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.
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.
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 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.
I was going to wait until the actual ten month anniversary (in three days) of being free from benzos, but I want to say this now. I need to say it now.
I have the best family and extended family anyone could hope for. They’ve seen me through withdrawals, through fear and pain, and they are still here with me now. Years ago, a doctor told me that when I finally healed, I would lose friends and even family because “they won’t recognize the healed version of you.”
He was right to an extent, yes, I’ve lost a few people. But the vast majority stayed. They recognized me. They accepted the healed me. And for that, I am forever grateful.
My wife and my sons, first and always. My parents. My aunt. And my lifelong friend, Jeff. These people are the greatest gifts in my life. I hold nothing against those who didn’t stay, everyone has their own path to walk.
Every day, I think about how fortunate I am. People tell me I’ve “changed” since getting off benzos, that I’m a “better” person now, easier to be around. Maybe they’re right. The truth is simple, while I was on benzos (and alcohol before that), I was angry all the time. Depressed all the time. Trapped in my own inner pain.
And, honestly, a lot of that came from where I lived. I hated that place. The culture didn’t fit me, and I couldn’t be myself. Moving here, moving to these mountains, saved my life. I am surrounded by beauty every single day. Four distinct seasons. A festive, fun culture. Celebrations instead of heaviness. A place where I am free, finally, to be myself.
The people who supported me through withdrawal will always have a sacred place in my heart. Getting off benzos was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. As much as I love words and language, there’s no way to adequately describe what over twenty years of use, and the process of breaking free, did to me.
I had two seizures. My heart rhythm was disrupted with multifocal PVCs. My muscles stiffened so intensely it changed my gait. And on top of the physical pain and devastation, the buried trauma of my past came roaring to the surface once the chemical fog lifted. In some ways, those memories hurt worse than the physical symptoms.
But now, ten months off the drug in just three days from now,I am healing.
I still experience “waves,” those temporary returns of symptoms, but I also experience “windows,” times when the healing shines through and everything is clear and quiet again. Healing from long-term benzo use is not linear. That’s been one of the hardest lessons to accept. But I have hope now. Real hope.
I’ll be 60 in a few months. And as I’ve told friends and family, I only wish I had done this sooner. I don’t know if being younger would have made withdrawal easier, but I wish I’d had more time to enjoy this clarity, this freedom, this ability to finally be me.
To those who supported me, who encouraged me, who stayed, thank you from the bottom of my heart. There is no way to put into words how much it has meant.
For those who remained to see (and accept) this healed, authentic version of me, I love you. I know now who my true family and friends are, and I appreciate you more than I could ever express.
I am healing, I can feel things I’ve never felt before! The mountain forests and the ravens are more than just trees and birds.
They are reminders and messengers that we are all a part of something larger. We are all parts of the web of life.
I couldn’t articulate this before, with my spirit clouded with drugs. But now I am free of that terrible bond, I can see clearly now all I had missed before.
Joy fills my heart these days. Like the year, every day has its seasons. And I embrace them all without fear or regret. Life is too precious a thing to spend it with a clutched heart and a chained spirit. This feeling, this present moment is freedom.
I walk within the Sacred, mountains rise like ancient cathedrals, streams sing hymns through the stones, and forests lift their green prayers to the sky.
Some seek peace in temples built by hands. I find it in the soft wind against my skin, in the deep speech of ravens circling above.
No one need explain the Sacred to me, it lives in my breath and in the beating of the world. Some truths dwell beyond all words.
I am embraced by holiness wherever I wander. What room is there for fear when even the night sky whispers its promise, that light always breaks through, as love forever kindles the heart.
I fought through darkness of terror and pain, and I survived because of love.
I rode through the storms like Thunor, and screamed as I gained hard-won wisdom like Woden, as I fought through the blackest halls where shadows whispered lies.
It was the love of my wife and sons that saw me through, when I was in darkness indescribable. No one can understand that pain and fear, that beast of addiction that seeks to devour unless it has stalked and tormented them as well.
Now I seek the quiet mountain streams and find their light, with love in my heart and peace in my mind. I now see life’s beauty bloom where darkness once grew.
I walk among you, old sacred Earth, and you breath ancient stories into my bones. The wind isn’t empty air, it is your voice, whispering truths we humans have forgotten.
Even the stones here hum if you listen long enough. The ravens don’t just “call”, they speak! And the desert isn’t empty, it’s full of life and memory.
The Earth remembers my name. It knows me as someone who once lost their way, but now is finally finding their voice.
Finding my voice among the sacred mountain forests, my Lyfjaberg. I listen to learn, and I heal in the midst of beauty.
My heart and my spirit tell me I am finally home. Where I am finally free to be me.
Whispering Wyrd 