In my last post, Backtracking, I mentioned several times, that memory can be, and often is, a slippery thing. It is filtered through our personal desires of how we would like things to be, as well as what has occurred since the memory was actually created. And it also rests on all the moments before it came into being. All of those elements can very easily alter the face of any memory, changing it, giving it a different hue or tone.
When I was very young, my experiences were different from those of my siblings. Thus, I saw and responded to everyday things in a different manner than what was considered and accepted as the ‘norm.’ I was outside of the family circle for a short time. But those circumstances meant that my view and sense of things was just a bit different. I came back into the circle as a different individual, almost, but not quite, an outsider. At least, that’s the way it felt to me.
The result of all of that was that I was often called into question about what I might, or might not, be feeling and thinking. It became almost normal to assume that I was exaggerating, even lying at times. And that, in turn, made for a lot of confusion and pain for the child that I was. Eventually, as I grew and came to understand some of that, I worked hard to hone a level of honesty that sometimes came off as blunt and far too direct.
As a result, I am far more familiar at knowing just how tricky memory can be, and while posting last time, found myself repeating that it was a very slippery element. Only then, walking right into proving that reality with my own words. In the ease of writing that post, I incorrectly gave the wrong name to one of my mythological creatures and didn’t realize I had done so until 24 hours later, when I reread the post.
In the larger scheme of things, that isn’t a great error, and could actually be dismissed. Who knew it but me? And therein, lies the problem. I am, at the moment, writing a story about things that occurred twenty plus years ago. I needed to remember what I was repeatedly writing: Memory can be a very slippery element.
In my last post, I identified the two animals that symbolize, for me, my own intuition. They are a small dragon named Tui, and a snow leopard. I am into names and definitions. In that post, I wrote that the snow leopard’s name was Lilka. It isn’t. Her name is Jacobinia. Quite a difference, really, but a very important one.
The name, Lilka, is a Slavic derivation of the name Louise. It is soft and flowing, almost musical, and it means She who fights with honor. And I am aware of a little girl who was deeply wounded when she wasn’t believed. Furthermore, a little girl who loves that name because it marks her as the namesake of a beloved Aunt. An Aunt who loved to hear that little girl sing whenever she came to visit.
Jacobinia, on the other hand, is harsh sounding, reminiscent of hard sharp turns and angles. It is a female play on the name Jacob, which means The Supplanter, that one who comes to take the place of another. I was surprised, however, when I looked up that female version. It means The Hard Supplies, those things that it is hard to obtain, maintain, and even retain.
The title of this blog is Intuitive Paths. Although Intuition is a built in commodity, that doesn’t mean it is readily accessible, and that it doesn’t require consistent maintenance and efforts to enhance what is there naturally, and might even be considered raw material. One of its purposes is to help us to find our path and then to remain on it. Thus, it might on occasion, slip us a lesson, or two, on just how to access and maintain it.
Jacobinia, the snow leopard, is usually a slow moving and very dignified creature. However, on occasion, and when necessary, she can be lightening fast, swift and silent in her pursuit. She moved into that last post and taught me a lesson, it will be hard to dismiss. I see her in my mind, at the moment, sitting back, almost smiling in her satisfaction and contentment. She did a better than good job.
As I go back to that other larger story, I am writing, I bring with me that little girl, the one who has been there all along, making memories, and very much present when others were being made. And between us will be Jacobinia, there to keep us both to our paths.
But, in the background will be another figure, a silent, always moving white wolf. She is the one who fights with honor to guard the gate, the threshold. Her story may even appear here, as well. Stranger things have been known to happen.