I love name-play. I’ve always been someone who’s had a lot of different names. Right now there are about four names that I regularly go by. Some were formally given to me by parents or teachers; some were self chosen for a variety of purposes. More than once I’ve dreamed about receiving a name. One of those once bestowed on me in a dream was the name Mountain.
I do believe that every name I use does describe some part of me, and even when they’re mainly meant for fun, I still think about why that name came to me, what it expresses about me or what it calls me to be.
I’ve thought about the name Mountain at various times in my life, considering what qualities it might point to that I can use. The word conveys solidity, stability, massiveness. It carries a strong earth energy, endurance, physical force. Treasures are buried within it.
Its temperature is cool for a long way down, but fiery at the core. That’s kind of how I see the me that I would like to grow into.
Mountains, to me, are a refuge. I’d like to be that, too.
They offer a higher perspective, clarity; their peaks are close to the heavens.
At certain times of challenge I’ve tried to summon up my inner mountain capacities. Of course, my body shape helps rather than hinders this endeavor; I do not think that’s coincidental.
I’ll tell you this: the mountain certainly provides an ideal for me to aspire towards, and that is plenty gift. And if I acknowledge that the seeds of these qualities exist within me, it may not only ease my path but also better equip me to serve.
I couldn’t ask for more!
Mountain mama! Take me home.