Here are a few memories about my psychotic periods in Canada. To my shame I must say that I have kept back on the worst. It was all worse than written here, but I find it improper to bare all. Also I wrote down only a few psychotic memories. I had more hospitalizations, but did not write down all the madness. The worst struggle was maybe the bitterness I incurred through people that accused me of being possessed, or that claimed that I had dabbled in occult practices. This is not true. Moreover let these people be told that every sin is in itself occult and demonic. For the bible itself states in Samuel that "Disobedience is (as) the sin of divination and stubbornness is (as) iniquity and idolatry."
In 1986 I became paranoid. Church publications played a role, but were not the cause of course. I thought that all people were depsychated (robbed of their souls) at a certain moment, and then became (all) knowing spirits, controlled by and totally in league with Satan. Since Satan was the opposite of God, the anti-God, I thought that he tried to turn everything around. As my paranoia progressed I thought that satanists killed off all true Xians as enemies of the truth and as sick puppets of God, who is Satan in the eyes of the real Satan. I thought that reality was a pyramid that Satan tried to turn upside down in me. I thought that the black ball in the game of pool represented the heart of Satan. I thought that everything had a magical meaning, and that all things were symbols in his war of magic. I believed all the people in my religious circle were satanists, even my own father, mother and wife, and that I was the only surviving believer.
I thought that these satanists, doing Satan's will as much as possible, thought that they were actually doing God's will, because He allowed Satan to do his thing. I thought that they thought that being as close to Satan as possible they would live in Satan's fatherhouse (the opposite of John 14; everything being turned around) and then would have no pain.
I thought that I was the beast and that my old nature was going to go to hell. I thought that I could marry Eve, that she was deceived by Satan into believing that she could be the queen of heaven, if she believed in him. I thought that she had been kidnapped by Satan and that she was immortal, death having entered by Adam only.
The disease broke out on a Wednesday afternoon, February 1986; I wept very unnaturally and deeply about Satan's fall and all its consequences. Thursday morning I had the feeling I was changed into some kind of powerful man. The bitter irony was that at university I gave them examples of paranoia and concommitant megalomania (these go hand in hand); Reagan and starwars (believing he could create a full proof system), Jack Chick (claiming to have postponed inquisition by 5 years).
Friday you were so possessed by fear that you had the feeling you could die if you did not tear up all your writings. Saturday you broke a door at your brother's. You agreed that you had gone crazy.
You thought that your wife had been abused by many men, even by the pope and all dignitaries; some kind of conspiracy to bring you to shame.
I thought that my new nature only was feminine so that she could not be abused by satanists.
There always, however, seemed to have been some doubt in me about all this; during my disease I kept almost all of my thoughts to myself.
I thought that I was Adam (so ashamed that he said "I wish I could vanish,") and had become one with the universe. People sinned so hard that Julius Caesar came back (was Adam returned, as I imagined) to overcome them. He was murdered.
I thought that I had fallen out of heaven into the Vatican, and since then brought up into my family (perhaps this kind of megalomania came from the idea in a childhood fantasy that you were really some kind of important child, son of a king, by accident interchanged with somebody else).
It seems that all your crazy thoughts were based on sinful desires gone mad, totally out of control.
I believed in depsychation because I felt as being on fire. My heart and mind really felt as being burned and I drank lots of water. Later I thought I was being immortalized. I believed it was an attack by satanists also.
I thought that I was Satan's only child by Eve, and that I was fully what the old nature is. The miracle for me was that I, being virtually the image of Satan, was saved.
I thought that God judged the old nature of all people in me, in ridding them of their old natures and sending me to hell.
It was as if I heard Eve say: "Are you willing to go to hell for me?" Adam went into bodily death for Eve, Christ to the cross, I to hell. I said that, yes, I was willing to save her.
