Sometimes the only way we get things done is because we have to; not because we're told we have to, we just have to. We put it off—whatever the it may be—for as long as we can until we can no longer. The pressure is too much, and the dam bursts. Even then, though, I don't always find that the water rushes. I have this vision of the dam crumbling and the water gushing into every bit of the low lying land. It doesn't happen that way very often. Usually, the dam bursts as a little chunk here and a little crack there. The water spurts out in comical sprays, like when you put your thumb over the end of a garden hose.
And these are the hardest kinds of ideas to wrangle. You're running half-crazed trying to make sense of why things are leaking here and spraying over there without the percipience to grasp that there is a titanic body of water waiting to break through what you once dismissed as a lovely little retaining wall.
This is the work we have to do because we're about to be swallowed up in it anyway.
This spoken word was one that had been writing itself in my circumstances and weaving itself in my deepest places for quite some time, but directing all that water into the neat rivers and ravines of sentences and rhymes was hard. Hard in a lot of ways.
But good too.
Note: It's in a couple pieces mixed in with the song.