A Bloodless Hunt – The Cosmic Traveler´s search for A Name.

”What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”

– Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare

Part 1

The first name: Natalia, Natalie, Nat, Natasha.

As far as I can remember this time around, I didn´t know my name.

What people called me, rang an empty sound to me, like a bell on a tall tower on a hill summoning anyone and everyone, but nobody in particular to this hill´s green foot.

Yes, “For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.” It would toll loudly and namelessly and I would wonder.

Most of the times, of course, I would respond to it, like a faithful, well trained or maybe poorly trained but smart dog. When you are little, you want to be loved.

Other times, completely dissolved in the moment, I would look around me to see who they were calling, – my name was such a total stranger to me. It felt as random and unrelated as a colourful skirt of an old brown faced gypsy woman, asking for my stretched hand, wanting to read me my fortune for a coin.

I tried to find consolation in the Latin root of it.

“Natale”, i.e. “of Christmas”.

When I used to chat with Jesus, it gave me comfort and a sense of belonging.

When Jesus moved on to more receptive minds, I invented my own connection; it became clear to me that I have chosen it because it shares the first 3 letters with Nature.

And Nature is too impartial and forgiving to leave behind. It has no agenda, it doesn´t separate, neither manipulate, nor command. It teaches by Being.

If I ever had to choose a Master on this Planet, she would definitely fit the criteria. So, I gladly and humbly accepted at least the N, A and T, still without being entirely convinced of my motivation for choosing the rest.

At some point, a woman who sees spirits gave me another clue. Sadly she was too hung up on trying to convince me, a Cosmic Traveler from another Universe, that I am sick because I do not believe in her God or in any God, a major turn off for a friendship in my book.

I stay away from any form of fanaticism and imposition.

But this brief friendship had brought me a ripe fruit of the revelation that when I was a shaman 6 generations back, my name was Hatasha.

I think I must have always had a great sense of humour, as my current Russian name written in cyrilic looks like that, with a Russian N written as what would be an H in the Latin alphabet. Наташа.

These are the bread crumbs of why I would choose the first name that I can´t connect with for 45 years.

Maybe this is exactly the reason.

It´s like an audio recording of a map that keeps reminding me not to be sucked in into, to not get attached to the vibrational identity each name, – any name – imposes on a free spirit. And I am that. No affiliations.

The rose will smell just as sweet if it is called Margarita.

I´m not sure if Bulgakov would totally agree… Maybe I just shouldn´t tell him. I hate a debate with the deceased classicists of Russian literature.

Although he would be one of a few I wouldn´t mind to go for a walk with along the long River. In silence, listening to the River song together.