Whispering Wyrd

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 Note: I wrote this 2 days ago, before what happened in Minneapolis yesterday. I had planned on publishing it yesterday but didn’t. I’m publishing it now, in the hope that it may help anyone who is feeling overwhelmed by the weight of the world these days. I know it’s inadequate. But it’s all I have to offer, so I offer it freely. What I wrote isn’t about politics, I don’t “do politics”. It’s simply about healing and peace.
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What’s something that brings you real peace, day in and day out? Not a vacation kind of peace, or a once in a while type thing, but something that actually steadies you in life.

I don’t think peace has to be elaborate. At least, it hasn’t been for me. Most of the peace I’ve found doesn’t come with bells and whistles or complicated rituals. It shows up in the small and ordinary things like gratitude, prayer, meditation, a kind word offered without thinking too hard about it.

In my support group, I hear a lot of real life stories about how simply passing along the kindness we’ve been shown ends up being deeply healing. And that’s not just a recovery thing. Every one of us, at some point, has been helped by someone else. Maybe through a smile, a conversation at the right moment, or something much bigger that changed the direction of our lives forever.

One of the things I try to practice these days, especially as I continue healing from benzos, is what I think of as being peace. I’ve written before about how peace begins with finding peace within, but for me it doesn’t stop there. Being peace means letting it move outward, into how I think, how I speak, and how I treat people. In that sense, peace becomes something active, something lived. Peace becomes a verb.

Something that’s really struck me over time is that I’ve never met a rude or mean addict who was genuinely in recovery. Not once. Everyone I’ve met on this path has been kind, supportive, and trying to do better each day. Trying to heal.

NA talks about how there’s a stereotype people often have of who “belongs” in recovery, and while that image fits some people, it misses a whole lot of others. The truth is, people in recovery are parents, professionals, students, artists, just regular human beings. And yes, some of us have tattoos. Some of us have been in jail or prison. I’m one of those people. I have tattoos on my face, neck, hands, and arms. I’ve been in jail. I’m also very aware that when I walk into a grocery store or meet someone new, their first impression of me is probably shaped by how I look. The tattoos.

Because of that, I make a conscious effort to let what’s in my heart, the peace, the kindness, and the respect, speak louder than my appearance. I want to be seen for who I am now, not for assumptions or for who I used to be. For me, that’s also part of being peace.

I’ve met people whose bodies are almost completely covered in tattoos, who’ve lived incredibly hard lives, and who are among the kindest, most genuine people I know. They laugh easily. They help freely. You can feel their kindness right away.

And honestly, even people who’ve never struggled with addiction, who’ve lived what looks like a “clean” and “perfect” life from the outside, everyone has something they regret. Something they wish they’d done differently. It may not be as heavy, but it’s there. I’ve learned how important it is not to get stuck in the past, mine or anyone else’s. I can’t be peace if I’m living back there.

There have been a couple of people who couldn’t accept my recovery, who could only see me as who I was years ago. All I could say was, “Don’t keep looking for me in the past, I’m not there anymore.” Then I let them pass peacefully out of my life. It wasn’t easy, but sometimes being peace means protecting the life you’re trying to build now.

Whatever practice helps you create peace, whatever helps you be peace, I hope you keep it close and dear. The world needs that. It needs people who’ve lived, who’ve struggled, and who’ve learned compassion the hard way.

The world needs you.

Amituofo
 ~Buck