Self-censorship

I'm not really one to block my thoughts. I'd much rather write without worrying about the consequences, post without fear of reprecussions, and speak without being threatened. I am in no way harmed or under any oppression. Well, except the opression of my own hand. I am censoring myself. I can't really write all the things I want. Saying them would be too hard. Explaining them too difficult. Accepting them too deprecating. But above all, to write them would only expose my own flaws, and that is something the powerful never allow.

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I always have weird dreams, but last night, they were dreams of all things I fear. They have left me with a funny taste in my mouth and fear churning in the pit of my stomach.

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"Do you ever wonder why all this is happening? Do you ever feel that you're getting the shaft because of it? Is that selfish?" she asked, all the words almost coming out at once, the confession, the one too shady to utter, only just announced and the silence only thus broken.

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"No. Not at all." The voice was soft and true. "It was just time for bad things again. They come in cycles. It was just time."

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With hardship comes ease. Verily, with hardship comes ease. (Quran 94: 5-6)

I want to study abroad. I am applying for a scholarship for a public high school teacher to take a trip to study far from home for about ten days. In order to form my response to the essay question, I felt that I needed to do some research. I read a great article about the need for more teachers to travel and bring that perspective to their students. The article "Where in the World Is My English Teacher?" was truly inspiring. In the article, the author mentions an essay by Alice Walker. I looked it up (isn't that what happens when you research? one thing leads to another?) and read it. The essay, like a lot of Alice Walker's works, was easy to read. It was like she was standing in front of me telling me about life and her experience. I enjoyed reading the essay and wanted to go straight to the bookstore and buy the collection of her essays. Too bad I stayed at the library until 10! Oh, well. There's always tomorrow. Besides, I still need to buy my copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. ;)

Whoever you are, you'll likely enjoy the essay too. Check it out: http://books.google.com/books?id=m9vSViOPwN8C&pg=PA187&dq=%22The+Universe+Responds%22&lr=

I think I will just lie here a while,
until the lump in my throat dissipates,
and the throbbing in my head ceases.

I am completely, utterly exhausted.

A project, school, work, AND daylight savings time all in one weekend? What was I thinking?

Daylight savings time? Ba-humbug! Give me back my hour!

Blind spot

It's been quite some time since I have actually had to open that old vault of the hidden and share the darkness with someone else. Oh, it's not all coldness; there is a light and color hidden deep within it's recesses. That is what is hidden with the utmost care and sensitivity. The damp road through is really short-lived, though the end isn't really celebration.

The lock is not too hard to open. The key is around here somewhere; it is in his speech, his care, his trust, his hope. The key is almost in his grasp; it is in his kindness, his tenderness, his intention, his unceasing attention.