Every journey starts somewhere. Although this blog was launched only three years ago, WillSpirit probably began way back in 2000, right after my brain exploded.

Well, my head did not literally blow up, but back then explosion seemed the only word sufficient to convey the eruptive onset of a visionary state of mind that far exceeded any previous meditative (or even psychedelic) experience. That psychiatrists pronounced it a manic psychosis did not in the least undermine my conviction about the profundity of what was happening.

Along with the visions came a burgeoning sense of being called to connect my education in physics, biology, and medicine with spiritual Truths that suddenly seemed self-evident. In a grandiose state of mind, I imagined myself one of God’s chosen prophets. The gravity of my new mission felt irresistible and overpowering.

But it weakened. Maybe the medications calmed me and helped me see my limitations and lack of realism; or maybe they derailed me from my proper path. All I know is that before long the idea of connecting my scientific training with my mystical experience seemed terribly impractical. I went to graduate school in bioinformatics instead.

That was the first of many aborted career plans that followed the end of my profession as a surgeon. Readers know my latest flop was the acupuncture business. Time and again I’ve compromised my true interests and passions while aiming for something more likely to lead to worldly success. I now recognize this as a doomed strategy.

During a recent dinner with good friends, I watched my inward sense of vitality and outward appearance of animation build as I spoke about connections between Science and Spirit. For the first time in quite awhile I recognized how powerfully these parallels attract me.

I never was a scientist in the truest sense of the word. Although a devoted student of scientific subjects, I always felt bored and limited when working in a lab or doing field study. My interest is in drawing analogies, making intuitive leaps, and painting a global picture of reality that is consistent with science but closer in tenor to poetry. My deepest heart wants others to open their eyes to the sweeping vista of reality as it appears to me.

In all honesty, allowing my passion free reign feels more important than writing this blog, though WillSpirit remains quite dear to my heart. I recognize that penning my uneven essays here helps me and helps others; it is a small but important project that must continue. But something grander is begging to be born from this cracked shell of a person. Most likely, the resulting neonate will appear lovable to me and me only. But it needs to burst forth into this world and cry out its Love of Life.

No longer will it suffice for me to harass my friends and family with my intricate ideas about the Cosmos. Nor is it enough for me to write boring philosophical posts about the Universe and Humanity’s place in it. I need to complete the vital task laid before me twelve years ago. And at last I understand the form my message needs to take.

It isn’t a question of proving that a realm exists beyond the Newtonian worldview accepted by conventional science. Any honest assessment of available studies will show that reality is richer than the desiccated landscape painted by technocrats. True, only a few anomalous phenomena have been convincingly demonstrated, and little is understood about the nature or limits of this strange arena in which people know about the world in ways that contradict customary reality. But scientific evidence is not what I feel drawn to provide.

Skeptics will never be persuaded, and most of us seeking deeper answers to life’s dilemma need no further proof of mystery. What I think is within my power to offer is a poetic distillation of the creation story as told by science, beginning with the moment of the universe’s first explosion into space, and ending with the present day. I can speak to those who feel lost and yet hopeful that Life makes sense. Many must yearn to square transcendent and intuitive experiences with a scientific worldview that has proven its utility but has yet to demonstrate its humanity.

So here at WillSpirit I’ll keep writing about my fluctuating moods, my changing fortunes, and my ongoing efforts to keep myself sane. But in the background, and probably linked to this site, I want to start a new project. A life’s work, if you will.

And by Life’s Work I mean to highlight my sense of calling but also to describe the project itself. I will work to bring my notion of the sacred to bear on my notion of Life. Not because physics and biology haven’t been written about from spiritual stances before; many quality tomes about such topics line bookstore shelves. Not because anything I say will be unique or especially inspiring. This drive to write something worthy of the countless hours I’ve spent thinking about these subjects is fueled by a deep-seated need. A yearning to describe biology and physics in spiritual and poetic terms has gripped my soul since the first shattering awakenings so many years ago. WillSpirit served well as an initial step, but the time has come to go further. And at last my goal isn’t success, it’s expression.

Only by doing something that feels momentous will I cease feeling pointless and defeated. Only by undertaking a truly impractical task can I free myself from the bonds of mediocrity and repeated failure. If I’m going to try once again to produce, then I want to at least be listening to my heart this time. Better to incinerate my dreams in one massive volcanic caldera than let them once again sputter out like wet fuses.

