This post has been a long time coming…since I hosted Sacred Voice with Raven, in fact, when we journeyed to ask for our Ancient Names. You know, the real ones that tell someone who you are in your heart. That boot camp brought many of us into our holy places where the truth could come bubbling up, and where it refused to be avoided. Our truths have been singing ever since.
For the last seventeen years, I have been a Campbell. It was a tough decision to make, to take his name, because my paternal family line is so strong and our family name means something in our communities. I took on my ex-husband’s last name in a gesture of us pioneering the world together. When I began to step out more publicly into said world, I’d been wearing his name long enough to show up as a Campbell. Camp-Bell. I sort of liked the idea of being the one to ring the bell and call everyone to camp for healing and safehousing for a spell.
When I stared down the logistics of divorce last year, I considered what it would be like to have a different name than my children. We talked, one balked. We worked it out. I considered what confusion it might cause in my communities-what would the sisters do if they googled me and couldn’t find me!? All manner of fears, ludicrous and legit, played out in my mind around this topic. Who would I be with a new name?
I prayed and journeyed for my name. I consulted with my guides and council. I said countless times during the process, “I don’t even know what my name is”, “I don’t know who I am.” Dramatizing the issue of my identity lasted a short time, thankfully, but giving energy to the process provided me the chance to go inside and learn what wanted to come forward and be with me until I become complete. It called me out to get married to myself.
This ordeal, and that’s what it’s been on many levels, an ordeal, an initiation into what’s next, found me inquiring about how to go forward from the pyre.
What came through was not to go back to my “maiden” name, but to honor where I came from on a more subterranean level, that which guides so much of who I show up as, and most importantly, why.
The Choctaw Lighthorse were the Tribal Police my grandfather was employed by in the late 1800’s, the appointed peacekeepers on the reservation. Sometimes things weren’t peaceful at all in this wild, frontier era, but the Lighthorsemen upheld their laws and formed a structure for the Five Civilized Nations. These laws were rooted in, essentially, the honor system. Lighthorse is the name I gave my little Libra boy when I sensed his immense connection to what is fair and good and right in this world. I wanted to flood his path with support from the ancestors. I wanted the masculine protectors to be with us, without having to embody them in full warrior regalia.
I had a talk with my beloved today about authenticity, the kind you learn to trust when people rip your stuff off. Hear me out. We were talking about what happens when someone appropriates your mojo and calls it their own, which has happened to both of us. I told him that I don’t worry about such things, because imitations never come across as authentic, they lack the soul that the originator sculpts into the work so effortlessly. He commented that I seem to operate on the honor system around things like this, and it’s true. Some of my fiercest lessons in life have been around allowing unbalanced people and situations to show up as who/what they really are, remain relatively neutral, and most often, watch them fall aways as quickly as they came in- restoring balance to my world without me getting my hands too dirty. Hence all the ease around boundaries, I suppose.
It’s probably our twinsie Libra-risings which helps us to relate on this…how balance always comes if we can patiently allow it to.
We don’t have to go to war-it doesn’t ever create balance. It usually just creates a more equal sense of imbalance. If one adjusts for imbalance, the result throws them off-kilter like a ship at sea. Everybody capsizes.
Justice, if you want to call it that, is always served on a higher level and I needn’t meddle much with natural order to trust that when one brings peace and light to the table, peace and light will prevail for them.
I have this theory about following the green lights. When it’s the right time to do the next right thing, the light will turn green. The way will be paved for passage. Our way is always being prepared for us a few steps ahead.
In one year, I dissolved a malfunctioning marriage, left two towns, rooted down at a ranch and a community school with my two unschooled cubs (in a place where we didn’t know a soul), AND came nose-to-nose with my now-significant partner relationship. I would not be here if the lights hadn’t been bright green, if the cosmos and all attendant guides hadn’t made it clear to me to giddy up (cowboy-speak for “make your move, already”).
I’ve been waiting for a particular light to turn, the one in which I share with you that I’m no longer a Campbell. The holy day of the ancestors is as green as it gets. They’re behind me, and I know you will be, too.
Love and clear passage for the radiant truth in each of you,