Whispering Wyrd

The Healing Web

recent posts

  • Demons, Waves, and the Long Road to Peace

    I think almost everyone carries their own “demons,” as people like to call them. Trauma. Old wounds. Memories that refuse to sleep.

    For some, those demons are quiet enough to coexist with. For others, they interfere with the very ability to function, to rest, to think clearly, to feel safe in the world.

    For better or worse, I fall into that second category. Especially lately.

    I am now ten months free from benzodiazepines, after more than twenty years of use. Before that, there was alcohol. I will be sixty years old in a few short months, and it has taken me nearly a lifetime to stop using chemicals to cope with what I have seen… and with what I have done. With the things I thought I had buried, but which were only waiting.

    Right now, I am in the midst of what many in the withdrawal community call a “wave”, the return of symptoms after a period of improvement. This one is, without question, the worst I have experienced.

    The heart palpitations are back. The full-body tension is back. And, probably hardest of all, the nightmares have returned in full force.

    Sleep feels impossible. When I do finally drift off from sheer exhaustion, the nightmares are waiting. They pull me back into those times and places so vividly that it feels real, like I have stepped through a door instead of waking up in my own bed. I wake with my heart racing, pounding so hard I’m afraid it will give out. The fear then fuels the palpitations. And so the cycle begins again. In the midst of all this, I long for peace. I pray for it.

    I walk outside,
    breathe the night,
    and let the night breathe me.

    I bow my head and cry.
    I want to scream, “Why?”
    But I know there is no answer waiting.

    Suffocating beneath fear,
    as though fear itself were a noose.

    Still, somehow, I keep going.

    I muster all the strength I can to move forward, moment by moment, breath by breath. I have a wife and three grown sons. I love them more than words can hold, and I do not want to burden them with the battle that rages inside me. They have already seen me through the darkest depths of withdrawal, and it was not easy for any of us.

    So I carry it quietly when I can. I write. I pray. I breathe. I endure.

    And if you are walking with your own demons tonight, please hear this:
     Don’t stop. Do not surrender to them. Stay stubborn. Stay soft where it matters. Stay compassionate, especially with yourself.

    You are still here. And that means something sacred is still at work within you.

    ~Buck

  • Surrounded By Beauty

    I am surrounded by beauty,
       mountains, forests, rivers, and streams.


     For so long I was unable to see
            the beauty all around me.
                Blinded by despair and subdued by chemicals.

    But now clearheaded, I realize there is no time to waste
       mourning time lost.
         Now is a time for living, basking in this newfound clarity.

    There is nothing but here and now,
        I know to spend each moment wisely.
      I am grateful for this clarity, this new chance at life.

    ~Buck

  • I Woke Today

    I woke today
     after nightmares once more haunted me.
     I was relieved to see the light of day,
     to wash away the horrors I did see.

    It was just another dream,
     no matter how painfully real it seemed.
     I am safe here in this sacred place,
     despite the shadows that I used to face.

    I placed my palms together
     and whispered a quiet prayer,
     I have survived such cruel and stormy weather,
     I won’t bow down to dreams that only tear.

    I walked outside and breathed the open air
     and noticed all the beauty where I stand.
     I remind myself of all the ones who care,
     especially my wife, who holds my hand.

  • On Trusting Instincts

    Daily writing prompt
    Do you trust your instincts?
    View all responses

    I absolutely trust mine. They’ve saved my life more than once.

    There have been times when I had no logical reason to feel the way I did, yet something in me knew. One of the earliest and clearest examples was when I suspected I had diabetes. I wasn’t overweight. I had no family history. None of the “risk factors” applied to me, but I felt it in my bones. When I finally got tested, my blood glucose was around 300 at diagnosis, despite having only very mild symptoms. My instinct had been right.

    My instincts were also sharp during the years I spent in addiction, both mine and the environments that came with it. When I was on benzos, and alcohol before that, I found myself around some deeply “unsavory” people. Somehow, I always knew when someone was about to “get got,” even when the attacker was pretending to be friendly right up to the moment violence erupted. I still can’t explain how I sensed it, but the feeling was unmistakable. And every time, it was correct.

    Those same instincts have guided me through healing. Doctors have offered me medications to ease withdrawal symptoms, but something in me always said “no.” I didn’t want to trade one set of chains for another. Later, when I checked interactions online, I learned that some of those prescriptions would have clashed dangerously with the heart medications I’m already on. I’ve learned to treat prescriptions, and prescribers, with caution.