Only when I speak or write about Life in all its complex glory, and Spirit in all its confusing paradox, do I feel truly inspired. Perhaps this is yet another false start. Maybe I’m overestimating my reach or (heaven forbid) feeling grandiose. But I’m beginning to see that fulfillment can only be found by concentrating on what most fulfills me.

My recent debate/discussion with Marian touched on the relationship between mental health and spirituality, which happens to be a topic that’s fascinated me since my hospitalization in 2000. Seems like a good time to blog about it.

My interest grew out of events leading up to and following that first hospitalization. The past few months had been rough: my career as a surgeon had ended; Mandy and I had sold our vintage San Francisco house and moved to a suburb (a decision I immediately regretted); a therapist of five years (who had led me through a lot of the childhood trauma and abuse, and who had given me a tentative sense of safety) moved to the East Coast; my one and only malpractice case settled against me; and my neck caused me constant excruciating pain. After a period in a psychiatric ward for suicidal depression, I found myself back in the ‘real’ world on new medications, but with no idea about what to do next.

After several days of escalating agitation, I spent a night without any sleep steeped in feelings of abject defeat. The next day, my consciousness was launched into a stunning series of spiritual experiences and epiphanies. They included visual hallucinations of something I understood to be God, auditory hallucinations of ineffably comforting celestial music, and ‘delusions’ of intimate connectedness with God. I felt in an intuitive way the intricate underpinnings of reality. For a brief period all time (from the first infinitesimal fraction of a second after big bang until the present moment) and all space (from an impossibly small subatomic scale out through the full span of the universe) seemed to hover in my awareness simultaneously, like an instantaneous glimpse of the full span of creation.

What may have affected me most, however, was the wordless sense that my mind, body and soul were suffused with peace. Without writing a multipage essay describing my ‘visions’ in detail, the best analogy would be that it was like standing in front of an open oven, feeling the glowing heat radiate and warm me. God’s love seemed to be washing over me in just that way.

I stayed in that place for several days, and it only gradually subsided over the next two years. Without the antipsychotics I was given in the second hospital, it likely would have lasted even longer. The experience changed my life. I converted to my wife’s childhood religion (Roman Catholicism), and was filled with the fervent belief that I had been touched by God, like Paul on the road to Damascus. (It’s important to note that my father raised me to believe that religion is mere fantasy, wishful thinking on the part of frightened and distressed masses.)

These deeply held religious convictions lasted about three years. In the ensuing six, I’ve explored a small galaxy of spiritual philosophies and beliefs. Sometimes I’m right back to the convinced atheism of my upbringing. More often, I have a vague sense that something mysterious and profound resonates through all matter and energy, a kind of mystical glue that connects and comprises everything in the universe, but is endowed with omniscient and seamless consciousness. This cosmic awareness percolates through all that surrounds us but flows like broad rivers in the matrices of our brains. Our minds hold deep lakes of this essence that both supports and subsumes the universe.

Pretty ‘New Age’, right? Like I say, I bounce around. Mostly, the popular concepts that purport to pin down spiritual reality (or its absence) strike me as both too specific and too unsubstantiated, so I just fall back on what is probably the only supportable philosophy: “I don’t know”. (I don’t refuse to engage the question in the fashion of modern agnosticism, which in my opinion leans too heavily toward presuming the absence of spiritual forces. Rather, it is my opinion that we simply cannot pin down reality at the present time. Maybe there is a mystical realm and maybe not. The humility required to remain in this stance (which is harder to achieve than it sounds) may be the truest form of spirituality.

What I can be sure of is that the experience of God exists, whether God does or not. I also know that when I act as if God is real (no matter what form I give it in my mind), I tend to feel better. So reaching a spiritual plane has definite advantages, even if the ‘supernatural’ realm is utter fantasy. Therefore, I try to buy as far into spiritual thought as I can at any given moment. Sometimes that is not very far at all. Other times, I find intimate places of serenity inside my mind and being, where my life makes sense, I feel I have purpose, and I know that love surrounds me.

What does this have to do with mental illness? More and more the mainstream mental health community is adopting mindfulness meditation. Such practice leads to a relaxed and open state of mind that stand in for the kinds of experiences religion provides at its best (without the xenophobia, intolerance, and dogmatism that religion brings at its worst). Often, therapists and other mental health workers go further and encourage practices based on supernaturalism, such as getting involved in one’s natal religion, or any spiritual community that feels right. The mental health world takes this approach because it can work.

