Whispering Wyrd

The Healing Web

recent posts

  • Start Anyway

    For most of my life I had a habit of waiting for things to be “just right” before I would do something good for myself like getting clean or start healing an inner wound. But as life tends to go, those perfect conditions really just never really came. So I carried the pain and anger for far too long. I carried old wounds way longer than I needed to.

    It never occurred to me back then was that I might have to create the conditions I was waiting for. Anyone who has read my writing for a while knows I talk a lot about recovery and the things that continue to help heal me. But you don’t need a history of addiction to benefit from what recovery teaches. I’ve known a lot of people who never struggled with substances, but could still benefit a lot from recovery tools.

    That’s just how life works. Nobody gets out unscathed. I’m not saying life is terrible, I don’t believe that at all. Life is beautiful. But we would be fooling ourselves if we pretended there is no pain, no grief, no loss, and no struggle. Beauty and hardship sometimes live side by side.

    One of the most important things I learned in recovery is that you can’t sit around waiting for everything to be perfect before you start addressing the pain and/or anger inside. Sometimes you have to create the conditions yourself. And if that feels impossible in the moment, then start anyway, even in a small way. Some small change for the better.

    When I finally started doing that, I was amazed at how much influence I actually had over my own inner world. That power of influence had been there all along, I just didn’t know it. We can only do so much to influence the outer world. Some things just are what they are for now, but we can absolutely take care of our inner world. We can change how we respond to things. We can get stronger, wiser, softer, and kinder. We can heal.

    As I’ve written before, I’m now 60 years old, and there are a lot of times I wish I had learned these tools much earlier. But when I catch myself living in regret, I try to come back to the here and now. Because like a character played by Jet Li once said, “You will find only pain living in the past.”

    I don’t know how much time I have left, none of us do. But with whatever time I do have left I want to live it fully. Not just for myself but in ways that help others too because another thing I’ve learned is that when we help others, our own lives become better. Like Danny Trejo, one of my all time favorite actors because of his real life recovery story and kindness said, “Everything good that’s ever happened to me came out of helping others.”

    So if there is something in your life that has been gnawing at you whether it’s addiction related or not, and you’ve been waiting for better conditions before you face it, or heal it, or change it, why not start now anyway? Today is real and this moment is real. Conditions might never be perfect and none of us are promised tomorrow. So why not start creating the healing, peace, and happiness you’ve been waiting for today?

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • The Click Of The Handcuffs

    This is a topic that feels a little strange for me to write about because there was a time in my life when I would not accept accountability in any form. To say I reacted badly when anyone tried to hold me accountable would be a massive understatement. I wasn’t willing to let others do it, and I certainly wasn’t willing to do it myself. I had so much anger that I didn’t believe that anyone had the right to question me, challenge me, or expect anything from me.

    Even when I went to jail.

    But feeling those cuffs go on and hearing that sharp click behind my back… that was accountability being forced upon me in one of the harshest ways possible. Anyone in recovery knows accountability is part of the process. For some of us, like me, it can be one of the hardest lessons to learn. But for me, it has also been one of the most healing.

    Today, I own my actions and my decisions, for good or bad. If I make a bad choice, that belongs to me. If I make a good one, like staying sober, staying clean, trying to live with honesty, that belongs to me too.

    It makes me think of the Buddha’s teaching on karma: “Beings are owners of their actions, heirs to their actions.” To me, that means I am responsible for the life I build through what I choose, every single day.

    I know what I’ve done in the past, and I can’t change any of that. None of us can rewrite yesterday, but we can choose who we are today. I can choose to be a better man than I was. I can choose to be someone people can trust, to be someone my family can rely on. I can choose to share my story so others know recovery is possible.

    Getting off benzodiazepines after more than twenty years of heavy use was no small thing. I was told by doctors that because of how long I had taken them and at the doses I had taken that getting clean was no longer realistic. But I was determined.

    I couldn’t keep living that way. It was hurting me, and it was hurting the people I love. So I kept going, one hard step at a time. And if I can do it, even after being told it was impossible, then I want others to know they should never give up hope. Recovery is possible. Freedom is possible. Life can change. (Though I want to also say this clearly… benzodiazepine withdrawal is serious and should never be taken lightly. Please seek medical guidance and support either inpatient or under the close supervision of a doctor NEVER cold turkey with benzos.)

