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Spotted figures of so-called schizophrenia In a three-month period I experienced, the psychosis I entered, as defined by psychiatrists, intensified and reached a schizophrenic point. As one of those who are rarely aware of my own condition, I consider myself lucky. I knew what I was experiencing, harboring neither fear nor anxiety. The figurative spots flowing before my eyes, though not as colorful as I depicted them, would not be wrong to describe as extraordinary. The human mind is free and rich in variation; whether I call them mutant faces or entities, it is an unlimited creator. A science fiction unique to itself. The contour variations of the figures emerging and moving on the surface were rich. Contour boundaries and the patterns they contained were adjacent to each other, sometimes intertwined, overlapping, and side by side. I remained watching their flows from surfaces, grounds, and sometimes from the atmosphere at varying speeds. Sometimes a figure that attracted my attention more would slow down, allowing me to observe it thoroughly. I think I was the one directing the flow speed of these figures. Neither fear seized me nor anxiety about the future. As if I knew deep down that what I was experiencing was temporary. I am lucky to have been able to possess this fearless consciousness. What if I were trapped inside a schizophrenic mind amid abundant visual richness, what if I were stigmatized. According to psychiatry, schizophrenia is a syndrome that is seen as chronic rather than acute and has continuity. First I received support from psychiatric medications, but later I gave up because I got lazy about going to the hospital every month. The journey was two hours. I struggled without medication, got bored, felt overwhelmed, but this condition carried me to a point where I should be. The medications didn't prevent these illusions but they solved my sleep problem, relieving the fatigue created by the unique thing I was experiencing. My long-standing curiosity about mysticism and metaphysical subjects also caused my current situation to seem like a blessing to me. My reconciliation with this extraordinary syndrome, which I found interesting rather than terrible, was easy. The detailed quality of the patterns I observed was amazing. Among the amorphous faces waving the flag of freedom from every angle, mythological beings sometimes mixed in. These were winged white and black dragons. This mythical figure has always impressed me. At my mother's request, who became aware of what I was experiencing, I was admitted to a clinic. About three months. Apart from all those interesting and unique figures I encountered, there were also special people whom I was happy to meet. They welcomed me with an interest that amazed me. They spoke with me as if they had knowledge about the special thing I was experiencing. Some called me god, some angel, some gave different names from Anatolian myths that I didn't know and don't remember now. I didn't think much about how this happened and what it meant. The hospital was of no benefit to me other than making me gain weight. Before, during, and after the hospital, while I was inside the syndrome, there was a team in my head consisting of women and men who spoke. This team was observing me anatomically, trying to calm me with suggestive words, making me feel that they were with me. The approaches of this suggestive team speaking in my head, with their doctor-like sensitivity, caused me to think of them as angels. After all, I was watching a different dimension or witnessing the game my mind was playing on me. Sometimes they made me smile and relax with their ridiculous comments, keeping me away from the fear I would feel. Sometimes they told me to kiss myself, to love myself. As if they tried to keep me away from fear by normalizing this extraordinary situation with realistic approaches. They made me feel that it was temporary. This visual and auditory "acute schizophrenia" syndrome that I experienced for three months, with occasionally intensifying attacks, remained as an unforgettable experience in my mind. In short, if there is an extraordinary high-frequency phenomenon, I think I briefly touched it. Schizophrenia is not a temporary illness. The fact that these metaphysical experiences consist of the totality of ancient human experiences being seen as meaningless and devoid of meaning reminds me of an arrogant blindness. Ignoring the metaphysical world, belittling it and considering it suitable for the ignorance of the rabble should leave one in shame. Metaphysics is the first step taken towards curiosity and truth. We have entered an age where acceptable experiments are conducted regarding the reality that other constants that could exist—beyond the evolutionary constants of nutrition, reproduction, and geographical adaptation conditions—can see different dimensions. From Carl Jung to Freud, the dilemma of modern man is that the order in which he exists is far from showing him the truth. In this endless order of possession and competition, the individual knowing his own truth and being in cooperation by nature for hundreds of centuries. In the early periods of Islam, enigmatic figures like Hallaj-i Mansur said they encountered