On Pronouns

In times of transitions, all pronouns come into question. What was once "we" or "us" becomes "me" and "you." What was once "ours" becomes "yours" or "mine." Transitions invite us to reflect on our identity and I think this is a good thing. To dust off who we are, on occasion, can help us to live courageously if we are treading dangerously near cowardice. Today is my last Wednesday living in New York and soon all of the committees I work with will no longer be "my" committees, but they will belong to others. New pronouns will be in order. And so goes life.

Life is good and rich if we let ourselves see it that way and that is how I see it today. It is a cool, gray day here in the city and for some bizarre reason I am filled with hope. Perhaps it is because there are adventures on the horizon. I am sad to leave New York, but a new season in a new city with new friends is right around the corner. Even more strange, at the moment I feel hopeful about love. A friend reminded me of this poem and I share it with you because it is just plain beautiful. I figure, if Neruda wrote it, it must exist, a love like this must exist. And one blessed day, perhaps I will savor it myself. A day when the lonely pronouns cease to exist.

Sonnet 17

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

-Pablo Neruda