Saying My Name

I would not call myself a religious person. I am laughing as I write this. I received twelve years of traditional Catholic education which contributed to my curriculum at the rate of one religion class per day.
Multiplied by twelve years, I think 'religion' class added up to three thousand or more hours, by the time I was seventeen. Most of this, biblically based. All of it is inside of me. And shows itself when I least expect it.

Several entries ago, I put forward my Lenten plan of walking three inches at a time, with my small, crippled dog. Since I decided this, we have been blasted out of the universe with weather that has fit perfectly to this pace. Wind that has nearly blown my sturdy 200 pound carcass off my equally study winter boots. Ice and rain that has frozen over the spectacles. Snow that has come and gone, come and gone, true to threatening unpredictablity and dedicated to proving to be irradicable. After soft months, winter knowing full well that time is short, has made up her reputation.
For me, I have gone where the hills have cut off the wind. For her, I have gone down into the valley cuts where she can slide the hill.

These places now hear my name.

When I page the old testament, one characteristic of the writing stands out to me. The names of thousands of people can be found. They are listed. Many of these names I can not pronounce. Some I recognize as having made it to the current day, to be baptized on an innocent child.

Linked to something or someone, names.

Whether survival, whether player, whether battle, whether genesis of life, whether judge, whether tribe, whether son, daughter or friend, the names are there.

In my reading, I say their names.

In doing so, merge with strength, resilency, hope, struggle, lesson, fight, vision, wisdom, power, force, vehemence, courage, vigour, and resolution.

I am saying my name in the woods now.

I am calling it out, speaking it with strength, rolling it over a dip and a cut.

I am saying my name over the lake ice.

I am speaking my name from a high point.

I am yelling my name from a low crux of hollow.

I am doing exactly what I have been taught to do by an endless progression of teaching nuns: say your name, list your name, join your name to these names.

At approximately 8:30 am this morning, I yelled my name across an ice broken forest. Before the last vibration echoed silent, I heard back from an unknown location, high above me:

"Don Schmidt."