Whispering Wyrd

Some mornings, the path isn’t a windy mountain trail. It’s the distance between your bed and the bathroom. It’s the weight of your tired arms and legs, the fog in your brain, and the familiar ache of a tired body.

Today is one of those days for me.

I’m writing this on very little sleep, after another night spent wrestling with the shadows that PTSD can still summon, even after all this time. My body is weary, still recalibrating after a years long journey to freedom from high-dose benzos. A journey that took over a year of tapering and has left me with waves of exhaustion even now, a year clean.

And my mind wants to tell me that because I’m tired, because I’m struggling, that I’m failing. It whispers that I can’t show up for my readers today, that I have nothing to offer because I can barely think straight.

But here’s the thing about this path of recovery and about the spiritual practice that has become my anchor. I had a realization recently, not in my head, but in the very core of my being. It was unsettling at first, but now it feels like a most profound truth.

Everything is the path.

I practice Chinese Pure Land Buddhism and Chan (Zen). For a long time, I thought the path was the formal meditation, the sitting, and the chanting. And it is. But I’ve come to understand that it’s also everything else.

“Just sitting” in meditation is the path. It’s the practice of being present.

Cooking a simple meal when you’d rather hide is the path. It’s the practice of taking care of this body and this life.

Lying down to rest, even when the guilt whispers you “should” be doing more, is the path. It’s the practice of compassion and listening to what you truly need.

And making it through a day like today… exhausted, mentally fried, and a little bit afraid is absolutely the path.

The Nianfo, the practice of reciting “Namo Amituofo,” isn’t just something I do on a cushion. Today, that gentle name is the rhythm of my breath as I try to stay upright. It’s the silent prayer for strength with every step. It’s the reminder that I am not alone, even in this mental fog.

For decades I used alcohol and then prescription meds to try to outrun these kind of feelings. Now, clean and sober for the first time in decades and approaching my 60th birthday next month, I’m learning to just walk through them. And I’m learning that walking through them is the practice. The nightmares, the exhaustion, and the fear… it’s all part of the very same path as the joy, the peace, and the moments of clarity.

So if you’re reading this and you’re having a “three feet from the bed” kind of day, please hear me, you are not failing. You are on the path.

If all you do today is brush your teeth. If all you do is drink a glass of water. If all you do is simply endure one more minute than you thought you could, you have practiced. You have walked the path.

There is no special outfit, no special mindset required. Just you, in your tiredness, in your fear, in your hope. Just showing up for your own life, as it is in this very moment.

That is the practice. That is the path. And it is enough.

Amituofo
~Buck