef, or whatever it is that is your heart's desire.  It is love. 

To be heartstrong is to listen to, and to follow your heart.  I am going to add another attribute of what it means to be heartstrong.  To be heartstrong means that you must be mad, since only the mad among us, dare to dream and not only dream, we dare to follow the voice inside of us.  We are the believers, we are the listeners, we are the walkers.  We are filled with love because love is the force, and we smile, we laugh, we do crazy things, because we of the heartstrong are possessed with a madness.  And being mad certainly helps just a little.

~ ~ ~ 

Oh me! Oh Life! by Walt Whitman

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

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