I have four names. Not nicknames. I’ve never had a nickname. Yes, once a a friend of a friend insisted on calling me Ad, because, one must assume, adding the phonological onset of “um” was too much for her to add to “Ad.” I refused to answer until the behaviour extinguished itself. A department head called me “Little Adam,” until I asked her not to. Her calling me this made little sense, apart from my height, because there was no other Adam and, hence, no need to distinguish me from a wholly hypothetical “Big Adam.” In grade school I wanted to be called Grasshopper. Despite my best efforts, this never caught on. Despite my best efforts, I also never learned kung fu. My sensei told me I roll like a sheet of plywood.
Adam Ant did catch on, but I never saw a reason to answer to it.
My mother named me Adam Byrn Tritt. My mother told me Byrn meant bear in Welsh. It does not. Nor do I know why she’d want my middle name to mean bear. While Welsh makes sense, as it is where her father’s side of the family escaped to when expelled from Portugal, Byrn doesn’t mean anything in Welsh. Byrne, however, with the added e, means “from the brook.” That isn’t helpful. Byrn does mean raven, however, in Gaelic. As far as I know, this was not her intent, but my entire life I have had an affinity for that bird, the symbolism behind ravens, which crosses cultures, and have, in many ways, lived up quite well to what the raven symbolises. It comes from Bran, an Irish god, the chief god, the giant god, whose symbol is the raven. Some of my favourite art is that of the Northwest Tribes in their depictions of Raven, and some of my favourite stories are those of the creative, the trickster, Raven. The Raven is often misbehaving but never boring, and through his actions he brings necessary changes to the community. This, I feel, was not my mother’s intent.
Also not her intent was to have it misspelled. She sent an aunt, Aunt Anne, to go and give the information for my birth certificate. Confused, she spelled my middle name “Bern,” as though my mother had named me after a city in Switzerland, and that is how it is still on my ID, Social Security Card, Passport, and all government documents. Thank you, Auntie Anne.
My mother never called me Adam though. On occasion she called me her melonhead. But most of the time she called me Adamus. Adam comes from the Hebrew “adamah,” for earth or soil, and came to mean man, thus Adam and Eve, from the Hebrew for “life.” Thus, Adam and Eve are Earth and Life. But, she told me, she didn’t name me after the Hebrew, but from the Greek, “adamantinos,” originally, and then through the Latin “adamantinus,” for unbreakable, unyielding. Adamus, she said, was my real name.
I have used that so very much in my life, taking the meaning of it to heart, making that part of me. What’s in a name? A lot, at least for me. At least, for that mine.
Lee would tell me “no one tries harder,” which is something I tell myself whenever there are difficulties. Lisa calls me “Tenacious A.B.T.” which I absolutely love, and have taken as much to heart. Lisa’s own take on Adamus and it could not make me happier.
Adamus, however, is something no one calls me anymore. Except myself. It is how I think of myself still. My mother, of course, called me that. Lee called me that. Joyce called me that out of the blue, one day, and forever after, without having ever having heard it. For them, here is one “of blessed memory.” Of blessed memory, all.
Then there is my Hebrew name. Avraham ben Fishel. Abraham, son of Fishel. A, after my grandfather, Albert. Albert Cohen. Avraham ben Fishel. Father of Nations, son of Fish. Why do we Jews have separate Hebrew names? It comes from being in diaspora in volatile regions with fluid borders. One day, you’re in Poland, the next day the border moves and you are now Belorissian. Last names change to fit the circumstance, the language, the politics, but the Hebrew name stayed the same. Like a magical name, it is used in the temple for ceremonies. Given when born, used when you die. Father of Nations, son of Fish.
Then there is my Buddhist name, given to me by the *Rinpoche when I took refuge. This was 1996, Gainesville, Florida.
Prior to taking refuge, a woman in the small group of us, about twenty in total including Rinpoche and his translator, Lama Losang, asked me if a person could hug a lama. I said yes, but be careful, because they can spit up to eight feet. She looked confused, which was not helped at all by the translator, also a monk, spitting up the water he was drinking. A gentleman I knew was shaking his head and saying my name under his breath as he did so.
When it was my turn, “do you take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha?” I replied yes. Well, honestly, I asked a question first. I said, “Before I say yes, understanding this means I come back again and again in order to help relieve the suffering of all sentient beings, I’d like to know: do I get any vacation lives?” The translator smiled. He asked. Rinpoche spoke, the translator spoke: “Rinpoche says he is sure you will find ways to have time off and fun in the process of helping others.” That was good enough for me. Rinpoche handed me a book with my name on the back. My fourth name. Karma Bondru Zangpo. Excellent Diligence, Rinpoche said in Tibetan. Excellent Diligence, Lama Losang said to me. Rinpoche said something else, and Lama Losang repeated in English, Rinpoche says this name is your greatest strength, what often defines you, and your greatest struggle and that which can destroy you. And he asks you to notice this, and find the middle way, that you may live long, and be happy in your life.
And so that is my name. My fourth. When I think of myself I think of Byrn, the raven, Adamus, and Karma Bondru Zangpo. I think of the creative truth-teller trickster, adamantine, and diligence. Of making good trouble. Of being unyielding by nature but needing to learn when to yield. Of being indomitable, but having to learn when to bend, when to step back. When to stop. Those are the lessons of my life. They are what makes me and breaks me. When I think of who I am, those are the things of which I think.
What I never think about is fish.
* Through Karma Triyana Dharmachakra, of The Karma Kagya lineage, with its North American seat in Woodstock, NY.
tom, but I do not want her laughing at me.) I do not recall because I was shocked and collecting my own thoughts but I remember she spoke at length, angrily, with heart, and tore into them in a way, considering their faces, they were not accustomed. We resigned that night.
Adam Byrn Tritt 