Friday, March 27, 2015

Say my name

Do you love your name?  There was a time when I'd forgotten that my name wasn't "Mom."

Our names are a symbol of us.  A vehicle of communication of our greater and lesser selves.  The self I was as a newborn; my lesser self, that my parents adored and decided to name Jacquelyn.   The other self born of the union between him and her - also needed an identifier.  When mom took his greater name, so did I.

My folks divorced early in my existence.  My mother, though, re-mated and broke it off a second time, retained his/my greater name.  Guess she really liked that name.  As I've grown, my name has become the personification of my spiritual power.  I've loved saying both my names out loud, and noticing the glances, and being slightly annoyed by the people who'd ask the are you related to question, with a a giggle; as if I couldn't be related to that famous person with the same greater name. 

My greater name; it is a good name.  It is a strong name.  According to, that name begins after the Norman Conquest of 1066 A.D., and bearers of it were granted land by Duke William of Normandy for distinguished service in the Battle of Hastings.  There are 10 contemporary notables with the same name.

Sometimes I dislike my greater name.  In fact, I've recently considered changing it to my mothers' maiden name, or my grandmothers'.  Either of these would make me feel less conspicuous. Or I could take on that elusive maternal great grandmothers' baby daddy name, I once wrote about here.  That's a more prominent name, though.. Someone would surely protest.  Lest a marriage minded fellow appears to do the honors of making his greater name mine,, I still might just give myself a new spiritually relevant goddess or tribal name like Akatena (Cherokee for keen sighted), or "S" for spirited; I've always liked Shakti (divine female energy), or Cree (meaning Native American tribe.. Of which I am that never goes far from me)..

My 94 year old Grandmother insists on identifying me as "Jackie Baby," whilst my Aunt Connie, in Mama's presence makes me feel even more cherished (sometimes invisible) by greeting me as "Jacquelyn" with French enunciation and all.  I am not it, and I am not me when they do this name thing with me sometimes.  They are highly entertained remembering back 50 years ago when they thought up Jacquelyn and invented Jackie Baby to label me with.. Sometimes I just want to duel for my existence as  just Jackie, but I don't.   So I go with their flow knowing resistance is futile.

My formula for identifying myself is not much different.  My blogs and website generally contain my lesser name. And I recently changed my my Words With Friends User Name from JackiesMagic to "JackieOmg."

But what is the meaning behind people, generally, public servants, who read my greater name, always misspelling it and mispronouncing it?   Holy God!  Can't you read what I wrote or repeat what I said?  That's an "E," not an "A!"

Sometimes I am easily traceable by my name.  Former boyfriends or wishtheyhaddabeens, who want to find me, do so easily on social media.  People I direct to find me on social media insist they can't. Even though I've always considered my name to be rare, there are about 30 others that call themselves what I call me.  But I am the original.  I know this because those others are all married to guys with my greater name. 

And there was a time when I wore a uniform and a name tag to work.. I've gotten tens of letters from total strangers.  They knew my name, they knew where I worked. I wasn't necessarily flattered by it.  And it wasn't considered stalking back then.  In and beyond my work related travels, I've even run into a hand full of those guys at another place and time, and they'd remember me, and I had no clue who they were.  All because they remembered my name, and my face, of course.  And then there was my 7th grade teacher who always said my name twice, during roll call.  Every single morning.  Teacher calling roll by last name only:  "Rockwell?"  Me:  "Here." "Where's Rockwell?"  He'd look up from his list of names to make eye contact with me.  He didn't do that with anyone else except me.  Why?  To make sure it was really me answering to my name?   Strange.

And so I come to this point of Say my name --and make it about names of others that fascinate me:

There's Killingsworth and Strohschoen (just learned this name recently a WWF player), Archangel, and Timothy, and Keith, Kiefer, and Vibe (pronounced Veebah), Blythe, And George my step dad that everyone called Joe and a friends' boy named Jo-Jo whose real name was George.  Then there's Toribio, and Lilith, and Garcia, Freeborn, Freitag and Carrington and Stephanopolis, and Georgovich that belonged to my 6th grade Mass Media teacher who taught us that that "ovich" means son of..  So he was son of George. Loooved it! And there's also Reva and Emogene.  A relative just gave his two youngest girls these ancient names that are at least 100 years old.  Baffling.  And Andrise, the middle name of my niece, who has the middle name of her mom.  I also like Demi and Lorne, Wesley, and Abraham.  But who lately has given their son that name?  The only ones I've ever heard of are:  Father Abraham, Abraham Lincoln and Abraham Hicks.  Oh. There's Abraham Ford in Walking Dead. But he's fictional.

With our names our mystical experiences begin.

Case in point:  My indigo child has a beautiful simple name derived from the names of my two favorite people at the time she was born.  When she was in 2nd grade I discovered she didn't like her name, when I dropped her off with Y.O.U. teachers while I attended a study group.   Two hours later, I went to pick her up and they told me they had no child there by the name I gave them.  Ten minutes into my Ninja mom attack and just before I dialed 9-11, she showed up.  She'd told them her name was "Lauren."  Oh. My. Gosh!   BTW, She's 21 now and loves her name.

From birth til we die, are we are who they say we are on our birth certificate? And hopefully we live up to that name.. Unlike the supposed real life guy from the 19th or 20th century whose greater name was Duck and lesser name Donald. According to the Rest of the Story by Paul Harvey, Mr Duck killed himself because he couldn't live in accordance with the name his mother gave him. Why didn't he just change it?

I wonder how many of us though, allow our names to represent the potential of our fulfillment?  I'm interested in seeing what I can make of JackieRocksWell or JackieRocksWellness.  


I'm gonna leave that alone!  That's asking too much of myself.

 Anyone can teach you about love... but I can make you good at it!

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