They called me J.
Why were people calling me J? My name is Paul. If anything, call me Bipolar Spiral-Man once you start to understand mental illness. Bipolar disorder, also known as manic depression, is a mental illness that brings severe high and low moods and changes in sleep, energy, thinking, and behavior. People who live with bipolar disorder can have periods in which they feel overly happy and energized and other periods of feeling very sad, hopeless, and sluggish. Before medication, my first three years living with bipolar disorder were accompanied with auditory, tactile, and visual hallucinations. I broke down, dissolved my art business. I traveled the country while being undiagnosed, feeling like I was being harassed and stalked by family and friends. I believed I was communicating with President Barack Obama and the Secret Service as well as major celebrities. All through my mind, communicating and creating a new secret society. But, we’ll move to that later.
This factual story begins during the summer of 2015 at a simple artist studio and gallery downtown Portland, Oregon. There I lived ten years. Encompassing one year at the end of my residence, I didn’t know I was living with bipolar disorder. Stress had triggered it. The stress of trying to survive as an artist. The stress of a recent breakup due to hostility from my partner against me. I AM an artist. I’ve sold many pieces of work and have had commissions for thousands of dollars. I operated an art business for twelve years, then a recession hit, and added to my stress. I started feeling uneasy and imbalanced. With little to no income and wanting to keep my dream alive I resorted to charging rent, food, and supplies. I didn’t care about the repercussions if I wouldn’t be able to pay my debt. I didn’t want to look for a job, I wanted to be an artist 100% of my time and let the circumstance work itself out. Little did I know, that is a symptom of bipolar disorder, neglect of money.
What could I do to hold on? At thirty six years of age, my mind was starting to wander. I needed clientele. I needed money so I sold my car. I also started researching the local Freemason chapters. If anyone could understand my work it’s them. My work had symbolism, architecture, life, and death. And I’ve read of Masons to be high profile people who are part of our society; doctors, lawyers, and engineers. Masons are people with money who understand art and would be willing to support a secret society enthusiast or secret society pledge. So I sent an email to the nearest Masonic Lodge, asking how to join. I waited for a reply. Their secretary stated I had to be invited to church by a member. Interesting I thought. I held on to the message. I didn’t rush a response. Maybe that was all I needed, to introduce myself and my studio & gallery. I decided to wait a couple months, before proceeding to seek a member’s invitation and go any further.
Living in an artist’s studio downtown Portland, my front door opened directly to the city sidewalk. My studio was a gallery. All walks of life passed by my living space on a daily basis, from business professionals in suits to drug addicted prostitutes. More than once a week I would wash urine from my front doorstep. I learned about people, some people learned about me. I once was asked by police requesting an undercover officer to use my space as a stakeout. I agreed. I once was asked by a dealer to sell illegal drugs from my space. I didn’t agree. Combinations of good versus evil on my block added to my stress. Who would I be friends with? I loved everyone and I didn’t judge anyone. I was spiralling. My chemical imbalance was initiated. I wanted enlightenment from all spectrums of life to bring me closer to God. But it seemed there was more evil than good surrounding me. Please God, show me the way.
As I became more imbalanced, I thought I was a special breed of actor, artist, and model on a mission of next level enlightenment. I was on a mission to evacuate demons. And those demons were meant for angels to vanquish. My mind had evolved and I wanted to seek the truth about who was on my level. I was researching the highest Order secret societies as I studied code breaking. Eventually looking for patterns in the form of stars, spirals, and pi shapes to read and debunk. It was all around us, the highest Order’s architecture, I believed.
I began with Morse Code and the big flashing Portland Oregon sign in Old Town along the Burnside Bridge. An iconic sign shaped as the state of Oregon with a deer. I knew it as an important piece and sure enough it proved to be. I deciphered its flashing dots and dashes, and it spelled teat. That code-break led me to research the significance of the good mother’s teat but also Satan’s symbolism of the word. Was the city the Devil’s playground? What did I stumble upon? All I know is I’m on God’s side, the good side. And secret societies amongst the highest Order are real. I wanted to learn more from the city and it’s architecture. The truth about a Yin Yang relationship on this planet. The truth about Freemasons and Illuminati and the balance of good and evil within all societies. Symbolism is meant to be read everywhere in everything, to guide us in whichever path we choose. Where would I fit in? I wanted to make high society connections so I could sell more artwork. I wanted to help angels combat demons. I needed help.
I started to think: In the grand staff of things, our world is organized and played with and within all of us. There are many chairs to our orchestra, many societies secret and non who participate in the whole of life. Do each of us knowingly and unknowingly escort each other through spirals of rabbit holes? Who or what are we entertaining? What’s important: voices, vocal cords and truth dashed with a little bit of magic, science and spiritualism? How far can my mind stretch, without risking personal freedom? I love God and goodness,I believe in the Devil and evil, as well as god-complexes. And I believe Artificial Intelligence and quantum computing is desired to help us figure out how space and time work. I started creating art pieces aimed at Illuminati and major corporations. I used my gallery window as a display, hoping to draw power to my space.
One day, I was looking for smoke signals, for arrows, anything that could point me in the direction of the next level of education. The next level of enlightenment. Living in a major city, downtown Portland, anything is possible. I knew people on the street, I knew people from the artists’ lofts where I lived, I knew people from local businesses and our community association. Someone living close to me had to know what level of enlightenment I was on, and where I wanted to go. There’s no way I could be the only one seeking the code within the city. Then, Rico, a drug dealer, poked his head into my art studio and asked me directly to my face, “There’s J. Is he a superhero? Is he a god?” I snickered at his comments.
Is he Illuminati?
What was that? Did I just hear Dealer Rico’s voice without him moving his lips? Maybe J is a codename for me. I thought nothing more of it.
A day later, the manager of my building, David, passed me walking on the sidewalk and said, “Hi J.”
I nodded hello.
Why were people calling me J? Were those hallucinations? Was it a chain of coincidences? I knew those people. They knew me. Maybe they had something else on their mind as they said hello. Or maybe they knew what I was going through. A quest for a unique transformation of mind, body, and soul. But why was J important?
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