The age of the specialist

The sponge has begun to drip.
It is full; it has soaked all it can.


So naive it was when it first started out - 
 loving the sensation,
 feeling itself uncrinkling,
 as it began absorbing the sweet nectar of knowledge.
It thought it could soak it all.
What looked like a small puddle,
 on bloating and thus looking higher,
 turned out to be an immense unconquerable ocean.


So today I, the possesssor of this sponge,
 stand at the edge of this ocean,
 pinching repeatedly at my sponge,
 making it drip from the right places,
 allowing it to let go of selected wisdom - 
 wisdom I think I no longer must hold on to,
 to make space for the ones I must yet acquire.


I have chosen my stand.
I know I cannot be an engineer any more.
The Engineer's Ocean has grown beyond the capacity of a single sponge.
I squeeze out drops of knowledge that don't resonate with what I have chosen to become -
a specialist in search of problems.
Problems that could only be washed away by an eclectic mix of knowledge and skills.
A mix held only by me within the voids of my sponge.