When you first addressed your "magic carpet flying" message to university graduates, I understand the convocation ceremonies became emotional. What happened?

Pamela Ryan: I talked about personal subjects few people dare to visit out loudNmental illness, suicide, the dark side of the human condition. Friends and colleagues said the 2,500 people in the audience were riveted. I could see many quietly crying about my experiences in some of life's darkest moments, but I also heard them laughing loudly when I talked about some humorously embarrassing moments! All that, of course, is in this book.

Anything else?

Ryan: Many graduates crossing the stage after receiving their degrees turned to say "thank you!" One even threw his degree certificate to the floor in front of me with a sweeping flourish, knelt on both knees so close his eyes were a foot away from mine, and said, "Thank you sooo much." Apparently these kinds of reactions had not been witnessed at a graduation ceremony before. So clearly, the experiences I related from my life resonated with them. These reactions were very moving for me, too, because this was the first time anyone in our family had publicly discussed what we had endured.

          Apparently these kinds of reactions had not been witnessed at a graduation ceremony before. So clearly, the experiences I related from my life resonated with them. These reactions were very moving for me, too, because this was the first time anyone in our family had publicly discussed what we had endured.

Few writers put pen to paper without hoping someone out there will read their words. Who do you see as your audience for Magic Carpet Flying?

Ryan: Magic Carpet Flying was initially written for graduates in psychology, social work, anthropology, and communications at the University of South Australia, as well as the families, friends, and faculty with whom they would be celebrating their achievement and this rite of passage. This was a different writing experience for me, because most of my writing typically addresses academic or public policy subjects.

          I also knew my daughters would probably one day read it so I wanted Magic Carpet Flying to carry messages that could resonate with them as well. They were thus part of the "audience."

          Also, I wrote for myself, to discover whether what I had learned in fifty years of living was worth sharing. I love how ideas evolve when we try to form them into coherent written expressions, but it is rare that we play with ideas touching the deepest issues of our lives.

          So in terms of audience, I saw the opportunity to craft a message for young graduates as a way of reaching the graduates, my daughters, and anyone else who had faced the harrowing darkness of mental illness in their own lives.

          Then with your invitation to publish Magic Carpet Flying as a Blue Butterfly book, I hoped the audience might be extended to other people curious about how the flight metaphor could help them frame this journey we call life and navigate the inevitable ascents and descents through both light and dark.

But in this book you've added to that original message, haven't you?

Ryan: Yes. When someone I called "my mirror soul" died, shortly after I delivered my address, I wrote for myself in the form of writing to him. He loved my writings to him, and would read and re-read my letters. So strange as it sounds, the so-called "Foreward," which is now included in this book as you note, was actually to myself and to him.

It is intensely private and personal writing.

Ryan: I have always found writing to be particularly healing, and research proves I am not alone in this experience. Expressive writing for several consecutive days can have dramatic positive physical, mental, and emotional impacts.

          Once I had said everything I wanted to say in the Forthward, I decided to share it with my closest friends so they might understand not just my journey into the black abyss, but the beautiful, life-giving role they themselves had played in my journey back out of the darkness. Upon reading it, some cautiously encouraged me to include this piece as part of my Magic Carpet Flying book.

          After great soul-searching and consideration of potential consequences for me and others, I accepted that the Forthward was actually integral to my own mental map of Magic Carpet Flying because my "mirror soul" had been such an indelible aspect of my carpet ride. He was with me in every word of that address to the graduates. Given his death within days of my delivering it, to not include this story, which is quintessential to who I am today, would have meant not living my own truth.

Well, that uniquely named Forthward is part of this book now, thanks to your candour.

Ryan: Inclusion of the Forthward broadens the audience to those who find themselves feeling irrevocably deluged by darkness, and those who have been irrevocably engulfed by light! In sharing this excruciatingly personal journey, I hope that in reading one person's odyssey toward light, readers discover in their own darkness, as John O'Donahue so hauntingly described in Beannacht, "a path of yellow moonlight to bring them safely home."

What do you hope someone reading this book might discover?

Ryan: Other than "a path of yellow moonlight?" That life always contains both darkness and light. That we can get through the darkness, no matter how horrendous. That we can revel in the light, even if the illumination is only fleeting.

Your openness about private life is refreshing in an age of manipulated messages, so what is needed in the way of courage to share intimate thoughts and emotions with strangers?

