on gentleness, and being vulnerable
I’ve had this video on replay all day. The song starts at 1:00. Listen.
There is a quality to his performance that is mesmerizing, magical. It is a quietness, a knowing, a vulnerability that opens up all kinds of space for me, any listener, inside the song.
This is worth knowing, exploring.
In a world hellbent on performing and showing and demonstrating and wowing, here is a quiet voice that stuns us. I love the quiet in the hall as he sings. There is no sound. And when he ends, a full five seconds elapses before the large audience can bring themselves to break the spell.
What if we spoke our truths like this? Quietly, without moving our feet, taking up just a little space, not a large space. Not shouting, no pop-ups, nothing to distract from the sheer quality of the voice itself.
What keeps us from this? What moves us toward flash and powerpoint slides and booming music and dry ice fog and diversions? Why must we deflect ourselves from our one true voice? What would happen if we just showed up?
It is magic, this.
