This morning I found myself contemplating something that, on the surface, seemed quite simple.
What name should I use for my writing?
Throughout my spiritual journey, I have received and worked with sacred names. Each has carried meaning for me and has helped me recognize another aspect of myself.
One of those names is Quinara, which I understand as Presence.
Another is Sha’Na’El’-Ka’Zira, a name connected to another depth of my spiritual remembering.
Mareya Shimayah Elohim is part of merging the Presence and Form.
These names have been meaningful companions upon my journey. They have helped me explore consciousness, identity, my connection with the Beings of Light, and what I understand as the greater nature of Being.
Yet this morning, as I opened in contemplation with the energy of Isis, another question arose:
What about Becky?
Becky Prante.
The ordinary human name I have carried through this lifetime.
And suddenly I understood something about embodiment that I had perhaps been making much more complicated than it needed to be.
Do Not Abandon the Woman Who Carried You Here
Becky is the woman who actually walked this path.
She lived the experiences.
She raised the questions.
She doubted.
She wondered.
She laughed and cried.
She went to work and handled the ordinary responsibilities of life while somewhere within her the mystic continued whispering.
She walked through forests and felt Merlin.
She entered inner temples and encountered Isis.
She experienced dreams, synchronicities, visions and moments she could not explain.
She followed the breadcrumbs.
She got lost sometimes.
She found the trail again.
And through all of it, she was Becky.
Why, then, would I arrive at the place of embodiment only to leave her standing outside the temple?
That realization touched me deeply.
But there was another realization waiting beneath it.
Why I Hid the Mystic
There was a time when it did not feel safe to let others see this part of me.
When I was younger and spoke about some of my experiences and perceptions, people did not always understand. Sometimes I was laughed at. Sometimes I was talked about as strange.
And so I learned something many of us learn in one form or another:
Hide the parts of yourself that other people might not accept.
The mystical part of me did not disappear.
She simply moved into the shadows.
I continued living my ordinary life while protecting experiences that were deeply meaningful to me from the judgment of those who might ridicule or misunderstand them.
Looking back now, I can see another dimension to the sacred names that eventually came into my life.
They gave the mystic somewhere to live.
As names appeared that connected me more deeply with the Beings of Light and with my own Presence, I felt freer to explore those relationships.
Quinara could enter places Becky had learned to approach cautiously.
Sha’Na’El’-Ka’Zira could speak a language the everyday Becky had once been afraid to speak aloud.
Those names helped strengthen my connection with the sacred while, in a very human way, keeping Becky safe.
I honor them for that.
I honor the woman who found a way to continue exploring the mystery without exposing a tender part of herself before she was ready.
But something has changed.
I No Longer Need to Hide
This may be one of the most important realizations of my journey into embodiment:
I no longer need to hide who I am.
You may understand my experiences.
You may not.
You may find resonance in the way I perceive life, consciousness and the unseen.
You may think I am strange.
And, finally, I can say:
That is okay.
If you think I am weird, then perhaps that is simply who I am within your perception of me.
It does not change who I am.
If you love what I share, wonderful.
If you don’t, that is okay too.
Neither response determines my truth or my worth.
I do not need another person’s acceptance in order to give myself permission to exist openly.
And I do not need to convince anyone that my experiences mean what they mean to me.
That is freedom.
The Temple Does Not Require Me to Leave My Human Name at the Door
For much of our spiritual journey, we may look toward something greater than ourselves.
Our Higher Self.
Our Presence.
The Divine Feminine or Divine Masculine.
Angels, masters, guides or whatever language speaks to our own understanding of the sacred.
We reach upward.
We expand.
We remember.
But perhaps eventually the journey changes direction.
Instead of continually reaching toward the Divine, we begin allowing what we have discovered to live through the human being who is already here.
Perhaps that is embodiment.
Can Becky enter the temple?
Can Becky hold the staff?
Can Becky walk with Merlin through the forest?
Can Becky sit with Isis?
Can Becky dance and laugh with St. Germain?
Can Becky experience the extraordinary while remaining completely, wonderfully human?
Yes.
