That which we call a rose
Over dinner Nice discovered that my whole name is composed of blocks of 7 letters each with 3 syllables per name. An-ton-io Es-te-ban Co-ne-jos. There was an exceedingly gratifying moment when I thought this had to be a sign from some higher power slapping me in the face with the reassurance that my life would be ordered and fine. After all, what are the odds of landing such a symmetrical name, 7 letters, 3 syllables each.
(The following information carried over from a Sir Calasanz class: ) Seven carries biblical weight, it being considered the number of completion. Six on the other hand is the number of the damned as it approaches completion but never attains it, endlessly looping (the swirl of the number 6) back in on itself. (Hence the hoopla over the showing of Omen on 06/06/06. The world though is still turning and someone told me it was a lousy movie to boot.)
Destined I must be for wealth, success and good skin (thought I) for my name carries with it the secret and arcane power of number and superstition.
Unfortunately that bubble soon burst. My middle name, Gonzalez, is still 3 syllables but with 8 letters. Symmetry ruined, no more compounding of the number 7 throughout my name. Baa! I didn’t believe in that junk anyway.
Regardless of any latent numerology embedded in names, I’ve always enjoyed hearing the story of how people got theirs. There are the usual legacy names, monikers passed on from grandfather to father to son. There are the names chosen for attributes, as wishes that the newly christened will embody those virtues. There are the names chosen to remind us of those who live on only in memory. There are the names we wish were not our own. There are Christian names and Pagan names, private names and public ones. There are names uttered only in moments of anger and those only spoken in silence.
It is the first story appended to our lives that is not our own; we do not choose our names, merely how to live them.
(The following information carried over from a Sir Calasanz class: ) Seven carries biblical weight, it being considered the number of completion. Six on the other hand is the number of the damned as it approaches completion but never attains it, endlessly looping (the swirl of the number 6) back in on itself. (Hence the hoopla over the showing of Omen on 06/06/06. The world though is still turning and someone told me it was a lousy movie to boot.)
Destined I must be for wealth, success and good skin (thought I) for my name carries with it the secret and arcane power of number and superstition.
Unfortunately that bubble soon burst. My middle name, Gonzalez, is still 3 syllables but with 8 letters. Symmetry ruined, no more compounding of the number 7 throughout my name. Baa! I didn’t believe in that junk anyway.
Regardless of any latent numerology embedded in names, I’ve always enjoyed hearing the story of how people got theirs. There are the usual legacy names, monikers passed on from grandfather to father to son. There are the names chosen for attributes, as wishes that the newly christened will embody those virtues. There are the names chosen to remind us of those who live on only in memory. There are the names we wish were not our own. There are Christian names and Pagan names, private names and public ones. There are names uttered only in moments of anger and those only spoken in silence.
It is the first story appended to our lives that is not our own; we do not choose our names, merely how to live them.