The last few times I’ve been in the subway, donations have been minimal. People are walking right by wearing expressions of boredom, weariness and irritation. Although I try to maintain a cheerful expression and to sing and play well, I find it challenging to go up against so much negative energy.
In fact, when the gusty wind whooshes through Pape Station, as it does at unpredictable moments, I am grateful to let loose and wail away into it, knowing that the wind will completely drown out my performance and that for a few moments my fragile voice won’t be so naked in front of the passing crowds.
When busking is going poorly, I love the wind. I love the fact that it’s unpredictable and overpowering. It whips around me and gathers me up, like Dorothy’s tornado in The Wizard of Oz, transporting me beyond the chilly corridor. That wicked wind is a brief cure for my frustration. It says, “Okay, so you’re not moving anybody in Pape Station…but you can still be moved. I will move you.”
Surrendering to that wind, which I cannot sing over, I find myself singing into it. At that moment I’m probably singing off-key and strumming chaotically but I don’t care. I feel better joining the wind in its enthusiastic, chaotic movement…joining the Spirit that rushes in and sweeps me off my feet if I but let it.
It is that Wind that catches me by surprise and takes me away from ordinary days, into the storm of songwriting, the storm that is perfect for me. When I am caught up in it, I am moving purposefully toward a mysterious and marvellous destination. The experience is disorienting and scary and exhilarating, and it illuminates my world.
When I am swept up into the arms of the Great Creative Energy, I find the reason for singing and I find that it is in me. It’s not in the people passing by.
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After singing five songs, I decide to go home to rehearse for my show on Saturday night.
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