A simple definition?
Recently, I asked a psychologist friend for the definition of insanity.
He thought about it, then asked, “Do you want the clinical definition? —the popular definition? —or the personal one?”
Intrigued by these differentiations, I studied him for a moment, then cocked my head. “All of them.” I raised an eyebrow and leaned toward him. “If you don’t mind.”
“Okay.” He nodded, smiled, took a deep breath. “The clinical definition — from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Version 5 — says insanity is mental illness of such a severe nature that a person cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, cannot conduct their affairs due to psychosis, or is subject to uncontrollable impulsive behavior.”
I nodded. “Interesting. And the popular definition?” I added, grinning, “I feel like maybe I should know this one.”
He laughed. “Want to take a shot?”
“Okay. Is it that saying — you know — that it’s when someone keeps doing the same thing over and over yet expects different results? I don’t think that’s exactly how you say it, but is that the gist?”
“That’s it!” He smiled, then continued.
Personally speaking
“What I know personally of insanity is,” he took a deep breath as if to bolster himself, “when someone you love goes missing... and you never find out what happened to them.”
The air seem to grow thick between us. You could almost feel a heavy sort of ‘thud.’
He continued, “So whatever issues were going on between you two that were so important,” he shrugged, “hardly matters anymore. Whatever questions were on the table, all that was unsaid, all your plans together — so much of the ‘stuff’ of your life — disappears with them."
I sat, silent, focused on my friend, on the wound he lay open before me. He took a deep breath and continued.
"The insanity really kicks in when you have to find a way to keep going. All you can think about is ‘what happened?’ Yet there’s nothing to be done. The world doesn’t stop for your pain. Not for a second. There’s a tendency to feel lost, misunderstood, alone."
I leaned forward and asked, tentatively, "Did you know me then?" He shook his head.
Not alone
"Unfortunately, there’s a lot of people out there who know exactly what it’s like to lose someone this way. There's any number of people in the throws of that pain right this minute. Yet they are 'carrying on' as if all is as it should be. We both may have interacted with someone like that and never knew: a clerk, a barber, a salesman, a teacher. I know because for a long time, it was me. You never know what people are going through.”
My face softened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
He nodded, “It was some time ago. But during that time, some of my actions — and especially my neglect — must have seemed insane to people around me. My big take away hasn't been about myself as much as realizing my place with other people. Since you never know what someone is going through — not even when you think you do — it's a good idea to be supportive and kind anyway. You know," he winked, "whether they need it or not.”
Silence revisited, until he quietly offered, “It changes you, that kind of loss. We think of our lives as a story. How we met will be a story we tell our grandchildren some day. We had a fantastic ‘how we met’ story. But our whole story never developed. Just when I was beginning something amazing with someone I’d been hoping for, waiting for, for so long, it was over. And the end didn’t seem to have anything to do with us. There was no closure. We don’t write stories like that for a reason. That kind of story isn’t satisfying. We need to understand.”
Moving on
I looked at him hopefully. “So, you said it’s been awhile. Have you moved on? ” I shrugged, “You have to move on, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t believe in ‘happily ever after’ anymore. That’s off the table. But at the same time, I can’t give in to cynicism. That makes the pain worse. Unbearable, actually. I don’t want to be jaded or bitter, in fact, just the opposite.” He struggled for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he remembered something.
The dream
“I had a recurring dream back then. I’m walking on a deserted beach as the sun is setting. The burnt-orange reflection echoes across the water as the waves roll in and crash onto the shore. That motion has vibrancy, rhythm, constancy — almost like it’s reaching out to comfort me. I focus on the waves — the beginning of a new wave forming off the larger body of water. It’s there briefly — for just seconds, really — then dissolves back into the sea, which is vast, serene, unaffected. It’s all so seamless, a rolling symphony of water, ebbing and flowing, rising and falling, all as it should be."
He paused to gather his thoughts, then offered, "Even though it may seem like different things going on it’s all one entity. I take in the calm of the ocean, the certainty of the horizon where the sea meets the sky. And I realize if I take a deep enough dive inside myself, there is calm. There is serenity. And it’s a serenity that doesn’t depend on what happens in the world around me. It’s there no matter what. It gives me hope for a new way to continue.”
