Burdens accompany insight. Though deposited in the comfortable private darkness of the individual mind, revelation resists hoarding, it remains incomplete if not shared, and its eventual public exposure is an inevitability not easily ignored.
I understand now why some risk the humiliation of the street corner to bellow their truths at annoyed passersby. They shout, these Jonahs, they shout not so that others will hear, but to drown out the relentless demands of revelation.
Fortunately, I feel no obligation to follow that path: I owe nothing to jealous deities who, weary of incorporeality, desperately torment the flesh they covet. My revelation is no god-given gift, but has been engendered within my own mind: if it is to be shared, there is but one deserving audience: myself.