I bet you can’t guess why I haven’t written a post in a while! You might check the last two and see I just published them. But they’ve been sitting as drafts for months, untouched. But that’s by the by.
No, the reason I haven’t written anything new in a while is because of the blog’s name. Because it’s called ‘Roaring Bear’.
The funny coincidence is that one of the old posts I just published actually plants the seed for this post. In fact I’m probably only writing this post because of that old draft post. And it’s all to do with my name.
See, the post in question breaks off just before talking about my buddhafield revelation around hugs.
Yep. Hugs. For years folk have been telling me I give great hugs. I have to take their word for it; I’ve never hugged myself, and wouldn’t know. But after this Buddhafield revelation of the importance and fundamental humanity of hugs, coupled with the fact that people had been calling me out as a hugger for years… well, I realised that this name of mine, ‘roaring bear’, was actually complete tosh. I had found a more fitting name; ‘Bear Hugs’.
Of course, this left me in a bit of a dilemma with this here blog of mine. I’d given it the wrong name! Whoops!
So I stopped writing it.
‘Til now. Because there’s a truth here worth honouring. And it would appear to be the right time to do so.
When we seek animal names – or some name to represent us other than our parental given names – we invariably choose something that isn’t really representative. Oh, it speaks to us alright. It speaks to us loud and clear. It speaks to us of the person we wish we were, but are not.
Roaring bear was who I wanted to be. I wanted to be heard. I wanted my opinion to matter. I wanted some goddamn respect! And the fact is, I can roar. Occasionally, when its really, really important, I can roar with the best of them.
But in truth, I am no roaring bear. In sacred spaces I have come to respect in myself a silence first and foremost. I speak when I truly feel passionately that I simply must say what is in my heart. But most of the time I recognise that my thoughts and judgements, my desire to be validated and my perceptions acknowledged, the very promptings of my mind – these are all just so much noise. I am a far greater presence in my silence than I could ever hope to be in my chattering.
Hugs speak from the heart, to the heart. Ignoring all the rubbish in our heads, hugs are the direct line from heart to heart; the closest the two organs can possibly get. I guess that is why people like my hugs, even when they’re beyond exasperated by my cognitive hyperactivity. … And I too have finally come to realise which makes my life happier.
That’s the beauty of a true name. You don’t have to aspire to it. Whether you know it or not, it’s already you.
So what about this blog. Well, I think I’ll keep it. I know who I am, but this mysterious universe of ours often has a habit of playing the long-ball, setting up a play long before we can see the need.
I’ll trust the original name. Perhaps at least here – where there is no one else to speak first – it is after all right for my voice be heard.