2nd Time in the ward in Waterville I was so much in pain (the pain was very uncommon and in my heart [proved to be sinus tachycardia]) and I felt that I was going wild, and tried to control myself and doing so I lost consciousness in the solitary. I thought that God was producing a pearl (see Mt. 13!) in my heart, and within the pearl a diamond. I thought I was like a pearl being formed around a grain of sand and dirt that had entered its flesh, causing much pain. I thought I would press a button of laser beams to shoot Christ and the saints out of the sky at the rapture. I believed this was the conspiracy, but that Christ would rapture quicker than the fastest weapons.
I believed Enoch and Elijah would come to educate me in all white magic as the two witnesses of Revelation. That I would sit with Eve on Satan's throne. That I would rebuild the temple in Jerusalem.
I believed that all the fairy tales would come true in me and Eve. That I would live naked with her in a glass palace (Emperor without clothes).
I wonder weather my disease was some kind of defense mechanism to maintain my equilibrium while experiencing strange things in my body, triggered by stress (study, financial worries, difficulties with my brother, frustration with my MA thesis, fear not to fulfill my father's expectations).
Clearly sinful thoughts were raging through my mind, even though I tried hard to maintain my purity.
I believed that depsychated people were almost all-knowing, and that they were emotionless.
I wonder whether I am an emotional introvert, that is a melancholic individual.
Since I was thirteen years old I was a bit neurotic. When I was about seventeen I was very neurotic.
The unconscious desire of the heart to play God broke out in me with force. This taught me later that the heart plays also a role in a mental disease as paranoia, a major role even. The heart uses the weak body to satisfy itself to the hilt.
During my psychoses I applied everything to myself. The worship service was meant for me. Because as satanists they worshipped me, the beast, as God. When I heard that Christ became poor that you may be rich, I thought that he gave up some of His divinity for me. He became 888, and my new nature became 999, one step less than God the Father, who I thought was thousand.
I thought that Solomon with his thousand wives had tried to attain to this, but that he had been wrong in taking one wife too many; this also because his income was 666 talents of gold: which was, I thought, a form of deed magic. I thought that I would receive 999 women.
My old nature was going to be the beast 666 (the reverse of my new nature 999!) and my old nature was going to hell, where it would have no pain, but where it would rule over all the condemned, including Satan and his angels, to educate them in the truth, so that they would have a faint shimmer of heaven.
I wonder whether my psychosis was a result of my neurosis, or whether it was a result of my inclination to understand Satan, which made me to concentrate my emotions on, and open my mind for occult powers. But then again, in my quest for knowledge and wisdom I gathered info on just about anything and my interest in the occult was relative in comparison with other interests. According to my psychiatrist, dr. George, however, a neurosis does not become a psychosis (= outbreak of unconscious problems).
I thank God very much for people like Ouweneel who waded through tons of garbage to come up with something good. Yet they always left a vacuum in me. I am a man that seeks to worship God to the most intimate degree. During my disease I once said, "O God, I want to taste, to smell and to touch Thee!"
Therefore it seems to me that somehow those great thinkers got stuck spiritually. It must be that they idolized somehow their philosophy, which stilted their spiritual growth. Their heart loved theoretical knowledge too much, even though such knowledge is objectively true and not all inherently sinful. Yet this is the sin of Rom. 1, for theoretical knowledge is as much part of creation as the sun or a horse.
Their kind of philosophical thinking is not, I think, what the bible means by having a constant prayerful attitude. This kind of thinking is not the same thing as praying. To breathe spiritually we must think in a prayerful way which worships God. This type of philosophical thinking is an act of the heart that still keeps a person locked up in himself, rather than to open him up as a rose for the the smell of the Creator.
What is wrong with their thinking is too great a desire to become conscious of everything. This has a laming influence on a truly spiritual intimacy with God. To become conscious of things God has created is not wrong in itself, but it must be in harmony with the spiritual laws that balance a person's life.
Our personalities must approach God in an upwards spiralling circle that is operating between the polarities of consciousness and direct, immediate supraconscious, transcendental contact with God.
When I heard Paul Robeson's "Go down Moses" I thought that God was going to let me release the dead Xians from their graves at the Rapture.
Hearing a tape of Anne Murray singing, I applied every song to myself.
I thought that all the good and evil in the bible was going to climax in me, all biblical figures being foreshadowings of me.