    I am deeply grateful for the recovery community that helped teach me these lessons. I am grateful to be clean today. And I am grateful that accountability, which once felt like punishment, now feels like freedom. Because when we stop running from the truth, we finally have a chance to heal.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Pain Is Real. Suffering Can Be Less.

    I was remembering a conversation I had many years ago. At the time, I had just gone from building power lines to working in IT for a massive online trading corporation with offices around the country. It was a big shift, not just in the work itself, but in the culture. I had to learn how to “play nice” in a corporate office environment, which felt completely foreign after life on a contract line crew.

    One coworker on my team had also come from construction, so we connected right off the bat. He helped me understand office politics, which seemed mind boggling and ridiculous to both of us. We laughed a lot about “office people” behavior.

    But we also had deeper conversations. One day when things were unusually slow we started talking about how heaven and hell might not just be places people imagine after death, but also states of mind we experience right here and now.

    Imagine seeing a breathtaking sunset. The sky is just on fire with color. You feel gratitude just to be alive and able to witness it. Now imagine seeing that exact same sunset while dealing with a toothache, crushing anxiety, or the grief of losing someone you love.

    The sunset didn’t change, but your inner world did. Pain, worry, anger, fear, grief, all of these can become so overwhelming that they completely drown out the beauty still there all around us. Anyone who has suffered deeply knows this.

    Anger used to do that to me more than anything. It consumed me for years. Drugs and alcohol only fueled it. I can remember being so angry I thought I might have a stroke or heart attack, but half the time I didn’t even know why I was angry. In that state of mind, beauty became completely invisible.

    Worry had a similar power over me. I remember reading in the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus said not to worry and how futile worry is. But at the time, I didn’t know how to stop worrying and Jesus never explained how to stop worrying. He just said “don’t worry”. Knowing worry is harmful and knowing how to stop it are two very different things. I am not knocking Christianity in any way, form, or fashion here… I’m only stating my own experience.

    One of the gifts Buddhism gave me was a clearer understanding of the difference between pain and suffering. It taught me step by step in great detail how to stop worrying. Pain is part of life. Loss is part of life. Illness, heartbreak, aging, uncertainty… none of us can escape these things.

    But suffering gets stronger when we cling tightly to the pain, when we build our whole identity around it, when we tell ourselves it will never get better, or when we believe all goodness has vanished because pain is here right now.

    That doesn’t mean that we deny the pain. It doesn’t mean we pretend tragedy isn’t tragic. It doesn’t mean we shame anyone or ourselves for grieving or struggling. It just means that even in pain, there may still be a little space around it. A little breath, a little kindness, and a little beauty that has not completely disappeared.

    I was reminded of this recently when I fell in a mountain river and dislocated my thumb. The pain was immediately excruciating. For a minute it was hard to even breathe because of the intensity of the pain. But I was standing in cold water on unstable rocks, so I had to focus on getting safely out first.

    The pain was real but in that moment pain didn’t have to become panic, even though the rushing water kept trying to keep me down. Even now, it still hurts sometimes. But I’ve learned that when I obsess over it, resist it, or make it the center of everything, it gets worse. When I acknowledge it without clinging to it, it becomes easier to manage.

    That’s what I mean by separating pain from suffering. Some burdens are heavy. Some losses are life changing. Some grief can’t be rushed. But maybe, even there, we can suffer a little less. Not by denying the pan, but by not attaching to it.  And by remembering that pain can be there while beauty still exists.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • “We Don’t Even Know Who You Are Anymore”

    My wife said something this morning that made us both laugh. She looked at me and said, “You’re always in a good mood now, even when you haven’t slept… and it’s kind of creepy!”

    She said it because I hadn’t slept well last night, yet here I was this morning still happy, still in a good mood. That would have been unthinkable in the past.

    There was a time when poor sleep guaranteed I’d be in a terrible mood. During alcoholism and active addiction, I was almost always in a bad mood anyway. Lack of sleep just took me from bad to worse. So when she joked, “We don’t even know who you are anymore because you’re always in such a good mood these days,” we laughed, but beneath the humor was something beautiful…

    Healing changes a person. And yes, even now it can feel a little strange. Some mornings I’m tired. Some days I feel the effects of a rough night. But underneath all that, there is still peace. There is still gratitude. There is still joy.

