one hundred blogs of solitude

Solitude is missing from current educational system.  Students, while they are at school, must plough through book work, handouts and lectures in a ridiculous pace.  Everything is disjointed and disconnected, often taught in subjects that are irrelevant to their lives.  Last year, after weeks of drought, it finally rained - and not a mere sprinkle, but a downpour.  Instead of working in groups, students stopped.  For fifteen minutes we listened.  No one dared to face the mystery of the white noise. A few students glanced to me, wondering if I would stop the silence, but alas the class period ended with the standard school bell.  Still, I caught a glimpse of what silence and solitude could mean in a classroom. 
 
I wonder if blogging can recapture the sense of space and solitude that is missing.  What if a blog was a chance for a student to quietly meander the mind?  What if the silence could allow them to make the connections between school and life? What if students could have a list of topics or a free write and they could just write?  Poetry, short stories, reflections, opinion pieces - whatever they choose, because nothing else is a choice anymore for a child. 
 
They are told at school where to go, who to see, who their teachers will be, what classes to take, when to eat, when to use the restroom, how to write a paper, what format to use, where to go for a class.  The student handbook is longer than anything that came out of Mt. Sinai.  When God can be more concise in rules for humanity than administrators can for a group of two thousand, there's an issue. 
 
Perhaps I am too idealistic.  I know that about myself.  Yet, I wonder if this tool might prove, if used correctly, to be one of the greatest hidden opportunities available to students. I know that I tend to think of blogging as interactive - as something done in community, in order to broadcast thoughts and engage in dialogue.  Yet, I wonder if that "private" feature in a blog is more than just a safety feature.  Perhaps it's a hidden way to recapture solitude.