My failure in my marriage must not be isolated from the failure of the church. If I had not sensed the great spiritual poverty immediately around me, among the so-called brothers, I might never have set my mind so compulsively on the study of all kinds of problems. All our failures are linked together. If one member of the church fails, this is not to be isolated from the total body.
My first prayer in need was when I had fled away from spying on my teacher, who was sitting in a circle with others passing a joint around. She saw me and I ran away with my friend. We dared not go back home because that was next door to their club house.
I wonder whether my neurotic fears were triggered by guilt feelings about my frequent masturbation.
After my wife ran off and looked for another man, and actually committed adultery a couple of times; I had a hard time not to curse God in His face, or to shout in His face "Kill the bitch!" But I reasoned that I was not any better in the depth of my heart. Even though I had not done what she had done, I knew deep in my heart that also I am a bastard, rapist and fool. Because of that knowledge I had to forgive her.
When she had come back to me, she said one day, when I was angry about what had happened, "Why don't you beat me up, then you're rid of your anger." But of course I did not, I had never beaten her up, nor would I now.
Before my marriage I had prayed during five years for a wife that would be a real companion to me, somebody that I could be really very close to. The opposite happened. I was totally unable to associate with her.
During the effects of my psychosis, I thought that I was also going to be the god Pan. So I bought myself a pan flute, thinking that the ancient beliefs of Pan were nothing but a Babylonic confusion of what was really a prophecy of me! So I had visions of myself controlling nature through magical music!
Being a boy about thirteen years old I wanted to be called Solomon. For I liked that name better than my own. I wanted to set the ancient Solomon as a model of wisdom before me. Later I learned to appreciate my second name Christopher, which means bearer of Christ.
After I noticed that my wife could not understand my intellectual activities, I became very disappointed about her talents. I became totally locked up in myself and in my studies. I resigned to the fact that I was stuck in an unhappy marriage, but I remained faithful to her. (Note: Years later, after she had divorced me, it came out that her chaotic brain was probably laboring under ADHD and perhaps borderliner syndrom. And happily, at least we found each other in the bedroom. "I am very sorry, Erna, for not spending more time, energy and love for you and the kids at that time in Canada, before and after my first and second bout of psychosis!")
After about two years of my disease I prayed a lot that God might help me to love my wife and children, and to get over my disassociation.
Maybe my destroying all my writings must be explained as an actually paranoid fear due to the social pressure of the local assembly. I tore my writings apart as if my salvation depended on it. Later I rewrote them, and improved upon them.
During my disease I thought that everything was controlled by the Vatican. When my wife said that Pete and Elisabeth (a local couple) were coming, I thought she meant the pope and the queen.
As a child and early teenager I had high ambitions and expectations. It was hard coming down to earth. But step by step God brought me down. I raved, kicked and cursed, but down I came. Then I played the crushed invalid victim; I thought I was good for nothing.
During the spells of my mental disease, and after, when the antipsychotic major tranquilizer kept them at bay, I experienced the humiliating smiles and acts of people. Later I wondered whether I would have done the same thing as they did. And I had to conclude that I at least would have felt the tendency to do so. I wasn't any better. And to realise this evil in me, was far more painful than to experience the humiliation they inflicted on me. I personally felt how unjust and miserable contempt is. "He that despises his fellow man lacks understanding," Solomon said. How true this is. We long to feel on top of everybody, and deep in our hearts we even despise the Almighty. For if we have contempt for our fellow man, then we despise God, whom we don't even see.
One morning I had a dream that Christ was coming to rapture the saints, and that I was about to see my God face to face! My heart played a great role in this again for it felt as if it moved towards heaven with a leap of joy. When I woke up the feeling was still there and lingered on for a long time. It was wonderful. Warmth radiated from my heart even to my toes.