    At 60 years old, for the first time in my life, I’m learning what it feels like to live as a happy person. That doesn’t mean all the old pain magically disappeared when I got sober and clean. It didn’t. The PTSD, the anxiety, the old memories, the wounds I tried to bury with alcohol and then benzodiazepines, they were all still there.

    The difference is now I have tools I didn’t have before. Now when anxiety or the memories rise, I don’t automatically try to run from it or bury it with alcohol or pills. When my heart races, when the PVCs come, when old memories try to drag me backward, I react differently.

    I sit in meditation. I say the Name. I walk with it instead of running from it. I bring my attention to my breath. I put my palms together or hold my beads and softly say the Name, “Amituofo”. And with that,  little by little, I remember something… What happens in my mind is not the master of me. These days, I work to guide my mind rather than be ruled by it.

    Gratitude has also been one of the greatest medicines of my life.

    Instead of always living in what happened back then, I give thanks for what is here now. I have my wife and sons, I have reasonably good health for a 60 year old man with diabetes and a long history of addiction. I have another chance. I live in a place of breathtaking beauty. I know who my real people are.

    Recovery has a way of clearing the fog. It also has a way of revealing who really stands beside you. Recovery has a way of weeding out the “fair weather” friends and family. Yes, sometimes I still feel sadness when people disappear over political or religious differences. That kind of division can feel painfully small compared to the gift of healing and being alive.

    But I don’t stay there in sadness, I’m too busy enjoying this life. Too busy loving my family. Too busy being grateful and too busy cherishing the freedom I once thought I might never know. So if it seems strange that I’m in a good mood these days, maybe it’s because my eyes are finally open.

    I’m no longer a slave to any substance. I’m no longer chained to the opinions of others or trying to gain anyone’s approval by hiding my true self. I am free and it feels good!

    I wish you peace, good health, and a beautiful weekend.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

    Photo Credit: My son, Ty Britt

  • Mental Kung Fu: Not Every Battle Needs a Fight

    Happy Friday!

    Have you ever heard of “mental Kung Fu”? I hadn’t either, at least not outside the martial arts world. The phrase might sound mystical or exotic, like something reserved for monks or fighters, but it really isn’t. It’s actually really simple.

    “Mental Kung Fu” is just applying the principles of martial arts like focus, discipline, and balance, to your inner life. Years ago, I trained under a Korean master in Tae Kwon Do, more specifically Tae Kwon Moo Do, from the Moo Duk Kwan tradition (martial instead of sport like Olympic Tae Kwon Do). What he taught me went far beyond kicks and forms. He taught me how to sit still in meditation, how to breathe, and how to bring those same martial principles into my everyday life.

    At the time I didn’t realize how important that would become for me later. Looking back now, I think a lot of us in recovery practice some form of “mental Kung Fu,” whether we call it that or not. It’s what we do when we pause instead of react. When we redirect a craving instead of feeding it. When we choose something better for ourselves, even when it’s hard.

    Programs like the 12 Steps and secular/non-religious methods/groups like SMART Recovery, or SOS (Secular Organizations for Sobriety) all offer different ways to build that inner discipline. Different forms, different styles, and different terminologies,  but the same essential work.

    Here’s something I believe one hundred percent… there is no single “right” way to get sober. Some people will insist there is. They may even question your recovery if it doesn’t look like theirs. But the truth is, if you’re doing the work, if you’re healing, if you’re staying clean and present in your life, that is real. That’s valid. No one else gets to define that for you!

    My own path has been a mix of a lot of things… recovery tools, spiritual practice, meditation, walking, even lessons from martial arts. I took what worked and left the rest behind. Some people doubted that approach. But it worked and it still works for me.

    One teaching from my martial arts days has stayed with me all these years. My instructor used to describe mental discipline like blocking in a sparring match. When something comes at you, an attack, a strike, you don’t just stand there and absorb it. You redirect it. You block, shift, and stay balanced. The same idea applies inside, in your mind and internal world.

    When a painful memory surfaces… block and redirect the energy. When anger rises… acknowledge it, but don’t let it take control of you. When the world feels overwhelming… step back, breathe, regain your footing.

