My, my

I am writing this with my pen, in my notebook – I own both. I look out of my window, at my garden. I own both (or I shall do, when I have paid off the mortgage). My city is Sheffield, my country is England.

Well, there are not many people who can say ‘my country’ because they own it, not even Queen Elizabeth. So there are two meanings of ‘my’: the pen which belongs to me, and the country to which I belong. Much grief and difficulty come from people who can not tell the difference between ‘my’ car and ‘my’ wife (or ‘my’ children). Who belongs to whom? As a possession, or as a loyal member?

Is God my God? Or am I God’s Paul? Is my soul my soul? Or am I its?