I played God with my writings. I had already had many idols. This was my most important one. I bought a big safe to put my manuscripts in to make sure the devil could not destroy my dear possession. The bitter reality is that at two occasions in a fit of psychotic madness I took them out with my own hands and destroyed them. The first time only one manuscript, the second time I asked my brother to get rid of them all, about which I was very disappointed later on; (note 2015: later saying that it would have been the same thing as him asking me to burn down his company had he asked for that). Later I had to redo everything. But what I learned from this is that I had to be willing also to give up my treasured writings. I had to learn that they were nothing in comparison with God. In my paranoid mind I had actually believed that they were so valuable that it must be God's plan to show them to the world before the rapture.
I heard a little girl sing, while I was delivering flyers door to door, "Mary had a little lamb." And this was just after I had read in one of fifteen or so volumes devoted to Mary immaculate. I thought that the girl meant that Christ was only a little lamb and that I was the beast to be worshipped by the entire earth.
The strange pain I felt on the first day my disease broke out, left me exhausted and drained me mentally. During it I thought of Satan's fall and all the resultant evil.
When correcting the Latin exercises of my prof's class, I often wrote the Latin phrase "Ego te amabo," which, together with an imperative, is an idiom for 'please'. Some girls probly took it for 'I will love you.' Of course I was aware of this double meaning, and I relished it!
I was so paranoid one evening that I was afraid to go home, thinking my wife and her (not mine in my paranoid mind at the moment!) children had been murdered. This because I had heard several years before a story of a man to whom this had happened. I am afraid this paranoid fear was caused by an unconscious desire to be rid of this wife and her brood.
When I was a teenager I had a fanatical prayer. I thought that since the Bible encourages us to pray anything we feel or need, I could pray for the ability to communicate with God face to face, in order to learn all sciences in the best and fastest way. What I was really doing is to try to use God to satisfy my own selfish pride. I was about 19 when I was gripped by this prayer. I had read in Phil. 4 that we can pray God for anything. So I prayed to him for direct communication. I wanted straightforward and immediate answers on any imaginary thing. My desperation was so great that I threw most of my books away. There must have been four or five hundred of them. I kept only the books of the brethren. I said to myself that this was an act of faith. God would answer me, because I clearly showed that I did not want to be dependent on all these books. Gradually my fanatic mind realised that it had run into a wall. And a few years later I was at it again, buying all kinds of books. If God was not going to talk to me directly, then I was going to make sure that as many books as possible were going to.
Looking back at it I can now see that my fanaticism was the understandable reaction of a very desperate adolescent. I could not find the impressive wisdom I longed for. All these books were dead to me. I had to learn to be patient, however, and had to learn to glean what little life they contained, and so listen to the voice of God, until I could think on my own under the direction of the Holy Spirit.
I remember now that as an adolescent I said with impatient and strong body language. "I want to move heaven and earth. I want to break through the prison walls of my being." I had to learn to widen my limits patiently. Nobody can break through his personality, for your personality is all there is for you personally.
I was accepted back at the Lord's table after my wife had come back to me. The idea caught their fancy that I should keep silence. I could only pray and give up a hymn and later they took even that away, which made me very bitter (I had to struggle, praying daily for more than 17 years, to be delivered from my root of bitterness against the "pharisees"). Again it was my mental illness, which was virtually totally corrected by the medications, that they used as an excuse to crack down on me. People just seem to love to play superior over people with mental problems. Yet all these things got allowed to teach me deep spiritual lessons. And I thank Him for them.
The local assembly church I belonged to presented me with some heavy trials. They rejected a book I was writing. Because I saw nothing wrong with it (2015: at the time), they did not allow me to participate in communion. It was not until I threw it away that I was accepted. But I threw it away, along with all my other writings, in a fit of paranoia. Not, as they thought, because I condemned it. I think the move was brought on by their unreasonable pressure. When I went paranoid I did not have the strength anymore to resist. The fact that they thought that I had repented from all my writings, shows that they loved the idea of my having been wrong in just about everything.
I think that if I had not gotten mentally ill they would not have bothered me, or at least not so much. The mentally ill are often victim of people's games. Everytime I was kept from the table of the Lord due to illness (one time) and due to marriage trouble (one time), I was victimized by one or another form of criticism.