A new kind of love
“A new way?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, more like a new outlook on the nature of love, or maybe loving-kindness.”
I rolled my head back and squinted my eyes, “Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Romantic love for me was about pinning most of my emotional needs on one person. The tendency was to focus on our happiness — just the two of us. So, as long as we were there for each other, all was well. That was my benchmark. When things weren’t right between us — let’s say a misunderstanding — well, it was much more consuming than it needed to be."
Shaking his head he smiled, then continued. "After my fiancée went missing, I found my grief made me more aware of other people’s pain. It also made me realize that these emotions aren’t unique to specific relationships. Which made me realize, there’s no outside fix for this. Ultimately I healed from within. I drew strength from that deep sense of inner serenity. I changed my focus from looking for love outside of myself to drawing love from the serenity of my inner self — a vastly more stable source.”
How to get there?
“Are you talking about some sort of meditation?” I was struggling to make the connection.
“Not in the sense of Eastern meditation. Though, no doubt, that’s one way of achieving inner peace. No, for me it’s more like changing your mind as you go about your day. An awakening, if you will. For example, outwardly, I still express compassion for people in pain. But in my mind, I think of their ability to rise above it. I think of their strength — like the calm serenity of that vast sea."
I nodded, "The dream!"
Nodding, he continued, "Honestly, I used to feel threatened by other people’s pain. I’d feel myself pull away emotionally, even though I’d try to be sympathetic. I think I was afraid of getting sucked in to it. Now I’m able to be more present, without trying to solve their problems or say the right thing. I know I'm not going to give in to despair. I feel peaceful."
It made sense what he was saying. I offered, "They sense your peace, don't they?"
"I believe so. Imagine you’re in pain and you’re sitting with someone who’s quietly radiating waves of deep peace. It feels good, at a time when hardly anything does. And, in changing my focus away from a person-oriented love as my source, my daily life has echoes of a profound peace I’d never known before. I know it sounds crazy, but impersonal love is profound!”
I was listening attentively, yet still felt uncertain. “Could you give me an example?”
Day to day
“A while back, I was in line at a customer service booth. I’d been waiting, impatiently, for some time. There’s just a couple of people ahead of me. It’s getting close to noon and one of the two clerks leaves for lunch. The person getting help is taking forever. I think about leaving, but I’m so close! I just want to get this over with. I’m not in a good frame of mind at all. So, trust me, it’s not like I summon this experience consciously. Yet suddenly, as if someone flipped a switch, a sense of calm and peacefulness washes over me — out of nowhere!"
Musing at his own astonishment, he added, "I feel an abundant fondness for everyone around me. And that feeling keeps growing. I feel safe, happy, even joyful — for no reason. I’m not feeling impatient now, rather my experience is of being in the moment. That’s a miracle in itself since ‘impatient’ is pretty much my middle name. I see everyone as beautiful, sweet souls, no matter what they look like on the outside — regardless of their behavior or their gloomy expression. Have you ever heard Mother Teresa’s answer to how she coped with seeing sick and suffering people day in and day out?”
Intrigued, I shook my head.
“She said she saw them as Christ in all his distressing disguises. That makes sense to me now. That’s how it feels. In spite of how big negativity can seem -— misery, pain, fear — it’s just a thin veil masking the incredible beauty and power of who we really are. If you can imagine a purifying light beneath the veil beginning to burn through — that’s what it’s like.”
“Wow, I’ve never had an experience like that.” I winked, “So are you the new Mother Teresa?”
“Ha! Hardly!” He looked down, shaking his head. “The experience is unfortunately very brief! I wish it lasted longer. I wish I could stay in that place. But it has happened again — several times — and always when I least expect it. So, if you string the memories of those ‘instants’ together, it creates a new benchmark for what’s possible. Can you imagine what it would be like if we all went around feeling unqualified goodwill for everyone?”
“Uh, no. It sounds fantastical. You know, not of this world? Okay, so, we might have come full circle here — are we talking about insanity again?”
He laughed. “I think quite the opposite.”
video courtesy of clarsen at videvo.net
this video uses this sound from freesound: Big waves hit land.wav by straget (https://freesound.org/people/straget/sounds/412308/) licensed under CCBY-NC 3.0
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