Allah in their meditations. A scholar like Ibn Arabi expressed that Allah had him write one of his works. More rational masters like Ibn Rushd could openly express that they did not believe in fate and the afterlife. This polyphony disappeared over time. Spirituality and its practices seem to be consciously corrupted. The sharing of mystical experiences and esoteric secrets added much to man but were hidden from ordinary people according to rules. The point I want to reach is this: Whatever human or community that considers nature, a mountain, a majestic animal sacred; attributes divine powers to it; accepts a more spiritual atmosphere whether it resembles or not mythological existential forms that might belong to different dimensions, including the Abrahamic religions that I prefer to call truth, the occupying environment created by the modern world and the value of material seem like enemies of the conscience that the metaphysical world essentially creates. The pain and meaninglessness suffered by the being enslaved to unceasing gain and possession—human or product; some people's not caring about or being unable to make sense of these cores makes them more human. The isolation and alienation of mind and being causes man to distance himself and build an imaginary world devoid of lost meaning. The reason for what I experienced was exactly this. When I started to help myself with meditation and some mystical exercises during a period when I was alone and in pain, and began reading every source I found, something must have been triggered. An escape. Schizophrenia is perhaps one of the methods found by the human mind; conscious or unconscious, a reflexive choice. I know schizophrenics who are content with the world they enter during schizophrenic attacks. Most are unique and original with the poems, plastic arts, or different practices they produce in their own worlds. Another important characteristic of theirs is that they don't carry concerns like being understood or liked. Most schizophrenic attacks certainly don't contain the spectacular excitement that I'm said to have experienced. What was extraordinary was that, despite the psychiatric acceptance that it's seen as acute, not accepted, and claimed to have continuation, my syndrome harbored the feeling from the beginning that it would have an end. The neon-like colors I felt in the meditations I concentrated on and sometimes saw in the sky made me think that modern mystics say this impressive level I reached in a short time is sometimes reached much earlier, sometimes after many experiences, and both are normal. In this case, I doubted whether what I experienced was a schizophrenic attack or, if my concentration capacity was above normal, a visual and auditory experience. I can't consider myself to have experienced a troublesome Sufi experience, but could I have reached the level of fana fillah, in my completely alone workshop, without using any psychiatric medication; only through meditation, losing myself in patterns I drew randomly with free hand, and dhikrs I occasionally performed, accompanied by compositions that blend Anatolian melodies by Gurdjieff, who was born in Kars and told the world that telepathy is possible, spinning around in the middle of my workshop? The deprivation caused by a tragic and painful separation I experienced seemed to lie at the essence of the matter. In fact, the whole endeavor began with the aim of getting rid of this deprivation. Suddenly falling from a devotion to a nothingness. My escape from this nothingness was possible through non-stop production. I tried to record the illusion flowing before my eyes with paint, pencil, and surfaces. The compressed excitement was reflected on the surface. My first works were upcycle assemblages I realized with waste materials on large-sized house doors. Over time, I completely abstracted from any search. After the medications I quit, my sleep became forbidden; staying sleepless for days made me tense but carried me to a tired yet intense consciousness. I watched the clouds. My view was a boundless horizon. First I searched for figures in the clouds. These shapeless or shaped figures in the totality flowing before my eyes became my source of inspiration. What else could I try to depict. I enjoyed it. These are figures, generally drawn in mixed technique on 70x100 duralit, replicas of these observations. I tried to draw some of them as if they came from another artist's drawing. Quite a difficult endeavor. A person's drawing is like their fingerprint; I didn't want to follow a specific style and pattern. This endeavor of mine could continue throughout the flow of these mobile figures. Defining my works as "abstract graffiti" suits me. Although each created figure has separate forms, when they come together intertwined, overlapping and side by side, they reach a composition and wholeness. In this age when new physics can observe geometric shapes from other dimensions, I too tried to convey, as much as my hand allowed, figurative interpretations belonging to another dimension that accompany these geometric shapes and that I once witnessed with excitement—perhaps produced by my mind, or perhaps like sacred plants show us—with the agility of a street artist's or graffiti artist's tag.