To give an outstanding example of the slang metaphores of my colleague laborers (we framed houses): I once was called a boil and sore on the asshole of life, and a fly on the dunghill of existence. (Note in 2015: I probly heard voices that sounded like them).
Shortly after my first psychotic breakdown I had a strange dream. I was in a dimly lit room with walls full of ancient philosophy books. All of a sudden the door was opened a crack wide and I perceived a very strong light behind it. A pair of ancient Egyptians tried to come in, but a very powerful voice said, 'No!' And then the door closed again.
Just a little while before my paranoia broke out in full force I had discussed John 14:22 with someone. When my disease had its full start I thought that Satan was trying to possess me. So I told fellow students, "In me is summed up the highest and the lowest," meaning Satan and the Trinity. And the theatrical way I talked showed them that there was something seriously wrong with me.
When I was about sixteen or so I so much longed to escape out of the narrow world of my autotheistic existence, that one day I said to myself, "At that particular date an angel will visit you." After several months the moment came and nothing happened. For some reason I started pressing my eyes, and I saw, or imagined to see (it was quite remarkable however) first a cross, and then a sea of thrones whiter than snow.
In the beginning of my illness I once had a rather strange experience. I was in somebody else's home and they played a record. All of a sudden the music grabbed me. It was as if I became totally one with it. The music became me, and I became the music. I made megalomaniacal movements. Looking back at it I think it was a spontaneous Hinduistic experience. I was in trance. It seems that the barriers between the conscious and subconscious or unconscious were lifted up. The barriers are due, I think, to the autotheistic tendencies of the heart, which deadens our life. I often looked back at this experience with nostalgia. There was a certain beauty in it, even though I also was very sick at the same time.
When I was about ten, I felt my first ambition to become a writer. It did not come beyond writing the title to a gangster thriller. The contents were left to the imagination. In my late teens somebody (Marianne van Duijn) advised me spontaneously to become a writer because of the way I talked. I never forgot that encouragement.
A typical example of my paranoia is the following. When I saw inspector Gadget (a comical detective) and his adversary, I applied it at once to myself and Satan!
When the counter of my tape-recorder stopped accidentally at 666 I just knew that I was the beast. Yet I clung to my faith.
As a child my vivid imagination pictured in front of me, almost every night before I went to sleep or lay in bed, a field of golden light, almost white and full of peace and serenity. This picture was spoiled by flashes of an opposite, black and ugly and threatening darkness. I had some control over those flashes of the imagination and could alternate between the two states at will.
I must have been in my early teens, lying in bed, that I had the feeling that death was going to visit me, and I put my body in the position of one lying in state. At that time I dreamed that a fiery red-blue snake came out of my mouth with some difficulty, coming from the bottom of my stomach.
When I had gone paranoid in the beginning of 1986 (I heard) Eve talk(ing)(ed) to me and asked me whether I wanted to go to hell for her, to pay for her sin which caused the Fall of all of humankind. I said yes. And one year later when I had my second spell, I said to myself that I would even go to hell for the smallest particle of matter. For that would be the ultimate agape love, divine love and so in the winter of 1986 I said to myself that Adam chose death for his wife (who was taken up and imprisoned by Satan to produce the elect and condemned; she never died for she was the mother of all living. Mary's assumption was a substitute lie for the rape of Eve by Satan), Christ chose the cross for the church, but I chose hell for her.
My boss told me once that he had seen only two true Xians in his life. He meant my brother and me. I asked him why he did not want to become a Xian himself, and he said it was because of the hypocrites. I told him that God was not going to buy that, and that the excuse would not hold before God's throne. He had to agree with that. The real reason was pride. The hypocrites were only an excuse, a poor rationalisation. A little later I overheard him say at work (or was it an imaginary voice?), "The angels looked and saw Freddy (my name in Canada at the time), and they said 'It is good! It is good!'"
When I was paranoid various kinds of delusions raged through my mind. I remember going through a book of art with my wife. There was a picture of an Indian temple in it. I asked my wife whether she wanted me to go there and make love in it with three or four different women at the same time.