I have found that meditation and spiritual pursuits help me to the extent I practice them. Mindfulness meditation (which means moving away from verbal thought and focusing attention on the body’s moment-to-moment experience) often feels quite calming and centering. It is right up there with vigorous exercise as a stress management tool, except it leads to a deep sense of unity with my body (and sometimes even with all creation) rather than the stimulating endorphin rush of a good workout.

If I allow myself to abandon critical thought (which is exactly what modern atheists consider an anathema), mystical forces sometimes feel both real and present. These influences, whatever they are, seem to care for me and promote my best interest (not always what I want, but generally what seems right later on). I could just be sensing hidden streams of neural activity that promote my well being. But whatever the ‘truth‘, abandoning my doubt and accepting this fount of support helps me enjoy life. It helps me maintain the commitment to keep living it.

I don’t disagree. And it’s not too radical.

I regret ever starting medication. But now that I’m on them, if I reduce the dose too quickly I get depressed. Yes, I can tolerate depression and even see some majesty in understanding how deeply sad and messed up the world is. But after weeks and months of that, suicide starts looking like a really, really nice option. I would have ended my life long ago if not for my wife. Since I don’t want to wreck her world, I choose to increase the dose to give myself at least a little will to live.

I don’t care whether you call it ‘disordered’ or ‘gifted’, it makes it hard to live. So hard that I’m surprised I’ve made it this far. Is it genetic? Probably; my mother killed herself. Is it environmental: Yes; I was horribly abused as a child. Do I care? Not really; all I know is I get very little joy out of life much of the time, and especially if I reduce the medications too quickly. That lack of joy is what led me to take drugs back when I started in 1995. They worked at first, then quit working. Now, like Alice in Wonderland, I need them just to keep from falling deeper, but I don’t get anywhere solid.

Cognitive techniques, acceptance training, meditation, etc., all do much more than drugs. And when I practice them diligently I do OK. But my point is that in my case whether it’s a gift or not it wrecks my life. There may be some nobility to that, but I don’t want to be a martyr and accept all the suffering of mankind at the expense of any enjoyment in life.

I don’t hear voices. I had one long episode of florid psychosis, during which I had powerful spiritual experiences, and some visual hallucinations with a chorus of angels singing in the background. Very beautiful. Went to the psych ward and had it hammered down to mere ‘delusions’ with haldol. I regret that. I don’t think it was illness; it truly was Grace. I’d gladly live in that state forever, regardless the consequences to my life.

But if I had voices telling me to kill myself and others, especially if I was trying to practice medicine, I’d probably get tired of it. Maybe those voices are demonstrating the truth: yes, the world is a painful place and what people are doing to it and to each other is brutal and ugly. Maybe suicide and homicide are the natural responses to this place. But for my part I would not want to live with that message being shouted at me day in and day out.

My impression from the film was not that Ruth’s voices left her. Rather, she learned to live with them. Good for her. I would not have made that choice, but it was a brave decision and I applaud her.

I use the term ‘psychiatrically disordered’ as shorthand for ‘having a mind that works in a way that doesn’t fit well with the modern world.’ It would be great if the world would change, but of course it won’t. If one wants to accept all the difficulties that having a ‘different’ mind bring, I don’t see any problem with that (provided the person doesn’t harm anyone besides himself or herself). I don’t even see anything wrong with suicide (outside of the pain it causes loved ones): in my opinion it is a perfectly rational response to this culture.

But many people want to try to fit in. My impression has been that for some people, the drugs help. When I get really hypomanic I sometimes am glad to take a pill to get some sleep. Yes, that reduces the edgy excitement of my experience, but I accept that. If I heard voices telling me horrible things all the time, and if a pill would help I would take it. Even if it meant reducing the range of my experience.

My concern is suffering. I understand that suffering is inevitable, even magnificent. But it gets tiresome. And it can lead you to kill yourself. Since I am not ready to do that yet, I take the pills that keep me from the deepest recesses of my abyss. Like I say, I wish I’d never taken the first one. I think I would probably be about where I am now, only I would not have the necessity to take a Wonderland pill just to stay alive. But whether that is true or not, I am currently taking the medications to take the sharpest point off my pain, though always trying to reduce the dosages.