    Lately, with all the noise from this current administration, conflict and constant outrage, it’s been harder to stay centered. It’s easy to get pulled into that storm and that constant chaos they bring to the world. So, I come back to my practice. Walking under the open sky and surrounded by mountains. Sitting in stillness in meditation. Saying the Name. Even something as simple as a delicious cup of Earl Grey.

    These are my ways of staying grounded, of staying balanced, and off not getting swept away. That, to me, is “mental Kung Fu.” You don’t need a uniform and you don’t need a dojo. You don’t even need to call it that. But if you’re doing the work, if you’re choosing peace over chaos, presence over escape, then you’re already definitely practicing it. And if you’re staying sober/clean, you’re definitely succeeding!

    Have a great weekend! I wish you peace, good health, and steady footing in your own practice, whatever form it takes.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • When the World Gets Loud, I Listen for the Bell

    I woke up to another beautiful day here today. As part of my daily morning routine I checked in on the recovery community across a few platforms. There’s almost always something encouraging there. People helping each other, lifting each other up. It’s a good way to start the day.

    But then I saw a headline someone posted that I wish I hadn’t clicked on. It was about the current administration threatening the Vatican, talking about America’s “unmatched military power” and suggesting it can do “whatever it wants in the world”. That the Catholic Church should get on “America’s side” and making references to a pope being brought down. And now the Pope has canceled his visit here, his country of birth, because of the threat. That hit me hard. I’m not a Catholic, but threatening the Pope… really?!

    Before I knew it, I could feel that old anger rising inside me. My chest tightened. My thoughts sped up. That old feeling/energy from long ago, anger, frustration, started rising and I know I’m not alone in that.

    Lately, in conversations with others in recovery, I can it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. The political climate, the constant talk of war, the division, even within families, it’s affecting us. Some people are saying they are feeling pulled back toward old mental patterns. Others have said they’re starting to feel numb, “emotionally spent”. Not everyone, but I’ve noticed it more lately. I know it’s affecting me too.

    It’s real and it’s happening. This morning, as I felt that anger building, something interrupted it. A bell. I use a mindfulness app from Plum Village, and I have it set to where every thirty minutes it plays the sound of a singing bowl. Just a simple reminder to stop, breathe, and come back to the present moment.

    Right as I was getting pulled into that anger, that bell rang. So I stopped. I took a breath and then another. I put my palms together, closed my eyes, and quietly said, “Amituofo.” And just like that the wave passed. That old anger that was rising, the stuff that used to feed my alcoholism and addiction, was gone.

    Not because the situation suddenly became right and not because I stopped caring. But because I didn’t follow the anger where it wanted to take me. I didn’t know how to stop it while I was in active alcoholism and addiction. But I know how to now, and sometimes all I need is a reminder, and that bell every 30 minutes reminds me.

    I’m not sharing this as a “look at me” moment. I’m sharing it because I know how quickly things can spiral downhill, maybe especially for those of us in recovery. Because I know I myself didn’t just have to detox from substances, I had to learn how to detox from anger, from the kinds of mental states that once fed my addiction.

    That bell helps me remember this. Those constant streams of headlines of war, threats, power, “on to the next conquest”… that stuff spreads. Like a kind of emotional virus or something. One story turns into ten, one conversation into another, and suddenly it’s living inside our hearts and minds.

    And while it’s important to stay informed, there’s a difference between being informed and being consumed. Especially for me, and I think maybe especially for anyone who’s in recovery, trying to stay healthy in body and mind.

    Because for many of us, going too far down that road into anger, fear, or emotional exhaustion doesn’t just ruin a day. It can take us back to places we have fought hard to leave behind. I’m not saying we should ignore what’s happening and I’m definitely not saying we should stay silent about things that are wrong. I’m just saying we have to take care of our inner world while we do it.

    We have to protect the peace we’ve worked so hard to find even while we’re watching a world that sometimes feels like it’s imploding. For me at least, that means stepping back when I feel that pull toward anger. It means breathing and choosing not to feed the anger, even when I’m certain it’s justified.

    It means listening for that bell, whatever form it takes. Maybe for you it’s your breath. Maybe it’s a walk, a prayer, meditation, or just stepping outside for a minute and feeling the sun on your face. Whatever it is for you, hold onto it. Because there’s a lot going on right now.