    I’ve also learned to be wary of clergy. Some of the worst advice I’ve ever been given came from religious leaders who meant well but lived such sheltered lives that they had no understanding of the world I once moved through. I don’t adhere to any religion, but most of my family and extended family do. Their guidance was not only unhelpful, it was, at times, genuinely dangerous.

    So yes, I trust my instincts. Completely. And I believe others should trust theirs, too. Even if you can’t logically explain why something feels wrong, that sense alone is reason enough to step back. And when something feels unquestionably right, good, or healing for you, trust that, too. Our instincts are often wiser than we give them credit for.

    ~Buck

  • My Favorite Month of the Year

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s your favorite month of the year? Why?
    View all responses

    Here in the mountains of northern New Mexico, October feels like the world exhales after the long heat of summer. The air shifts. The light changes. The mountains take on that deep, quiet glow as the days grow shorter, and the sun hangs lower and weaker in the sky.

    But the real magic, for me, is in the aspens.

    By October, they’ve turned into towering columns of gold. Whole mountainsides shimmer as if they’ve been brushed with light. When the wind moves through them, the leaves shake and flicker like tiny bells, soft, bright, and alive. No matter how hard of a month I’m having, no matter what wave of withdrawal or fatigue I’m riding, those aspens remind me that beauty is always here. Change can be painful, but it can also be breathtaking.

    October is also home to my favorite holiday… Halloween. Not the loud, commercial version, but the older feeling underneath it, the sense that the world grows thinner, more mysterious, more intimate. The nights feel sacred. The wind carries a different kind of whisper. The whole month feels like a doorway between what has been and what is yet to come.

    The animals seem to feel it too. Ravens fly their looping paths over the mountains with a different purpose. Squirrels and small birds bustle through the underbrush, storing what they can before the first real cold arrives. Everything in nature is preparing, slowing, settling. There’s a calmness to their rhythms that I often try to follow myself.

    Maybe that’s why October feels so grounding to me. It’s a month of transition, but not the frantic kind. It’s a gentle turning inward. A reminder that we can shed what we no longer need and prepare for the quiet, healing months ahead.

    Even on days like today, when the wave hits hard, when I’m exhausted and heavy in mind and body, just thinking of October brings me a bit of peace. A memory of golden leaves, cool air, and a world softening into stillness.

    That’s why October is my favorite. It feels like home. It feels like a breath I can finally release.

    ~Buck

    Aspens up on Aspen Vista

  • My Favorite Place in My City

    Daily writing prompt
    What is your favorite place to go in your city?
    View all responses

    My favorite place to go in my town isn’t actually in the town at all. It sits above it, high in the mountains, at a place called Aspen Vista.

    It’s beautiful in every season, but in the fall it becomes something otherworldly. People come from far and wide to see the aspens as their leaves turn gold, then orange, then red, until the whole mountainside looks lit from within. The air is thin up there, the elevation high, so hiking up there is also a good workout.

    It’s also the place where I’ve done some of my deepest healing. There’s no easy way to describe what getting off benzos did to me, how hard it was, how long it hurt, but I’m finally healing now, truly healing, in a way I never expected. Those mountains have been a huge part of that healing from the beginning.

    I hike up there with my wife and one of my sons. I sit among the trees and let the silence and wind do their work. Something in that place reaches into me and unties knots I didn’t even know I was holding. I can feel tension leaving my body, literally feel it, like the mountain is lifting it from me.

    If I’m feeling low or worn thin, Aspen Vista always lifts me up. I listen to the ravens circling overhead. I breathe in the cool, resin-scented air of pine and fir. Up there, it feels like the Earth itself is reminding me that I’m allowed to heal. Like it is encouraging me to heal.

    It has meant so much to me that I call it my Lyfjaberg, my Healing Mountain. It’s where I find peace, and peace is vital to healing of any kind.

    ~Buck

  • First Impressions

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s the first impression you want to give people?
    View all responses

    The first impression I would like to give people is that I’m safe to be around. For most other people that probably isn’t much of a problem. But when I was on the drugs, and alcohol before that, over the years I got tattoos on my face and neck. Those tattoos make people, understandably, assume I am either a criminal or still an addict. So I try to smile at strangers and not hold any eye contact for too long. If they are up for a conversation, I can literally see the tension and apprehension leave their faces.

