While journeying over There, I was challenged by a warden of sorts. He demanded to know who I was. He didn’t care where I was going or who I was going to see. All that mattered was “Who are you?”.
I gave him no name. No grand title nor position nor nickname nor nomenclature. Instead, I answered with many, many descriptors.
“I am She that kissed Death yet lives. I am the tree that [hidden name] carved as He willed. I am the venom of the Cobra and the coils thereof…”
(Lots more, but you get the idea.)
“I am Rider and Ridden. And I am She that will continue forth!”
I had no weapon. He had sword and dagger. I wore no armor. He had leathers and shield. Who was I before him?
He eyes me carefully. Looks me up and down. A severe grin splits his face as he steps out of my way. “That you are. That you are and more.”
I continued on my journey over There. But the experience has caused me over Here to think about names.
We put so much importance on them. But is this warranted? Many times I have been advised to create a “magick name” for myself. A secret name known only to me. But, why? Tradition?
Would a secret name have granted me passage? Somehow I doubt it in this instance.
Is it because a name only has worth if we know the person the name represents? “By what name shall I know ye?” Is that when a name grants power?
I have many, many names in Here. A few legal, many nicknames, and extensive alternate names. No two friends call me the same thing, even in person. Yet I have no loss of identity.
So why am I obsessing over names now? (I’ve yet to create my magick name, still.)