Ask the Priestess

When I was growing up, my name was a bane in my life. Still, I have never wanted a different one. When I read Romeo and Juliet wishing to ignore their names, I could not grasp it. Our names are very important, I believe. Even naming our pets requires a special connection, so how can naming our offspring not matter? Every quirk in our names opens a window into the lives and values of our family, our heritage, the expectations for our future. My name, Deborah, was a difficult one to carry as a child.  To begin with, the registrar decided it was "improper" since it was the name of a woman who went to war. He then proceeded to fill in my birth certificate with a name of his own choosing (Concepción, in case you're wondering). This was towards the end of the ultra-Christian Opus Dei -led Franco dictatorship, thus many may have given in. Not my parents, though, who went to court to have my name legally changed to Deborah, with that specific spelling (instead of the Spanish ...

 It was a bit of lichen, but when I looked at it, it seemed to talk.  'HA!' it said. I stopped mid-sentence to my friend. And I smiled. To be honest, I don't really even recall what exactly we were talking about. We were doing some insight meditation, which we call a "tune-in". I know the gist of our conversations, but not the specifics. It's only been 24 hours, yet I have forgotten most of those small details. But the lichen? That I remember.  I often think about how insignificant my life is. It is nowhere as impressive as that of other people. I have few grand things to talk about. This blog, which I had long left aside, shows just that: it is a collection of small details, of snaps of thought. They are perceptions of life, my interpretation of the world around me. There are many amazing similar collections, though far more impressive, such as Marcus Aurelius' Meditations . They are small realisations, reminders, rules for a better life. I recognise the...