Whispering Wyrd

The full moon rose last night, bright and beautiful. I stepped outside to see it. The cold air felt good on my skin, and the world was awash in silver.

I sometimes forget that the moon moves the tides. And not just the distant oceans, but the tides in me too. I am mostly water, after all, and something in me remembers this. The pull. The rising. The falling. The turning.

No wonder feelings can come and go like waves.

No wonder healing comes in “tides” and withdrawal symptoms return in “waves”.

The way I see the world isn’t just some belief to me. It’s simply how the world reveals itself to me when I am quiet enough to notice. The moon is not just a symbol, it’s a presence. A being. A being older than any story about it.

The runes feel the same way to me.

Not relics, not decorations. Not the language of conquest or things to put on costumes. But living currents. Patterns of meaning woven through breath and bone. They are part of the same web the moon is part of, the same web that holds forests, rivers, the cries of ravens, and the beating of my heart.

Last night, I felt Uruz in the moonlight,
not as brute strength,
but as life stirring inside my body.
Quiet persistence through the waves of benzo withdrawal.
The endurance that grows like roots deep in the ground.

The kind of strength that says,
“I am still here”.
I am healing, even when the healing is slow.
Even when it hurts.
Even when the fear moves like strong winds through my chest.

And then Ansuz, the breath rune,
the whisper that moves through trees,
through songs,
through prayer with no words.

I breathed in the moonlight.
I breathed out all the tension I could.
And the world breathed with me.

My heart is not my enemy, even when I fear its uneven rhythm.
It is trying, always,
to return me to life.

So I stood under the full moon,
barely moving,
and everything around me seemed to exhale with me.

The mountains,
The junipers, firs, and pines.
The quiet sounds of night animals.
The big silver eye of the night sky.

We were all one tide.
One breath.
One web of being, part of the vast web of wyrd.

And for a brief moment, not long, but yet enough,
I remembered that I am not alone in this healing.

I whispered, “Hello”.
The moon shone back.
And that was prayer.

A Closing Blessing

May the moon watch over your healing.
May your breath return you to yourself, again and again.
May the tides within you find their rhythm.
May your heart remember it’s not alone.
May the living web hold you gently tonight and always.

Buck

(Photo credits: My son, Ty Britt)