Sacred silence

I also found today's work on silence important and astonishing.  I especially appreciated Tzitel's observation about the hush that precedes a church service, when all present are consenting to the ritual that is about to occur.  It re-minded me, as David would say, of  my early life as a musician (from elementary school through high school) and the similar "sacred silence" that fell before a concert was about to begin.  When the conductor raised his baton, the silence, if possible, grew louder, especially on stage.  We musicians froze in position, seemingly holding our breath,  until we were released by the first downbeat and the sound leapt forward into the performance space.

Today's class also re-minded me of  the most memorable moment of storytelling I've yet experienced.  It occurred last fall at the Intl. Storytelling Festival in October, at the ghost story concert.  This performance is done outdoors, under a night sky to the accompaniment of night music, including crickets,  the clock striking the hour, and the hooting of an owl.  The stories were told from the gazebo, one storyteller at a time.

Now this occurred fairly well into the program, and the previous two tellers were what I'd call flamboyant in their style. Carmen Deedy, generous with words, voice, gesture, and Leeney del Symonds, generous with everything and flaunting a Vampire-ish black cape with red lining for her performance.  Then a thin, sharp featured man took the gazebo steps, and stood silently gazing at the audience.









And swan-dived right into his story:

"Mary wasn't pretty.
But she was clever..."

Yes, I intentionally hit the Enter key many, many times and hopefully you had to scroll down to read my next sentence, because I wanted you to experience just a bit of what it was like, watching Daniel Morden stand gazing out at us, his face a pale disc, motionless, in utter silence while the night made its music and the crowd waited, breathless, for what was to come.  (I don't think you were breathlessly waiting for my next line, but I hope I made my point about the use of silence)

And no, I am not certain those were his first two lines.  They are lines I remember as being his first lines. They were repeated several times in the story, using different pace and tone, so perhaps that made them  memorable for me.  But back then, I was fascinated but baffled.  WHAT had just happened?  What did he do?  How did he do it?  Why am I so ... so ... hooked? 

Well, now I know.  Silence, well timed, can grab an audience with more force than flamboyance.