    And if we’re not careful, it can take a lot more from us than we realize. So today I’m grateful for that small interruption. For that simple reminder that I don’t have to go down every road my mind offers me. And if you’re feeling overwhelmed, or numb, or pulled in directions you don’t want to go, you’re not alone. Pause when you can. Breathe when you can. Sometimes, that’s enough to make a big difference.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • A Beautiful Day, A Broken World

    Today is a beautiful day here in Santa Fe! The ravens are flying, talking to each other as they ride invisible currents in the air. Other birds are singing their songs, the finches, bluebirds, and robins, all busy doing what they do. It’s mostly sunny so no clouds interrupting the wide open view of the mountains.

    It’s one of those days when you step outside and it just hits you… how very fortunate I am to witness such stunning beauty.

    It’s also one of those days when I realize just how amazing it is to experience all of this completely free of substances. One of those days when I can say, without any hesitation, that all the pain and suffering of coming off benzos was worth it.

    My aspen bonsai has fresh spring leaves. The pines and junipers are pushing out new green growth, telling me they made it through the winter just fine. I love this time of year. Trees and flowering shrubs exploding with life and color. It feels like the Earth itself is reminding us there is still beauty here. Even now with everything going on in the human world.

    And that’s the strange, sometimes uncomfortable truth I find myself thinking of today, how peace and suffering can exist at the same time. Because while I’m standing in sunlight, breathing clean mountain air, there are people in other parts of the world who are not safe at all. People living in a fear most of us will never know. People just trying to survive another day in the middle of war.

    Children who don’t understand what’s happening, only the sound of explosions, the sight of fire, the feeling of sheer terror. That reality doesn’t disappear just because my own day is beautiful. But neither does this beauty disappear because suffering exists. Both are here.

    And I now I think part of living fully, part of waking up, is learning how to acknowledge both without turning away from either one. To let gratitude be here without guilt. To let compassion be here without losing my footing.

    So today, I stand here grateful to be alive, grateful for the peace around me, and grateful for my family. I have no fight with anyone, and I don’t want one. What I do have are moments like this… the sights, sounds, and even simple smells that bring me a kind of peace I never knew was possible when I was drinking or taking benzos.

    It reminds me of something Thich Nhat Hanh famously said, “The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.” He knew war, his country was ravaged by years of war. Yet he also knew peace and touched the lives of countless others spreading his message of peace.

    Today I feel that. Wherever you are today, I wish you peace, good health, and happiness.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • I Spent A Lifetime Chasing Approval That Never Came

    Have you ever found yourself as an adult still craving approval like you did when you were a kid? Still hoping someone notices you and says something like, “Hey, you’re doing really good” or something like that?

    I didn’t realize until recent years just how much of my life was shaped by chasing that. I spent years, decades actually, chasing approval and “kudos” from other people. Because deep down, I didn’t really believe I had any real worth of my own.

    When a kid grows up being told you’re stupid or ugly or “too much” or “a problem” those words don’t disappear. Those words from teachers, parents, or anyone in authority positions. They sink right into a kids heart and take root there. Tell a kid they are those things often enough and eventually they stop questioning it. They don’t just hear it, they become it.

    By the time I was a teenager, something had definitely changed inside me. I didn’t trust compliments anymore. If someone said something nice, I assumed there was a catch. A hidden motive or some kind of manipulation.

    Because that’s what I had learned. So instead of believing any of the good, I leaned right into the bad. If I was already “trouble”, then why not just be trouble? If I was already “too much”, then why even bother trying to be anything else? What’s the point, right?

    Looking back now, I can see how that mindset, along with trauma, laid the groundwork for my alcoholism and addiction. It wasn’t just about substances. It was about trying to fill a deep hole that had been carved of me out a long time ago.

    When I was reflecting on all of this, I came across something that I could really relate to, not because it was new, but because it put words to what I had lived too. Kids are hardwired to seek approval from caregivers and people in positions of authority in their lives. And when love is conditional, based on being “good enough”, a kid learns that approval and love must be “earned”, love becomes a transactional thing, not an unconditional thing.

