A Name

The ocean needs a name. I’ve heard her called “Shakti” by a few hippie-Hindus and when I try it out myself, Ocean becomes a sticker on a lunchbox with rainbows and dolphins puffing out of the tin. What do I call the entity which birthed us and sent us crawling through centuries, reaching toward standing, reaching toward flight. What do I call the one who would rip me apart and pull me under. Sparkly blue, roiling with endless monsters.

Like a child toppling headlong toward a big fluffy dog, I kept thinking I could play with the Ocean. But then my feet would sink into ancient pulverized rock, my sight would land on the giant mollusk, swirling blue, my gaze would shift to a sudden cacophony of hopping bugs at my feet  and I would topple backwards from that roaring mouth.

What do I call The Goddess, alive as death, giant as Nothing. She refuses to be reduced to gender, to a lunchbox sticker, to words, to a name.