The importance of naming

OK, so this is a little convoluted. I was remarking with a friend how ridiculous it is that some people -- people who OUGHT to know -- don't actually know our names. I'm not talking about people who only know our nicknames [in my case, this is definitely true....some friends only know my by a moniker given to me freshman year in college: Didi's Wilson-Malone...don't ask] but specifically people who have been schooled in our real names and who, for whatever reason, choose to ignore it and call us something else. In my case, there are legions of "friends" who think my name is "Diane," despite repeated reminders to them that they are dead wrong about that.

[My mother might be slightly at fault for this. She has, upon occasion, referred to me as "Di-ane," said in a luxurious southern drawl, even though she named me, for crissakes. It's something she thinks of as "cute." There are many friends from grade school who call me Diane to this day, probably because my mother set the standard some 40 years ago. I find it endearing and yet annoying at the same time.]

In any event, I think it's been crucial in my life to get names and naming right. I want to know how people's names are spelled, whether there is an "E" on the end, or if there is something unusual about a name. Is it pronounced Jee-nah, or Jenn-ah? Do you prefer "Steve" or "Steven"? These things matter to me.

Names and naming are integral to my view of life, and have been for years. When I was introduced to Nichiren Buddhism, I was thrilled to learn that the phrase "Nam Myoho Renge Kyo" is the name Nichiren gave to the mystic principal at work in the world -- a universal principal or energy that we cannot put our finger on per se, but something we know is there. In my youthful quest to understand the meaning of life and its source, I had searched for some way to name the thing that underlies all things. None of the concepts I had encountered really fit the bill; Dao was close, but lacked a practice; "God" was overburdened with Judeo-Christian baggage.

In my process of self-discovery, the act of naming -- I recently realized -- is also crucial. I move through personal angst more quickly if I am able to articulate my experience to others -- for example, through this blog, or by sharing my truth with others one-on-one. By naming what is going on with me, I am able to establish an emotional ground, a place to land. I can say, "this is what is true." Considering that so much of my formative years was spent being told that what I was experiencing was NOT true, I am able to reclaim reality as I see it. And in doing so, I discover myself there.

It's not that I want to -- or do -- wallow in stuff that's going on with me. I don't have an investment in giving my experience more emotional torque than it deserves. Frankly, my experiences truly SUCK at times. But, in being able to name the experience that belongs to me, not only do I establish who I am in it, but that experience paradoxically loses its steam as well. By naming it, I can eliminate the desire/tendency to make the experience more real than any other experience I have. I deflate its power over me. I can see where it comes from, how it manifests in my life, and then consciously decide how I will react. Is this some attribute that I want to keep? Is it something that I need to let go of? What age am I reliving right now? How can I support and nurture the part of me that experiences this trauma from thus-and-such vantage point?

Consciousness is an iffy thing. Sometimes being aware (for me anyway) is a double-edged sword. It means I am painfully reminded of how sometimes I move through the world completely UNconsciously. However, unless I am conscious of what is going on with me -- even if I cannot control it at this moment -- how can I ever possibly make a change? How can I take action based on self-knowledge? The struggle at times is to see the painful bits and remain compassionate towards the self that doesn't understand, or doesn't see, or is afraid to change.