Universality and unity

Some people are standing in the back of a sparsely furnished room. Others, in front, are sitting restlessly; a few are moving around, but the room is generally quiet. A woman, surrounded by men, steps up to a microphone. She whispers more than sings, breathing her words, running the lines together:

What sensibility releases this woman to avow publicly and directly ‘God knows how I adore life?’ It is a private, personal admission trembling through the words of the poet. Merely repeating these words in public, lacking the cover of music or alcohol, of a dimly lit club or a private space evokes discomfort among those who listen. The listeners squirm; they feel embarrassed that the woman is so exposed. They have a language for this. They view her ruefully as pathetic, and some leave the room in search of less visceral stimulation; something that will help them to understand something, to know something, to do something.