The Ripple Effect of Vulnerability
On the last night of our week-long meditation retreat, there is a “Sharing Night” open to all. It is not called “Talent Night,” lest some have none but want to perform nonetheless.
I have been to more than 35 retreats and have seen many of these events. They mostly consist of poetry (so many Rumi poems, but who tires of those — plus, they are always brief), songs, dirty jokes, clean jokes, group dances (a favorite of mine and all too rare), brief music recitals, teacher roasts, and occasional surprises like Ryan ripping off his pants and dancing around in ’80s short shorts and sweatbands, like his life depended on it — and frankly shocking us all. Ryan had been previously quiet, well-mannered, and unassuming; this resulting in all of the women seeing him in an altogether new light.
I participated in one Talent Night during my first retreat in 2011. It was a group skit and, frankly, a flop. After that, having realized it was voluntary to participate, I took the easy way out for the next 9 years (due to both stage fright, particularly, and no identifiable talent, a close second), and stayed safely in the bleachers. Or as far into the back of the meditation hall as I could get, preferably by the door, in case a performance went on too long and I needed a stealthy escape.
But one performance has shone like a radiant and poignant jewel and stays with me, deep in my cells like a call to action. I don’t remember his name, and did not know him well. I remember he attended two retreats, and I know this because he was the kind of person who, while you did not spend too much time talking or hanging out with him, having him there somehow made you feel that all was okay, all was right in the container of the retreat, and of the world. You felt his presence in the space. Or maybe, the space felt his.
He was an older gentleman. Not well-dressed or overly fastidious, not seemingly self-conscious. He was not especially ‘dignified,’ but instead had a sweetness, a gentleness, and a slight goofiness to him. He was unassuming for sure.
He took the stage and announced he was going to sing. He trembled slightly and seemed to be both confident and beyond terrified. You could see the sweat beading on his forehead. He opened his mouth and sang.
It was creaky and strained. He belted it with all his heart, not hitting high notes particularly gracefully. He seemed slightly out of tune, never finding the smooth rhythm.
In front of my eyes, he transformed into a 6-year-old boy. I saw a child alone on the stage, showing himself, utterly naked, both vulnerable and fearless.
And I felt a wave, a welling. Choked tears emerging not from eyes, but from my throat. I felt the tightness of grief caught in your chest and the freedom of the truly sublime, finding air for the first time. Tears flowed from my insides. Past, present, and future; I knew he was I, and I him. I tasted our shared being and thought: someday, I will stand on that stage and sing from my spirit. I will sing to be seen — not to be heard. I will liberate myself from my own bonds and in doing so, encourage others who worry they will fail, be talent-less, have less to give, fall short, the courage to do the same. And that ripple will heal me — it will heal us.
Last night, I stood on the stage, in front of a captive, Caring Bridge audience, and sang my heart out. And they clapped for me, and I bowed and felt liberated.
I have enjoyed the thoughts, shared musings, and expressions of others on this blog site. Your comments inspire my own creativity and create the taste of unity. The taste of our shared being. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it. I know you do.
So here is my Call to Action: Join the Ripple Effect of Vulnerability. Add your song, your poem, your jokes with the world. Dip your toes in the water or let the bath run over. Let your voice warble or soar. Life is short — what have we got to lose?
