When Whispers are Overheard…

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…

- Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda    

     This piece of literature was the inspiration for my blog title, “Whispers between the Shadow and the Soul.”  Something about the pensiveness and immateriality of the phrase touched me so profoundly.  I believe that no language contains enough words to express the propensity of emotion that the human heart feels or the complexity of thoughts that the human mind generates.  As such, the deepest, most profound essence of our being passes as whispers kept in secret… between the shadow that is our silent but constant companion, and the soul that is the core of our existence.

     Writing has always been a personal interest of mine.  In it, I find refuge and solace in the dreariest times.  In it, I find the simple elation of being able to pour out my thoughts and feelings.  At times, I even surprise myself when, after taking the time to read and absorb what I have penned out, I realize that such things are running through my head.  Who would’ve known that I could be a sage-of-sorts… finding enlightenment within oneself.

     At this moment, I feel both sad and happy - typical of my ironic self.  I feel sad because a friend of mine is going through such pain.  I feel sad because I have been living alone for eight whole months, especially when I have been so used to being surrounded by familial love and affection.  I feel sad because I want to be with him, who means everything to me.  Yet inspite of all this I feel happy and grateful, because despite the distance I know that there are people who love me.  At times, when the feeling of desolation and aloneness gets too strong for me to bear, I simply wrap my arms around myself and let the tears flow, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that I won’t be alone forever.

     And then I write… melancholy essays and poignant poems, perturbing journal entries and bittersweet quotes.  Some remain unfinished… countless ones have passed on to forgetfulness as time went by.  But nevertheless, the simple comfort and relief of trying to capture fleeting memories remains.  Because when whispers between the shadow and the soul are overheard, one must take heed and listen.