At one time I was so angry at God that I cursed Him in my heart, addressing Him even. What triggered it was the fact that I had a simple job; but the real reason was that my wife had been unfaithful (later it proved that she had an ongoing affair). I hated my job. All I wanted to do was study, work out my thoughts and write. Yet working instilled humbleness in me, and sympathy for blue collars.
During my breakdowns I started believing that the world was controlled by a secret superrace of immortals, the 'Jews'. The Pope and the R.C. church was just a puppet, a camouflage in their hands. I thought the Ayatollah was Cain, the first 'Jew'. The holocaust was a voluntary sacrifice, masqueraded as persecution, but really a magical self-offering to fight God. A strong 'Jew' can kill himself mentally, I thought. I imagined that they were trying to turn God's historical pyramid upside down.
One night (January 7-8, 1990) I had a remarkable dream. My heart became mystically warm and it was as if it were pulled in the direction of heaven. I looked upwards to the sky, and it was as if the heavens were about to be opened. Then the feeling subsided. I woke up with an emotional high. I remember that the year before I had a similar dream, but then I dreamed that the rapture was about to take place.
January 24, 1990
Paranoidlike fear seems to have entered my life shortly after I started masturbation. I do not think my paranoia was directly caused by masturbation. But my great (perhaps hyper) sensitivity made me so guilty, unconsciously, that my conscience screamed with guilt. I felt this spontaneous guilt overwhelm me, particularly when I saw a beautiful lady for which I had genuine respect. My extreme stage fright, I think, was a form of paranoia triggered by guilt.
One day one of the workers asked me when my parents had told me that they loved me. I answered him that I could not remember. Then he asked me when I had told them, and answered again negatively; knowing that I had never told them that. That same evening I told them I loved them, and I was ashamed to experience how much difficultly I had to do so.
As an early adolescent I reasoned that through Christ we should be able to overcome the effects of the Fall. I hoped for paranormal abilities, Adam's insights to name the animals and more.
On Saturday evening, Sept. 1st, 1990, Rhodé, my eldest child, comes to me, after her evening prayer and says that she had given her heart to the Lord.
On Tuesday morning, Sept. 18, 1990, I dreamed that I was weeping, because I was so far from God on account of my sinfulness.
Sept. 19, 1990 12:47 A.M.
I just came from outside, having smoked a cigarette. I am out of a job. The last couple of months I could hardly work. The medication for my psychotic disease, and other frustrations in life disable me. I prayed the following in various languages, the same phrases, while smoking. "God have mercy upon me, please! Habe Gnade mit mir, mein Gott! Mon Dieu, ayez pitié de moi! Heb genade met mij, o God! Help me to finish my book! Give me money! Let me win the lottery! Let me draw unemployment for a year!"
I am troubled by very disabling anxiety attacks. I am about to get tranquilizers for this. I suspect that they are caused by an unconscious autotheistic desire to be a great man, or even the greatest. The book I'm writing, my first nonfiction work, must be the greatest theological and philosophical work ever. This is, I suspect, what lives in the depths of my heart. Therefore the writing goes very slowly. The work is killing me. I keep telling myself that I must become detached from it, and be objective, and sober. That will deliver me from idolatry, and actually enable me to write it. I finished my theory, but to apply it in all the instances of which I have gathered material is not easy. I long to be with the Lord. With him in heaven I will be totally delivered from my madness. "O mon Dieu, delivrez moi! For I have a dangerous attitude of wanting everything or nothing."
I more or less decide to take a year off as my anxiety attacks nerve wreck me. I do get tranquilizers for them, but decide that I need at least a year off. I should be able to draw unemployment. I actually decide to attempt to obtain a disability pension. However I received a call from the local Michelin company. I decided that if they offer me a job, that that will be my last try.
One of my teachers, when about fourteen and attending school, said that they should put me in a museum as a curiosity. At that time I was not motivated at all to do anything. I did not know what to do with myself. I could play chess a bit and that made him say that I should go to a chess school.
He could not understand me, for he knew that I could do my stuff. At one time I would have 100% and at another time absolutely zero.