Like I say, I don’t disagree with you. But (in this response to your response) I stand by the initial point I made in my comment about your post: every case is unique. I just want to be respected for my own choices and my own take on things. And I believe everyone else deserves the same.

Today, Marian at Different Thoughts talks about a movie that’s right up my alley. As always, I wrote a lengthy comment, but then decided it was unfair to place so much text on her site. So I’m posting the bulk of my thoughts here. It gets the really long post I did yesterday away from the top slot, in favor of something short enough that it might actually be read.

Her topic is a film called The Doctor Who Hears Voices. It is the story of a British physician with auditory, persecutory hallucinations. She gets treatment from a psychologist who forgoes drugs in favor of conservative management, including direct engagement with the internal voices.

One point the film makes clear to me is that every case of mental illness is unique. Some who hear voices can learn to cope with them the way most people tolerate negative ‘self-talk’. There may also be those who really need help with pharmaceuticals. At the same time, there are probably doctors with psychiatric problems who should be barred from practice permanently, but there are others who just need to take a break until things settle down. After that they can return to patient care, and bring their experience of real-life hardship to bear on the suffering of those who come to them for help. (For the record, I have abandoned all intention to return to practice, though without doubt I could do it safely and well.)

Many people in our overcrowded culture are not comfortable making such distinctions, or trusting others to do so on their behalf. Evidently, it is easier to simply hear the term ‘mentally ill’ and conclude the person must take powerful drugs, and be removed from all positions of responsibility. (In my post yesterday I wrote about how much society mistrusts the mentally ill.) On the other hand, it is just as facile to decide, on behalf of every psychiatrically disordered patient, that medications should never be given, reasoning that they just cause people to become ‘dumb and stupid’  (the description used by the psychologist in the movie).

Ideally, we would have assessment tools that would allow us to distinguish different situations, and decide (for instance) who requires medications, or who can prudently work as a physician. However, at present no such prognostication is possible. Or perhaps that’s to the best; maybe we need to encourage each person to make their own best choices. Perhaps if we provided ways for people to apply their unique qualities productively, there would be no need to lie on job applications, as the film seems to advocate. I don’t blame Ruth (the physician in the film) for hiding the extent of her symptomatology, by the way; I know firsthand the terror of believing your career as a physician might end. But it would be nice if she could be honest, still practice within her capability with available help if the voices become too intrusive. That would be better than my fear that she might push herself too hard and keep seeing patients at times when she is too distracted to make good clinical decisions. (Of course, you don’t need to be mentally ill to get too distracted to practice optimally.)

In the end, the best short-term answer is education. Each person with psychiatric symptoms deserves to know all options, to talk with people who’ve tried different approaches, and make their own best decision. Medications can sometimes provide the breathing space to learn about one’s dilemma and decide how to go forward in life. This needs to be respected as a valid path, but it should be followed by help and encouragement with tapering off the drugs. Some people elect to stay on pharmaceutical agents long term; they should be be guided toward the minimum number of pills required to keep them functional. We in the consumer community should be supportive of those who decide on that route, and understand that for some medications may be required for a satisfactory life. And there will be those like Ruth who select an alternative track. It is important that the treatment community learn to believe that such progress is possible, and not insist that medications are the only responsible option.

This film is a step in the direction of showing people different possibilities. I would happily play it for someone newly diagnosed with a psychiatric illness, to show one justifiable way to go. I would also emphasize that other choices are equally valid, and that there is no approach that suits everyone. Each person’s illness is unique, and everybody has their own value structure and preferred ways of solving problems. What needs to be avoided, at all cost, is imposing a monolithic strategy on everyone. Unfortunately, things are kind of like that right now. Few patients with psychiatric illness are given any choice in what approach they want. Most are just put on the standard pharmaceutical cocktail, and labelled ‘noncompliant’ if they deviate from it.

But the other side can be a little oppressive too. There is so much free-floating anger about medications coming from those that oppose them, that I have to fight hard not to feel bad about myself because I am still taking drugs. I feel awful enough about the shattering side effects (which as I’ve hinted before I hope to some day have the courage to write about), without also being told that it is wrong to take drugs at all. Even with all my bad experiences, I think it is important to reman open minded about medications. At the very least they can be helpful in the short term, and I seem to still require them to remain more or less comfortable.

I am glad Different Thoughts directed me to this movie. I learned about another mentally ill physician, and saw an example of how even severe psychiatric symptoms can be accommodated without medication.