Happy Birthday Marie

A message from my mum, the lifelong value of family jokes, what’s in a name?

Friday was my birthday. Thank you dear Facebook friends for the cascade of greetings and thank you to the dear ones who said happy birthday in person or by phone or FaceTime. I so appreciate the encouragement. “The night is young!” “The best is yet to come!” and as Auntie Mame said, “Live, live, live!”

Platonic studies indicate that the life of the soul is a very large arc in a very wide circle of eons and experiences. Yet this little focus now today is all we have to work with, a small portal with a secret code for the door behind the wardrobe.

Anyways, in the days leading up to my birthday I found myself missing my mum, who died well over a decade ago now. Think about that: an old lady missing her mummy. Yes, that is also true. Then on the morning of my birthday, a message came in from my brother, “Happy Birthday Marie!” Perfect - a flood of sweet feelings, and dear memories.

I was in my mid-teens and mum had just got a new fancy cake decorating kit. She was an excellent maker of delightful treats of all sorts. When she asked me what kind of cake I wanted for my birthday, I pointed to the demo cake on the cover of the decoration how-to brochure. That day, at dinner, out came the decorated cake replete with candles and the inscription, “Happy Birthday, Marie!” We all laughed, it became a standing joke and for years this was the message on all my birthday cakes. And, my brother reminded me, he had it inscribed on a cake for mum, too, much to her glad surprise.

Birthdays do bring out the child in us, the one annual day of celebrating “me” - this incarnation, from birth to now, at whatever year. Included are long wishes for continuing, even if it is in this rebuilt ship of Theseus (which one is real?) And what about the bumps - what on earth was that hazing ritual about anyways? Life has enough bumps through any year to keep us on our toes.

As the children’s book says, “Are you my mother?”

I asked a simple AI app to skry with its undeveloped surreal oracle powers and make a Happy Birthday Marie cake. The group of 4 images came in and I gave up. These days, my memories are much richer than any painted cake.

Since the birthdays keep coming (lets face it, we all have them, it’s how we grow,) I’m recommending Oldster!

I'm an Oldster, You're an Oldster...

---

The name matters

When I was a child, place names seemed as permanent as the places themselves. I never imagined they could change. Then I heard that Castle Mountain, which looked like a castle, had been renamed Mount Eisenhower for a few decades, amid much controversy. And what is its name now that the region known as Miistukskoowa has been returned to the Siksika?

Hocus-pocus, Abracadabra - magic words, or just sounds? What is their meaning?

In the Chaldean Oracles (earlier than Plato) they say:

Change not the barbarous names, for in all the nations are there names given by the gods, possessing unspeakable power in the Mysteries.

Maybe it’s not such a good idea to change the words or translate their “meaning” into your own language. It is the language itself that holds the meaning, the sounds and the vibration of the sounds, as first spoken by the people indigenous to that place. Iamblichus said that the effectiveness of barbarous names was in their utterance, not their meaning. (Yet how can I even know this without the magic of translation? I suppose all should be translated except certain “barbarous names”.)

How can place names be held throughout the deluge of time and nations? Abe Burnstick said everything comes down to Love, Relationship, Feeling and Respect.

This Oracle has something to say in relation to the restoration of indigenous place names, replacing colonizer names. The power of the place and the people living in it becomes smothered when a new name conquers the old. It is the shift from one world-view to another. It is not just the removal of the name of a now shameful conquering general, priest, or industrialist. It happens on the level of the place itself, its identity as it is known by the people who live there. The old place doesn’t recognize or answer to another name.

The Spanish cathedral in the middle of Mexico City may seem to have covered over Huēyi Teōcalli for hundreds of years, but the ancient centre we call by the name of Templo Major rose up and revealed itself again, “discovered” near the end of the 20th century.

---

It gets me thinking about these guys flipping the script of discovery.

(Noted from the medium formerly named “Twitter”.)

River Gulu - the newly discovered river

Iyi Ojemba - the newly discovered lake

---

I have more to add to this newsletter but in the interest of getting it out to you, I’ll include that bit in the weekend issue.

---

Please consider joining my community of subscribers who help support my work here. From time to time there are special posts for paid subscribers, but mostly I’m sending out free to all. I especially appreciate those of you who have kindly stuck with me from the beginning!

Till next week!

If you like this post, click on the heart! And even better, add a comment!