Ryan: I did not view the candour about my own life as courage-based. It was more like an imperative to talk about these things, particularly my dad's schizophrenia and suicide.

          I have always valued truth and honesty, and in the last ten years or so of my life particularly, I have striven toward living my "truth." I know that sounds clichZd but throughout the first half of my life, always percolating in the background, was the massive secret about Dad. In those days, and even now to some degree, a diagnosis of mental illness is accompanied by tremendous stigma. The negative and often uninformed reactions of others to a diagnosis of schizophrenia or any mental illness can be very hurtful and feed the distress, even the illness itself.

          At the time my father killed himself, neither mental illness nor suicide was publicly or openly discussed. So my mother, acting out of protection for us and my father, fought to ensure Dad's suicide was kept a secret, even to keep that label from his death certificate.

          As a result, although we discussed the circumstances of his death within our family, to anyone else, we would say his death was the outcome of a shooting accident. That worked for us at the time. I have no doubt that the "secret" protected us from the further emotional distress of public discussion of suicide at a time when it was such a taboo topic.

          But while I appreciated our mother's protective instincts, as an adult I railed against the conspiracy of silence. In the silence was still a lie. It was a lie I found myself perpetuating with my own childrenN"until they were old enough to handle the truth." And that was a dilemma. I understand there are developmentally appropriate ages at which to reveal certain truths to children, yet I am also aware from my work as a psychologist that when we maintain a conspiracy of silence about mental illness and suicide we unwittingly perpetuate stigma, injustice, and distress to those who suffer as well as to the loved ones who suffer along with them. Research shows that while we may attempt to maintain the silence by not talking about the secret with words, other conveyors of knowledge unconsciously transmit the messages anyway.

          This means we can perpetrate hurt on future generations by not being open and truthful about the reality of what happened, prolonging the conspiracy. It is no coincidence that suicide rates are higher in families where there has been suicide. We cannot change those statistics nor the tragic human stories behind them unless we talk graciously, candidly, and informatively about these painful afflictions.

So is that openness a requirement of "freedom," then?

Ryan: Freedom for me is being able to speak and live truth with grace, respect, dignity, and without fearing the ramifications. Freedom is being able to be who I am. Freedom is the opportunity and capacity to forge through all the frontiersNemotional, physical, social, spiritual, and intellectual.

And as a magic carpet flier?

Ryan: Freedom is soaring above the landscape without ever losing sight of the gifts the land below also offers. Freedom is knowing, when the carpet I ride plummets into darkness, that I have soared before and can soar again, just as never forgetting when I am soaring through light, what it feels like to be in darkness.

As an airplane pilot you must get, not in imagination but reality, a detached overview of the landscape. How does this influence your own take on life?

Ryan: Flying a plane I simultaneously experience exhilaration and trepidation, depending on just how confident I am in my skill level on any given day and the conditions in which I am flying. The same is true in daily life, as well. That is why the flight metaphor can enrich our understanding of life's journey. To fly above the minutia of daily life gives a distanced perspective otherwise difficult to attain, an ability to see the big picture.

          Yet hovering above the landscape is not a detached perspective, as you suggest. The skyscape is really part of the landscape. As a pilot, I must be aware of both the sky and the land, constantly assessing the conditions, adjusting my flying to suit what I am experiencing every moment, all the while aware of moving toward my desired destination.

So it's a question of balance?

Ryan: Exactly. Sometimes we get so immersed in the routines and the doing that we forget to notice what we are feeling in the moment, forget that we are actually soaring high above the earth. By the same token, we sometimes get so absorbed in soaring that we fail to remember what's on the ground. So I must always strive to remain aware when I am flying that what I am experiencing in any given momentNthe thrill, or the panicNcould change in an instant.

          My favorite time to fly is at night: with the glistening lights of a sprawling city below, and the infinite expanse of stars in the blackness all around me. I am particularly reminded in those moments how exhilarating it is to fly. Both the lights on the ground and the stars in the sky provide the joy. And I relish every opportunity I have to soar, whether on the ground or in the stratosphere beyond the Milky Way, because who knows when I might plummet again!

You offer leadership in women's health, and in the well-being of those who survive terrorist attacks and natural disasters. In Australia you work for the reconciliation of cultural differences between Aborigines and non-Aborigines, Muslims and non-Muslims, monarchists and republicans. What "spark from heaven," as Shakespeare would put it, did you "pick up" that causes you to do this?