Another teacher called me dumber than dumb and they were all glad when I dropped out of highschool (my dad put me to work at his concrete plant), except for one person, whom I considered an excellent teacher, very sympathetic (combined with a gift to keep order) and the only teacher I did my best for.
My first efforts at writing were fairly simple. I patiently assembled my material over a nine year period, while I provided for my family and completed my bachelor's degree and master's courses. I relied totally on inspiration in that I wrote my notes only on the spur of the moment, when my subconscious pushed material into my conscious mind. It was only when I put on the finishing touches, in ordering the material into a well flowing stream, that I had to go through a few sessions of writer's labor. A few tough questions came up that had to be settled. But by and large it was an easy deliverance. My great source of power came from my constant reliance upon God, and I wrestled tirelessly with Him crying for wisdom. However I fear that as Jacob fought with God at Pniel (God's face), also I was beaten on the hip. Jacob went limp for the rest of his life, I developed a serious psychotic illness. Even though I destroyed my material twice, during two serious psychotic attacks, when I felt that God was about to kill me at once, because the book was just not holy enough (or was it Satan who wanted to prevent the book from ever getting published?), it was quite easy to remember the material and even to improve upon it, and to add to it. There is something ironic in this. I had bought a big safe in which I kept my material in case of fire and then I took my stuff out and destroyed it myself!
What was very discouraging during the time of gathering my material and thinking it out, was all the negativity I had to endure from different people. They were unreasonable and ignorant in their criticisms. Always destructive and never constructive. Only a few people were sympathetic. My father-in-law even wanted me to do away with all my books, literally all of them, so I would pay more attention to my wife and children. For me that would have spelled suicide.
Sometimes I did get tired of all the madness and sadness I discovered in all kinds of beliefs, feelings, theories and practices, but very soon the sheer importance of the truth, God's truth, propelled me forward.
Last night I had a dream that I was allowed to approach to God in acknowledgement as it were of my work. In the midst of other shadowy beings (God also was shrouded in shimmering) I came to Him and squeezed His hand hard with both my hands; expressing at once thankfulness and humble fear and anxious dependence.
What so bothers me, is the constant nervousness about wether my book will be accepted by a publisher. Nobody knows me; will they therefore refuse to publish it? The thought makes me both angry and weak. It really enervates me.
Sometimes I have strange dreams.
At one time it was as if my soul was turned around in me like a body turning in a body. When it suddenly stopped I saw a circle of faces above me. I sensed they were demons. Then their eyes started glaring, being blood red. I asked them whether they were satanists. They barely nodded.
At another time I was in a shimmering room, and people came in that had a strange mystique and kind of elegant power about them. They gently took hold of me and stared at me. I told them, "I only want to do what is exactly God's will." They nodded, and showed a certain respect, amazement even. Then they took me to their camp. I walked alongside of buildings from which people emerged that had a totally relaxed air about them. They were clearly people that were used to the enjoyment of leisurely philosophizing. I was put at the head of some kind of classroom. I was seated and had some papers in front of me. They seemed empty or turned upside down. These people, or whatever they were, were totally relaxed, as if they were awaiting what I had to say. Also they were patient. For I had nothing to say to them then. And the dream ended in silence.
It reminded me of Paul's words, that once we will judge angels. Were they curious what my judgement of them and their works will be at the time of final judgement, before they are thrown into the lake of fire?
During another dream I was in my parental home, lying in the top bunk bed, where my normal bed used to be. A woman approached me, and said kind of flirtingly, "I would love to produce some fun, by a good looking man!" Then all of a sudden, two young kids came along on bicycles, a girl draped in something that looked like the American stars and stripes and the boy in dark, if I remember well. They were watching me with frustration.
I wonder whether these were spontaneous responses of demons that reacted to my thoughts that I had about them!?
I had wanted to start my public ministry at thirty. But my disease came in the way. Afterwards, though, God showed me that that was a good thing. The book I was planning to get going, Planet Earth Revisited, was still rather naive. Moreover my disease took me out of university, which gave me time to concentrate on my theologico-philosophical theory.
