What’s in a name?
I was having one of those moments I could feel in my solar receiver area, that a revelation was practically ready to drip off my tongue. There came not a drop, not even the first letter or shape of a word.
But better yet, there came a voice in my head that said, “You already know it. When you stop needing to give it a name, you will be closer.”
To give something a name does place a unique and powerful limitation upon that being named, with the limitation part outweighing the uniqueness. This is only significant in a universe where everything is simply a unique aspect of the same thing. Like the universe we are part of.
All naming implies and imparts a unique ‘separateness’. When we dwell on the ‘differences’ that constitute aspects of our unity with all things, we tend to devalue, and therefore forget, our sacred totality.
For me, the learning by naming began with my earliest memories: wanting to know the name of every wildflower in the woods near our house. Things like Jack-in-the-pulpit, Blue eyed Mary, Solomon’s seal, and Bloodroot. It seems, in a way, with the natural world at least, that with the names we give things we are imparting some finite aspect of our own humanity.
What if everything was only identified consciously by its appearance, sound, smell, color, texture, possible purpose, or ability to respond, without any kind of judgement or valuation? It would probably be hard to write about without words.
I’m not sure if that was the elusive revelation or not.