Ryan: I am glad you quote Shakespeare! Although a devotee, I could not weave his work into Magic Carpet Flying so I am happy you have!

          I am not sure the source of the "spark," but yes, I feel a compulsion to do what I do. Sometimes that spark is a veritable electric storm!

          I grew up in a mining town of hard--working parents. Both were incredibly smart and talented, but limited by their life circumstances. For them, extended education was out of the question, just as it was for many with whom I went through primary and secondary school. My parents were "working class," but nothing about them was typical: my father learned to fly a plane in his late teens, and other than being a pilot, my mother could do anything my father could, including working alongside him building our family home. And regardless of their own income, they were silently, unassumingly, exceedingly compassionate and philanthropic. My mother instilled the message we were no better nor worse than any other human on the planet. She said that no matter how much or little we had, it was our responsibility to share with those who might be down on their luck. Our backyard was full of apricot, apple, orange, lemon, mandarin, and almond trees, as well as grape and passion fruit vines. When ripe, we picked the fruit and walked around our modest neighbourhood with buckets of fruit to deliver to anyone who wanted it, but particularly those who needed it. My dad did "humanitarian" airdrops for people stranded by flood or drought in the outback, and occasionally flew the Flying Doctor to surrounding districts.

          So this "spark"Nthis drive for egalitarianism and social justice, my sense of responsibility to do something when I see injustice, but in a way that respects others' dignityNwas instilled in me from a very early age.

Your work focuses on empowering disadvantaged peoples in the United States, Australia, Ethiopia, East Timor, Sri Lanka, India, Vietnam, and South Africa. You have elsewhere described this as helping people "see the light in the darkness." Is it really just a matter of inspiration, or are practical steps also needed for such empowerment, too?

Ryan: It is true that in my international work "empowerment" is a key theme. I am a huge believer in the innate resiliencies and natural light that people have within them, and some may not even realize they have. So these initiatives are geared to help people build on their own strength and to expand their light. But yes, this is often done through practical steps too, like providing information, education, and collaboration.

          Sometimes empowerment can be physical. For example, in the decimated beach areas of Sri Lanka after the tsunami, a group of mothers was attempting to rebuild their lives and community, to re-establish livelihoods out of seaweed-strewn rubble. When asked what would help the most, one woman used her hands to make circles around her eyes. The problem was that some of the older women who'd swum for their lives to flee the gigantic wave had lost their eyeglasses. Once we provided replacements, they were again able to safely cook meals, help their kids with homework, and earn a living. So providing glasses was one such practical step.

          In other situations, the practical steps are micro-financing a small home business, a family literacy program so everyone can learn together, or teaching basic psychosocial skills to healthcare workers so they can respond more effectively to those they are trying to help emerge from their darkness.

Why did you create the international organization "Psychology Beyond Borders?"

Ryan: It was an organization waiting to happen! As a psychologist, I became quite disturbed after the attacks of September 11, 2001, by the level of fear being fuelled across America, even in communities far from areas at risk of future attacks. The fear seemed to be fuelled by political, community, and media leaders. When I asked several prominent politicians what they would do not to scare people, I was met with vague answers.

          At that time, very few people were discussing or researching the psychology of terror and how to manage it. So in 2004 I brought together a group of the world's experts on fear and terror, and for three days in Texas we shared learning from various parts of the globe, from multiple disciplines, about how to manage the psychology of fear and terror.

What happened?

Ryan: One recommendation was to -establish an organization that could dispatch multi--disciplinary rapid response teams in the after--- math of a catastrophic event to assist communities manage the psychological and social havoc wreaked by mass tragedy, especially where local resources are limited.

          It soon became clear that our mission was evolving far beyond psychosocial service delivery in the wake of an initial crisis. We discovered the need for an organization committed to combining research with service delivery in order to contribute to the body of knowledge about what most eases distress in circumstances of mass tragedy, and to use such knowledge to improve preparedness and response. For example, one thing learned from September 11 was that despite best intentions and sincere belief in the healing potential of particular therapeutic approaches, some practices actually can add to long-term distress rather than alleviate it.

          So as Psychology Beyond Borders evolved, the more we saw the need to research the impact of psychosocial services practiced all over the planet. With better knowledge about what works best in which circumstances and for which people, we can now disseminate that knowledge so that survivors experience healing, rather than harmful, practices.

It seems like you are not just an airplane pilot and a magic carpet flyer, but even a blue butterfly!

Ryan: [Answers only with a beaming smile.]