21 Nov. 1990
I realize I was never really in love with Erna, my wife. I just married her in order to marry someone. Only her looks and soft character appealed to me. Several times during my marriage, so today, I long back for that moment when I felt love for R. de J. At the time I worshipped her as a goddess, and was altogether too nervous to seek contact. Also I had this exaggerated motive that God had to bring us together by a sign. If I had met her in my own assembly, if she had visited it, that would have been enough of a sign. I had heard about her intelligence, and when I saw her, a pure virgin, coming into the meeting hall, I was totally overwhelmed. "Why, o God, didn't I pursue her? I ran into her at two occasions. At the day for young people and at a church when there was a one day conference. Did I consider myself too inferior? O God, I feel totally destroyed. Thy sovereignty allowed this. But will I ever, ever be able to love, and respect Erna?" I am afraid I just married her, because I was afraid I would not find a woman in such an isolated assembly as in Nova Scotia. "My God, o my God, help me. Help Erna, for Thy and our sake! R.'s friend E. looked like her, and had lost her innocence. Later she told me that herself, when I happened to meet her in Nova Scotia (at least that is what she seemed to have meant; at any rate her face at the time obviously to me did not express virginity)." Strange fate. It appeared that I had mistaken E. for R. when I visited the church for a Bible lecture. I could tell by the face that there wasn't that innocence I had seen before. And I did not trust it anymore. From that moment on, I gave R. up. But it was the wrong girl I had seen! My God, o my God. When I had befriended Erna I saw R. again. She seemed totally upset. It was at the one day conference in A. Why was she so upset? To see me with another girl? Later I heard from Erna that R. had told her that men came to visit her meeting to see her. Did she mean me? My suffering is great! I would give everything to feel that love again. "My God, that feeling was so beautiful! So pure, so young, so innocent it was! Can it ever, ever, come back? Even in heaven, if there will be relationships there, will it be so beautiful? Or will my memories cloud it? No, then you will give it to me again, won't you? You will wipe all my tears off my face, and will melt all the sorrow of my heart." (Note: 34 years later I found out that a relationship with R. would have been a total disaster. That became very obvious. So, after all, the asking for a sign had been blessed by the Lord. It goes without saying that I withold the details).
Friday, 23 Nov. 1990 1.16 A.M.
Despite all the wisdom God has given me, I am a neurotic and psychotic man (note 2015: it proved years later that I had a terrible form of manic-depressiveness). And I am terribly afraid God will keep it this way. My neuroses, which became almost unbearable during my adolescence, were meant for me to seek God? "O Lord, do not say to me that I always will be a patient. But deliver me! Yes, you will deliver me through faith. I must believe it, else fatalism will keep me down. But you will not deliver me if I do not learn to honor my wife and children. For I am a self-centered bastard. I was told so many times. I must engrave in my mind with an indelible pen that I must love my wife, really love her. Then you can clear me. Else you will thwart my prayers. O my Lord and my God, bless me and my house!" On my wedding day it was sung, "Oh que la vie douce chose quand on la reve deux á deux." I must practise this. I have got to. "He that often hardens his neck will be broken suddenly without remedy (Prov.)." "You have broken me. My wife even had an affair, but your grace brought her back. Oh help me, to end my selfishness, assist me to learn self-sacrifice!"
30 Nov. 1990
A month ago, I bought a gold ring with a black stone with the gold emblem of an eagle on it. I bought it because I want to be like an eagle. And I am. Let me say it with pride. I build my nest on a high and solitary rock. Christ is that rock. It is only given to a few to perceive the eagle in its flight. One really has to go and look for it, away from crowded places. "But make me also a lion, o God. Yes, make me all animals, indeed all things, apart from the evils of the Fall. Most of all, make me an obedient sheep."
(5 July, 2009; the date I put this page on the Web. [Years later, after my wife had divorced me, when the Lord had not allowed me to marry for a second time, He graciously gave it me to contain myself. Now I pray that He also may grant me serene dreams that are to His honor and that, like Him, I may be educated by my reins while I sleep; as the Psalmist put it.])