Eliot was wrong.
April is not the cruellest month. It is February. But I will spare you the whining about how much I disklike midterms, lab, group projects, and cold. I have so much to be thankful for that complaining is ridiculous.

Over the past few weeks I have started to pay more attention to what is going on in the rest of the world, not just the petty corrupt sniveling of US scandals. I was inspired by the successful student campaign to get Yale to divest from companies that do business with Sudan. The cartoon controversy has gone from absurd to heartbreaking, and Iraq, the cradle of civilization, is being rent asunder. Then of course there are the Olympics to remind you that Georgia is a country, not just a state, and the little Tibetan prayer flags that came in the mail asking for a donation for the pursuit of religious freedom. These prayer flags are now on my wall, and when I think of them I feel the sorrow and the hope of the whole world.

I've been going to church a lot and have been a part of a new campus small group ministry that began last month. The girl who started it is a senior Anthro major (woot woot!) who is planning to become a UU minister. This all has rekindled old ideas for me. Sometimes I see a little glimmer of an alternate reality for me. I saw it before when I was burnt out on archaeology and school, as I am right now, but I have also felt it in a positive setting, like when I met Laura and learned she was applying to Starr King, or when last week's sermon at USNH almost made me cry.

In my meditation after yoga last night I tried to reconcile the conflicting desires and callings within myself and delve beneath the stress of the day to see what I really was feeling. I didn't find an answer, other than "You can always be free; don't put trust in plans; let yourself shine," which, like a cheap fortune cookie, could mean anything.

I want to dance my life wildly and purely and, in some small way, make the world better. There is so much time, and yet so little.