    If that approval/love never really comes, the search doesn’t stop, it follows well into adulthood. That’s where things like people pleasing, perfectionism, overthinking, and a fragile sense of self-worth come from. And when that need goes unmet it creates anxiety. A deep, restless kind of anxiety. One that some of us tried to silence with alcohol or drugs or anything that made the feeling go away, even for a little while.

    That need for approval doesn’t magically disappear when you become a teenager or even an adult. You start looking for it in other places, other people, the wrong crowds. And if you’re not careful you can, like me, end up surrounding yourself with people who hand out approval for all the wrong reasons. You get praised for how much you can drink. You get “kudos” for how much drugs you can take in one go. You get “respect” for making bad decisions that land you in jail. That can feel like validation, but it’s not. It’s just another version of the same old wound.

    The real turning point is when you begin to find your own sense of worth. Not because someone else gives it to you. Not because you “earned” it through your suffering. But because you finally begin to see that you’ve had worth all along. Like getting clean and/or staying sober. Facing your life honestly. Learning to set boundaries after a lifetime of trying to please everyone else.

    That’s where the real “kudos” are! The deep ones that really mean something. The kind others may not see, but you feel them inside. It’s a little bittersweet realizing it took me nearly 60 years to figure this out for myself, but I don’t sit in regret anymore. Because the truth is, a lot of us were never given a fair starting point.

    Some of us weren’t just told we were “bad”, we were taught that even God saw us that way. That we were somehow fundamentally wrong and literally destined to be punished. That kind of belief doesn’t just affect your thoughts, it shapes your entire life. Healing from stuff like that isn’t easy and it definitely isn’t pretty. But it’s definitely possible.

    Little by little, you start to unlearn what you were told. You start to question those old angry voices. You start to recognize that they were wrong. That’s when you realize you don’t even need the approval you had been chasing so desperately your whole life. Not because you don’t care anymore but because you finally know who you are and that you’ve had worth all along.

    You don’t have to prove your worth anymore. Other people don’t have to approve of your healing. Most of them probably have no idea anyway of what you’ve survived and wouldn’t even understand it if you told them. They don’t have to understand your recovery, your approach to healing, or anything else. It’s none of their business. What’s important is your ability to finally see that you’ve had inside you what you’ve been chasing all along. You just have to allow yourself to see it.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • What I Found When Everything Fell Apart

    I spent most of my life searching for a spiritual path that I could feel and see the truth in. One that was me, not one I was told to believe or threatened with hell if I didn’t. One that I could feel the truth of with every fiber of my being.

    Christianity never did to me. And yet, I could still see the beauty in it, at least in the Catholic church. I could step into a Catholic service and feel something deep and moving in the reverence, the ritual, and the sense of awe there. I never found that kind of beauty in the tiny, ultra-conservative Church of Christ I grew up in or in the Baptist churches I would attend with my wife.

    So I kept searching.

    That search took me down a lot of roads. Christianity in different forms, Judaism, Asatru and heathenry, ideas close to Native American spiritualities, humanism, neo-paganism. I wasn’t just curious. I was looking for something real. Something that felt like home.

    About twenty years ago, I found that home in Buddhism. But even then, I couldn’t fully live it. Alcoholism and addiction kept pulling me away. I drifted in and out, touching something true, then losing it again. And then came withdrawal.

    When I came off benzodiazepines after more than twenty years of high-dose use, everything stripped down to survival. I was literally just trying to survive day to day. There was no room left for abstract ideas. No room for philosophy. No patience for distant promises or concepts of help that lived somewhere “out there.” I needed something immediate, something real, and something that could meet me right here, right now.

    There’s no adequate way to explain what benzo withdrawal does to a person. Not really. You can try, but unless someone has lived it, they won’t ever fully understand. It was hell. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. It was hell in the most literal, embodied sense. My mind, body, and my nervous system, everything was breaking and trying to rebuild at the same time.

    It hurt in a way that words just don’t describe. I remember someone telling me recently that the fact I came out the other side alive, after that long at those doses, was remarkable. That hit me hard. Not in a proud way. In a sobering, sort of frightening way.

    Because when I look back on it I realize how close it all came. Doctors told me I couldn’t do it.
     Pharmacists told me I couldn’t do it. One pharmacist I trusted, someone I had known for years, looked me straight in the eye and said, “You’ll never be free of benzos now. Your nervous system depends on them just to function.”

