Clandestine

There was this big stink this past weekend about someone stealing and publishing the prayer that Obama left at the western wall in Jerusalem, and all the news organizations then proceeded to publish it while condemning the theft.
Oh irony. You are so pretty.

Prayers are secrets; the whispers and language between a soul and a Great Hope. They are not something to be passed around and shared (unless you are Jabez, then I bet you are just straight pissed at that dude who made a ton of money off of you), a bit to be analyzed by masses.
I've been thinking about secrets lately, those things that adhere themselves to innermost walls and backs of tongues. Those things that never quite make it out; that can't navigate an exit.
Fact is, I loathe 'em. I loathe having them, I loathe when they destroy people. In most cases I see no good in secrets. I had a friend who quipped, "I hate clandestine organizations...unless I'm in them."

Not to say I want every little part of me to be known (I'm not THAT kind of blog owner) but so often I find that secrets do much to separate me from those that love me. But my exposing those secrets to light, I am released from shame, guilt, fear, rejection, judgement. I am freed. But my secrets, my prayers, are mine to be released not someone else's. They are mine.
Yours are yours.

That should be respected.

(This could be taken as if it's some sort of dig or warning to someone; it's totally not. I don't even have anyone with whom I'd have this conversation. Unless you want to start a clandestine organization with me, then lets chat.)