The Journey of embracing my spiritual name -Māruti

There is a name I carry now that I did not choose for myself. It was given to me by Swamiji — a name that arrived like a steady hand on my shoulder, calm and certain. For a long time after she spoke it, I resisted. Not because I did not love the sound or the meaning, but because something inside me whispered that I was not worthy. That small voice kept saying, Who are you to receive this? Who are you to hold what my teacher gives?

Swamiji told me to cultivate the qualities of Hanuman. She named me Māruti, which is another name for Hanuman, a symbol of devotion and strength. When she said it, she looked at me with a kind of quiet knowing that made my heart both warm and afraid. I liked the idea of Hanuman — the devotion, the courage, the loyalty — but my fear was not of the meaning. It was of myself. I feared claiming a light that felt bigger than the small, imperfect self I carried around. I feared letting others see me try and fail. I feared letting the name fall flat by being untrue to it.

Hanuman’s gifts are many and simple. There is devotion — an unshakable love that moves the heart toward service. There is courage — not loud or aggressive, but steady and fearless when the moment asks for strength. There is humility — a deep knowing that one’s gifts are meant to serve, not to take center stage. There is loyalty and steadiness, single-pointed focus combined with playful trust. Hanuman is strength without ego, service without demand, a willingness to leap into what is needed because love calls. He is also the devoted servant of Rama, playing a crucial role in the epic Ramayana by aiding Rama in rescuing Sita, reflecting unparalleled loyalty and strength in service of divine love.

At first, when I tried to imagine these qualities inside me, I felt empty or awkward. I could admire them from afar, like looking at a lighthouse across a dark sea. Slowly, though, something shifted. Instead of trying to wear the name like a costume, I invited the name to sit with me in quiet. I made space inside myself to let these qualities breathe. This felt like stepping into a small warm room after being out in the rain — not because I was already full of them, but because I was willing to receive and practice them.

Practicing was the real work. It was not dramatic. There were no sudden revelations that made all fear disappear. Instead, it was a thousand small acts: choosing patience when my temper rose, listening fully when someone shared pain, showing up for my students even on tired days, admitting when I am wrong, and trying again. I learned to be humble about my courage and gentle about my strength. Each time I practiced one of Hanuman’s qualities, I felt a little more at home in the name Swamiji gave me.

This practice asked for trust. I had to trust Swamiji’s seeing, trust that she knew something in me even when I could not, and, more importantly, trust myself enough to try. Trust did not come all at once. It came in small beats: a confident breath before leading a class, a steady hand when guiding someone through a retreat, a soft answer to a hard question in a private session. Trust grows when you repeat the action that love asks of you, even when you doubt.

Over time, those qualities that once felt foreign began to show themselves — not as perfection, but as seeds sprouting. Sometimes they were tiny: holding space for a student who needed silence, offering service without counting the cost, choosing loyalty to a practice when easier paths tempted me. Other times they were larger: stepping forward with courage when a situation needed it, staying humble and true when praise came. These moments did not mean I had become flawless. They meant that the archetypes inside me, once suppressed by fear and doubt, were waking up and asking to be lived.

I discovered something important along the way: cultivating these qualities first in myself made me a clearer mirror for others. When I teach a group, lead a retreat, or hold a private session, I bring not only technique but presence. People notice when we hold ourselves with steady devotion and honest humility. They notice when we fail and try again. My life as a teacher and a human being blurred into one path — the practice was not limited to the mat or the hall. It moved into the kitchen, the street, the small daily tasks where there is no applause and no certificate. There is no division between the spiritual and the ordinary. Every small act becomes a chance to practice love and courage.

This work is daily. It demands discipline, but it is a discipline full of love. Some days are easier than others. Some days the old small voice still rises and questions me. When it does, I breathe, I remember the warm room I invited Hanuman into, and I try again. I do not pretend that the road is short or that I have arrived. I am still walking. I still fall. And I still get up, because the possibility of living this way feels more real and more necessary each day.

Receiving that name from Swamiji was not an endpoint. It was an opening. It asked me to step into a life of service, courage, and humble strength. It asked me to trust — in my teacher, in the qualities she saw in me, and in the slow, steady work of practice. It asked me to love myself enough to try.

Today, I hold the name with quieter fear and growing gratitude. I am committed to the path it points to. I will keep practicing, keep learning, and keep being a mirror for those who come to me. I will bring Hanuman’s devotion into the smallest corners of my day, and I will do it with an open heart. I do not yet fully deserve this name in the way my old fears imagined “deserve.” But I accept it as an invitation — to keep walking, to keep serving, and to become more fully who I was asked to be.

With Love,

Marco Māruti