Wednesday, April 15, 2009
We spend so much time looking to the peacocks for our ideals that we forget that they really don't sing very well. And there, in the bare-branched bush, a sound of such liquid beauty emerges that, when it hops into view, we are shocked to see the drab and brown little body of a sparrow attached to the golden voicebox.
I saw Susan Boyle for the first time today. Admit it--you gaped, at least mentally. I did. I admit it. You cringed, anticipating her humiliation in public. I did. I admit it. Then she opened into song and I cried. Admit it--you did too. At least a prickle of tears. Our souls were stripped bare of our cynicism and we felt a glorious shame that comes with happily knowing that our gloom and jaded eye is woefully wrong, gladly wrong. She made us look into our souls and let us know what is REALLY important.
If you haven't watched yet, please watch. See if I'm wrong. Just try and see if I am.