After I graduated from the University of Virginia, I was diagnosed with manic-depressive illness, or bipolar disorder.  From May, 2002 until February, 2005, I was hospitalized seven times.  I have been committed in Pennsylvania, Hong Kong, North Carolina, Key West and three times in Los Angeles.  I was convinced that my illness was spiritual in nature.  My visions were real.  These were the end times, and I was a prophet, if not the Savior Himself.  However, my ending was a bit different.  I was here as an ark for all souls past, present and future, and specifically I had come back for Satan, my beloved child, who I cut off from the light, from myself.  I was the eighth Buddha, and no one would know that the end had come until I passed.  Then, it would all be over, but in a good way.  All would enter the kingdom of heaven through me.

    Sound familiar?  

    Evidently, there is a fine line between inspiration and insanity.  It’s a razor-sharp line not worth walking.  So, every night, I take a pill that makes God go away.  Without this medication, I’d be wandering the streets following visions on my divine mission.  Perhaps I would have founded my own religion by now in a world of desperate seekers of God and His will.  With my meds, I no longer see the meaning of the universe in a piece of trash on the side of the road or in the blue light emanating from the steeple of a church.  Instead, I discovered my own willful desire of being grounded, balanced and living in accord with life and death on this earth.

    In retrospect, my sickness was one of depth perception:  I looked into everything.  Everything spoke to me.  Many explorers through the doors of perception take drugs to induce ecstasy or a feeling of connectedness to what is unseen.  If I could bottle my brain chemistry to induce temporary states of mania, I’d probably be a wealthy man.  Perhaps I could have capitalized on my experiences to found a religion or sect of one of the many cults so popular today.  Instead, I tried a host of medications.  In the end, a high dosage of a new antipsychotic did the job.  No one had to drill a hole in my head to release the evil spirits.  No exorcism was performed.  No prayer produced any miracles.  It was modern science and the return of a rational mind that delivered me from servitude to an anthropomorphic God that did not exist.  My waking dream had ended, and I became a man both in the world and of it.

    Still, everyday people experiment with drugs, prayer and other means to see what’s behind the curtain.  Whether influenced by genetics, psychotropic agents, the ascetic experience or other mechanisms, people across centuries and civilizations have experienced induced states of ecstasy often accompanied by voices and visions.  These divine experiences have inspired religious leaders and founders of world religions, not to mention many of their followers.  However, according to the DSM-IV, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mood Disorders, these mystical experiences have all the hallmarks of psychotic episodes.  Beginning with the work of William James, research has suggested a strong correlation between religiosity and mental illness.  Now that mood disorders have become better classified, and their prevalence and manifestations are better understood, what distinguishes religious experiences from mental illness?

    “The difference is that the one who cracks up is drowning in the water in which the mystic swims.”  - Joseph Campbell

    Now, I don’t claim to be a mystical adept.  In fact, I struggle to keep my head above water.  I’d call myself a frustrated artist, but I have yet to find my creative outlet.  So, instead, what I have to share is my personal odyssey, or fall, into the seas of the unconscious and the return to reality.  Though I may not be able to control my feelings of loneliness and isolation, I do know that I am not alone.  With suffering, that is compassion, follows great clarity and depth of experience, a foundation for purpose and meaning that cannot be taught but only accepted.