Like a box stuffed to the bursting point with exotic fabrics, or a soundproof room full of music . . . my mind is filled with questions and answers, observations and ideas, words of comfort and words of teaching, all shut up within my headtormenting me with the desire to speak. But I cannot speak.

Why is that? What fear is it that holds me back, traps my true self in a tight little knot which no one ever sees? My inability to express my thoughts is driving my mind into itself. Is this where craziness begins—with a brain that's become like an ingrown toenail?

I must learn how to speak, before it's too late. My mind must grow outward, not inward. What wisdom I have, what knowledge, must all find a way into the world . . . somehow.