And perhaps the greater question for me has become:
Can Becky tell you about it without first wondering what you will think of her?
Yes.
That may be one of the Gateways I have finally walked through.
The Mystic Does Not Need to Replace the Woman
Recently I realized that something had gone missing from my writing.
Magic.
In trying to make my work clear and understandable to a wider audience, I had gradually polished away some of the very thing that made it mine.
The mystic disappeared.
The storyteller became a teacher.
The wonder became explanation.
And eventually I stopped wanting to write.
Now I understand why.
In trying to make my writing acceptable, I had unknowingly begun hiding again.
It was the old protection wearing new clothes.
Once I hid the mystical because I feared being laughed at.
Later I softened it because I wanted my writing to be acceptable to more people.
Different circumstances.
Same hiding.
And I am finished hiding.
I don’t need to choose between Becky and Quinara.
I don’t need to choose between the ordinary woman and the mystic.
I don’t need to make the mystical ordinary enough to be acceptable, nor make the human being extraordinary enough to appear spiritual.
They belong together.
Quinara can be part of Becky’s story.
Sha’Na’El’-Ka’Zira can be part of Becky’s story.
Merlin, Isis, St. Germain, the temples, the forests, the dreams, the laughter, the questions and the mysteries can all be part of Becky’s story.
And I don’t have to tell another person what any of those experiences must mean to them.
I can simply say:
This is what happened to me.
This is what I experienced.
This is what it caused me to see.
Then you are free to discover what, if anything, it awakens within you.
Perhaps This Is the Bridge
I recently saw the book I am writing in a new way.
I had originally thought of it as something like a guidebook for a national park—a guide through the Gateways of consciousness, embodiment and sovereignty.
Then the image changed.
I saw myself walking the trail with others.
We climbed a mountain along switchbacks.
Sometimes we stopped at beautiful overlooks.
Sometimes we sat at a switchback and reflected upon how far we had traveled.
And at night we gathered around a fire and told stories.
That is when I understood.
I don’t want to stand at the bottom of the mountain handing people a map.
I want to walk with them.
I want to say:
Come with me.
There is something beautiful around this bend.
There is a story I want to tell you beside the fire tonight.
I will tell you about the forests.
I will tell you about the temples.
I will tell you about Merlin and Isis and St. Germain.
I will tell you about the inexplicable moments and the very ordinary ones.
I will tell you when I stumbled.
I will tell you when I laughed.
I will tell you when I wasn’t sure what any of it meant.
And perhaps somewhere within my story, you will remember one of your own.
You do not have to believe my story in the same way I understand it in order to sit beside the fire with me.
You are free to listen through the language of your own heart.
Coming Home
So I think I know the name that will appear on my writing.
Becky Prante.
Not because the sacred names have become less meaningful.
Quite the opposite.
They helped me bring something precious out of hiding.
They gave me room to discover it, strengthen it and learn to trust it.
And now perhaps their work has brought me full circle.
I no longer need them to separate the mystical part of myself from the woman living this human life.
The mystic does not have to replace Becky.
She can come home to Becky.
And Becky does not need to hide her anymore.
Perhaps this is one of the simplest understandings of embodiment I have encountered:
We do not become Divine by leaving our humanity behind.
We allow what we understand as Divine to move through the human form already here.
We bring the hidden pieces home.
We stop dividing ourselves according to what the world might accept.
The feet remain upon the Earth.
The heart remains open to the mystery.
And the storyteller walks between them.
My name is Becky Prante.
Some of you may think I am a little strange.
That’s okay.
Some of you may recognize something of yourselves in my stories.
Welcome. Come sit beside me.
I have walked some very interesting trails.
And I am no longer afraid to tell you the stories.
You see the journey never ends, it simply continues to unfold.
These are my stories.
This is my magic.
This is me.
Come let us continue to walk together if you wish.
There are many stories yet to be shared around the fire of our Being.
Just listen with the through the language of your heart.
For me I no longer need to separate the mystical me and the woman who lived the life.
For as in this we become One,
I Am Becky Prante
Oracle of Divine Grace 