I May Know the Word

Yesterday I had the first chunk of time to myself that I've had in days. It seems like there are a million things I want to do with this open space that's created when my kids go to school, or back to their Dad's, especially now that I've quit my job, but I'm finding it difficult to organize myself to do them. Particularly the larger tasks, like writing a book. It's frustrating, because it writes itself in my head all the time, but it's so much harder to sit down and do it. Why is that?

Last night, I did what I so often do when I feel like this -- I put on some music and I started with a really manageable task: cleaning up the kitchen. There's something so satisfying for me in making that little room all shiny and put back together properly. That's got to be a metaphor. As I cleaned I listened to one of my favorite old CDs: Tigerlily. I hadn't taken it out in years, and I've certainly never been struck by this song quite as hard as it struck me last night:

I may know the word

but not say it

I may know the truth

but not face it

I may hear a sound

a whisper sacred and profound

but turn my head

indifferent

I may know the word

but not say it

I may love the fruit

but not taste it

I may know the way

to comfort and to soothe

a worried face

but fold my hands

indifferent

I may know the word

but not say it

this may be the time

but I might waste it

Indifference, which Wikipedia defines as the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation and passion, is not something I associate with myself, but there has to be an element of that going on here. If so, I'm putting out the same call Natalie does at the end of the verse cited above:

Something move me

Someone prove me wrong

Before night comes

with indifference

And I'm adding this: If I know the word, let me say it, and let me say it in a way that can benefit others. I know this is the time. Don't let me waste it.