Lately I spend a lot of time thinking about how many humans have been medicated or diagnosed or institutionalized for having a human experience that is outside of the box of what is considered “normal” and “healthy”.
How many mystics and geniuses have not been understood.
How many people having a healthy response to trauma have been deemed pathological or broken.
How deeply we reject the speaking through wounds when wounds are open mouths that have things to speak.
How binding and limiting our understanding of psychological health is.
How little reverence we hold for the wild initiations of chaos and psyche that erupt from the human soul.
How much therapy has been prescribed for people who really needed art or revolutions or an accurate mirror for their brilliance.
The cruelty of fixing what was never broken.
The wisdom of what breaks us down and cracks us open.
How many problems we have tried to solve through the linearity of understanding rather than the curiosity that has faith in the spiral of direct experience.
How much we have lost through our attempts to fit reality into a box of knowing.
When the untamed phenomena that speaks wisdom through the shadowy landscapes of soma requires such tender listening.
How tamed humans have become in trying to fit inside a box called normal.