When I am referred to with my proper name, I am perplexed. I have yet to assimilate the fact that it can, i.e., my name, and does encapsule everything that I am; it is my signifier.
I am a stranger to my name. All my life, I have been called by everything but my name. My paternal parents named me and from their arms, I having hardly taken my second breath of putrid air, was swept away, violently held in the arms of my maternal family. They initiated me in their mysteries and forever affected my aspirations. From me they washed my sins and renamed me.
In delirium, one of my Aunts had prophesied my apparition; and so I arrived naked and dejected. I was their prodigy, a small but stubborn child that would not give way to blows. I was determined to have my way.
At the tender age of four and 16 days, they clipped my wings. The angel fell violently unto the grown. My sister was born and so was my hatred for her. The little Teuton was Quetzalcoatl returned. I trembled.
I like her now; I like her courage to voice those things that when they take form, they are bits of me that have been instantiated.
But age robbed me of my cherub-like appellation. I was left without identity. I unable to come to terms with my name. My name is too sordid – its rawness offends my sensitivity.
I want to have my name melt into the background, an euphonious lullaby, and be redeemed in the priesthood of man. It was this desire, to be resurrected in the image of my Tribe, that brought me back to Santa Fe a year ago. I had wandered the torrid zones, tenaciously adhering to my Search. I forgot what I sought but I refused to admit it; besides, a man never asks for directions! Alas, I am a boy… a stubborn one at that.
Contrary to the wise words I once read in Proust, I returned to Santa Fe and I found my Tribe:
“Ah it’s good to be home. It’s good to be told that I’m not the one with a stick up his ass! Because deep down, I know that I am that free spirit. To-day I have said so much; from my mouth has been borne a novel full of candour and palatable honesty. In between the jokes on Plato and Aristotle, the restatement of Euclidian postulates and definitions I have shared my suffering,” (March 1st, 2005).
The Tribe has healed me, performed the required task of rejuvination. But I still have to accustom myself to my name. Nevertheless, I can’t wait for this Friday – we’re going to be reunited! *
[This is the only concrete sentence in my writing. Everything else is abstract. And I am happy to be reunited again!]