    I make efforts to be as friendly as I can be. I do what I can to be nice to people, that’s all I can do. The rest is up to them. If they don’t want to have a conversation in a checkout line in a store or wherever I that’s fine. I don’t get as many stares or questioning looks now that I’m older and not seen a “threat”. For that, I’m thankful.

    There is already too much rudeness and cruelty in the world, so I try my best to show kindness to everyone. There’s a lot of truth to the old saying that you never know what kind of battles others are facing. Just today at a store, one of the associates was talking with us and I noticed she had a large portrait tattoo of a child on her arm. I knew what it meant and wanted to ask her about it but I decided not to. I didn’t want to bring up any painful memories for her. It doesn’t cost anything to be kind to people, and the rewards of giving someone reason to smile are far better than upsetting them.

    Be the reason someone smiles today.

    ~Buck

  • Moments

    Moments of peace come through,
      soft and gentle as moonlight.
     Allowing me to return home to myself.


     After such a long and arduous journey
              of drug withdrawal,
     these moments are like being embraced by gentleness itself.

    Life in these moments is so very precious,
            moments stretched into eternity.
     Knowing, finally, that I am beloved,
          as are all other beings.


     I needed this, this feeling of belonging,
          as do drowning lungs hunger for air.

    I am home now
     where I belong, where I ached to be.
    For so long I languished in darkness
     not knowing there was light.


     Yet here I stand now
      in this sacred landscape.
     Finally embraced
      by both love and light.

    ~Buck

  • If I Could Live Anywhere

    I don’t usually join the daily writing prompts, but this one speaks directly to my heart. Because the truth is simple… A place of breathtaking beauty, and for me, a place of profound healing. Right here where I have lived for the last 5 years.

    I’ll be 60 years old in a few months. For most of my life until the last five years, I lived in utter despair. Severe clinical depression and addiction held me captive. First alcohol, then benzodiazepines. I tried again and again to get free back in Texas, but I couldn’t. The rural area where I lived was toxic to me. No one I knew seemed happy. Numbness, induced by substances, felt like the only way to survive. I didn’t live there, I merely existed.

    Moving to the mountains of northern New Mexico saved my life. I had visited this place since childhood, and it was the only place I ever felt truly happy. I grew up dreaming of living here. And when I finally arrived, that dream became a kind of homecoming my soul had been waiting for.

    Living here gave me the strength to heal. It’s where I finally broke free from everything that held me down. Getting off alcohol was hard. Getting off benzos after more than 20 years of daily, high-dose use was the hardest thing I have ever done. The year-long taper hurt in ways I didn’t think a person could survive. Two seizures. BIND (benzodiazepine-induced neurological dysfunction). Multifocal PVCs, terrifying heart rhythms. Muscles so stiff I could barely walk. There were days I wasn’t sure I would make it through.

    But now, ten months free, I am healing. For the first time since 7th grade,when I took my first drink, I feel whole again. These mountains, this sacred landscape, gave me what Texas never could… hope, strength, and a path forward.

    Here, the world is alive. The rivers sing. The mountains stand watch. Ravens circle overhead with messages from older times. The forests remember. Even the Earth beneath my feet whispers its quiet healing as I walk gently across it.

    This place of mystery, beauty, and deep, patient healing is where I always wanted to live. And now that I’m finally here, I wake every morning with joy in my heart, and every night I go to bed knowing I am home. Healing is possible!

  • The Sacred Is All Around Us

    The mountains do not stand, they watch.
    Their granite faces remember the first dawn
    and whisper names in the language of stone.

    The streams do not flow, they sing.
    They coil around my feet like silver serpents,
    telling stories older than the bones in the earth.

    The forest does not grow, it breathes.
    Each tree is a guardian, each root a memory,
    and when I pass beneath their boughs, they bend to bless me.

    Ravens wheel above, not as birds but as heralds,
    carrying messages from the unseen,
    their cries opening doorways I once thought were sky.

    I do not seek the Sacred, because the Sacred seeks us all,
    folding me into its timeless embrace.
    And so I walk without fear,
    because even the stars lean close in the dark
    to remind me that light is not conquered
    it only waits, as patient as love.

    ~Buck