**image credit – Richard Bebbington**
Let’s unpack this word, shall we?
We are gonna get really cozy with crazy between the pages of this book, you and I, and so starting at the beginning with some definitions is in order. That way you know and I know what I mean when I use the word crazy.
The word “crazy” was born in the English language in the late 16th century, and has no roots in any other language. It means “full of cracks”. The use of the word has increased slowly over time up to the present day, where it is now at the highest rate of use.
Let that sink in. We modern people use the word crazy more than at any other time in it’s history.
Let’s pivot a bit. I will return to this idea later.
Crazy means cracked.
What is the implication of that? Cracked means broken, imperfect, wounded, unstable, fragile. In calling someone crazy, we are implying in a very fundamental way that they are less than, and therefore dismissible.
It is understandable, from this perspective, that one would want to reduce the likelihood of being seen as any of these things. No one wants to be weak, imperfect, UNSTABLE. This would imply more deeply that you are then unreliable, unworthy, even unemployable and therefore a drain on society.
Yes, I WENT THERE.
I went there because, let’s be honest, a lot of people either live there, or live in fear of living there. Maybe that’s you. I know it has been me. It’s not a pleasant place to live. It’s isolating and scary. It’s deeply, profoundly lonely. It’s disempowered. It’s no way to fucking live.
This isn’t the only way to see it, and trust me sisters, this shift is POWERFUL.
From an esoteric perspective, being cracked is not these unsavoury, undesirable things. The cracks are where the light gets in. We create holes in our homes for light and air, necessary elements of the sustaining of life. Without these holes, or cracks, life could not exist within our homes. Our spirits are the same.
As we work to create the impenetrable edifice of our outer selves, our soul starts to suffocate and shrivel, unable to breathe, to grow, and to thrive. This is why living our lives to please other people makes us feel so dead inside.
We need the cracks. The cracks are what helps our soul to breathe. Without the cracks, we would have no lessons, no sense of what we can endure and survive, no sense of our own strength, our own power, our own unbelievable fucking resilience. We would have no tenderness, no compassion, no empathy for others. It is to the extent that we have suffered that we can hold space for another who is suffering. It is to the extent that I know pain that I can be with someone else in pain.
My own pain is what cracked me open.
Without pain, there can be no joy.
We cannot know the breadth of joy without knowing intimately the depths of pain. On a dualistic plain, one needs the other in order to be known. Up needs down, light needs dark, cold needs hot, heavy needs light and joy needs pain.
In pushing away crazy, shunning it, we are pushing away our own pain, our own imperfection, our own capacity to know joy.
This book is an invitation to flip this on it’s head. It’s an imitation to embrace your crazy, to see your crazy as part of being human, a symptom of the precarious position humanity finds itself in at this time. It’s an invitation to see your crazy as, dare I say it, AN ASSET.
Consider this your permission slip to be imperfect, fragile, unstable, BROKEN.
This is your invitation to embrace your crazy.
Consider yourself called
** This is an excerpt from my work in progress, shared with you. Any feedback, reactions, comments or commentary is welcome and encouraged. I write for me, yes, but I write for you too. Please let me know what you think. xo. Steph **