    But I did it anyway. And it hurt me more than I can ever explain. Even now, my body is still learning how to exist without them. I still have waves that come and go. Days, sometimes weeks, where things feel off. My heart still reminds me, with those runs of PVCs, that healing isn’t always linear.

    Sometimes it hits me just how enormous that was, getting through it. And I still don’t completely understand how I did. I’ve talked to so many people in recovery who struggled deeply after shorter use and lower doses. By all logic, I shouldn’t have made it through the way I did.

    But I did.

    And in that experience where everything was stripped away, Buddhism wasn’t an abstract philosophy anymore. It was something I could do, something I could feel. Something I could hold onto. It was something that met me in the exact moment I was in. It helped keep me here. It helped keep me alive.

    After going through something like that, things shift. I don’t have anger anymore toward people who try to convert me to their beliefs. But I don’t have room for it either. During withdrawal, when I was suffering the most, there were people who tried, more than once, to convert me. I think they meant well. I think they saw the pain I was in and believed their path could magically fix it. But suffering like that teaches you something very clearly, what helps… helps. And what doesn’t… doesn’t.

    These days I live a lot more quietly now. More simply. I tend my bonsai trees, I chant “namo Amituofo”,  I meditate. I spend time with my wife. I read. I write. I practice Qigong. I walk. I breathe fresh air and enjoy the mountains.

    I take care of this life that I’ve been given back. And I love it! I love the freedom from substances. I love not trying to outrun or numb my past anymore. I love building a life that doesn’t revolve around escape or substances. I love the peace I’ve found.

    There’s only one thing I sometimes wish… that I had found this sooner. But that’s not how it works. Maybe the road I took, as long and painful as it was, is the only reason I can feel this peace now the way I do now. And maybe that means I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be now.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Somewhere Between Here And There

    Yesterday we spent the entire day driving. Not just driving to get somewhere, but driving to look. Exploring areas in Rio Rancho and Bernalillo, thinking about where we might be moving to in the coming months. New roads, new neighborhoods, and new views.

    There’s something sorta weird about that kind of day. You’re not quite here anymore, but you’re not there yet either. Just somewhere… in between.

    By the time we got home, I was exhausted. Not just physically, though there’s plenty of that too. But that deeper kind of tired that comes from taking in so much at one time…so many sights, so many potential decisions, so many “what ifs.” It leaves you feeling a little off balance and a little un-tethered.

    I’ve noticed something about times like this. The mind wants to rush ahead, it wants to figure everything out right now. Things like where exactly will we live? Will it be right? Will this be a good move? What if it isn’t?

    It tries to find somewhere solid before life has actually brought you there. But yesterday in the middle of all that, I caught myself. We were driving, and I looked out at the land and mountains stretching out under the beautiful New Mexico sky. The kind of sky that always feels bigger than whatever is going on inside your head. And something in me just sort of eased up.

    Nothing was decided yet and nothing was certain. But in that one moment, nothing needed to be. Lately, through my own practices, whether it’s walking with my beads or sitting quietly in zazen the evening, I’ve been learning something I never understood for most of my life. You don’t have to “arrive” before you arrive.

    It sounds simple, but it’s not always easy. Especially for someone like me, who spent so many years either running from the past or trying to control the future. It’s the peace that only shows up when you stop trying to be somewhere else. Even if “somewhere else” looks better at the moment. Even if it might be better.

    Peace doesn’t live in the future. It shows up right here… or not at all. So last night, I tried something different. I let the questions be there without chasing them, without trying to force an answer. I let the uncertainty sit and settle without trying to resolve it. I just stayed with what was right in front of me.

    And for a little while, that was enough. We may be moving soon. Or maybe not. Life will unfold the way it does. That’s just the way things work. But yesterday reminded me of something important, there is a space between “here” and “there” that we spend a lot of our lives in. And if we’re not careful, we miss the present completely, because we’re too busy trying to get out of it.

    Last night I was tired. But not a bad kind of tired. It was the kind of tired that comes from living a full day, even if it didn’t come with all the answers. Maybe not every day is meant to give us crystal clarity. Some days just show us where we are right now.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck