The Lost Art of Communication:
Communing Beyond the Broadcast.
Imagine you are in a bustling café, and someone in your small group is telling a story that pulls everyone in—laughter ripples, heads nod, the room feels electric. “They’re such a great communicator!” you think, caught up in the spell.
But are they? Or are they just broadcasting, sending a one-way signal to a crowd, like a lighthouse beam cutting through the fog? Today we are diving deep into a truth we’ve muddled up: we call broadcasters “communicators” when these two ways of sharing are worlds apart. This is not just semantics—it’s about rediscovering the art of genuine connection, the kind that hums with life. Let’s unravel this together, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a new or renewed depth in ourselves during this process.
Broadcasting: Content, Not Connection
Picture a broadcaster—a keynote speaker commanding a stage, a TikTok star dropping wisdom in 60 seconds flat, or even me, right now, hand-crafting this blog post. It’s a sculpted signal, chiseled for impact, sent to reach you wherever you are. Broadcasting is content: a blog, a video, a tweetstorm. You can confirm it is broadcast when you notice that there is no architecture built into the system for a real-time communication loop.
It’s one-directional, a megaphone blasting a message to the masses. Sure, you might comment, share, or hit “like,” but that’s not a conversation—it’s a delayed echo, a nod from afar. Social media teases a feedback loop, but it’s not the real thing. The broadcaster’s already moved on, tweaking the next post, and is not sitting with the reply you just sent.
Don’t get me wrong—broadcasting is powerful. It’s how ideas spread, how stories scale. A writer hones a paragraph, a speaker builds a talk, and an actor delivers a monologue. It’s thought-through, structured, a cathedral of intention. But it’s not communion. It’s not the living, breathing exchange of two souls in the HereNow. It’s content, not connection. We have been calling it “communication” for far too long – when they are really great broadcasters – not great communicators.
My Battle with Words: Finding the Flow
I wasn’t always easy with sharing words—far from it. Words are more than sounds; they’re the pulse of thoughts and feelings, the bridge between my inner world and yours. But for years, that bridge of mine was shaky. I’d sit in a restaurant, heart pounding, unable to ask a waiter for a napkin because the words felt trapped, like a bird in a cage. In acting class, I’d watch others leap into improv while I stayed silent for a year and a half, my thoughts screaming, but my voice would not stammer out the words, “I’d like to do that …” I had so much to say—so much feeling, so many ideas—but the act of expressing them felt like climbing a cliff with no rope.
Writing was one of my refuges. Alone, I could broadcast, sculpting sentences with care, controlling every beat. But real communication? That was another beast. It meant stepping into the unknown, facing another human being’s gaze, their silences, their truths. It meant listening—not just hearing but breathing in their words, letting them shift me. Listening, I’ve come to experience, is an extension of breathing. It’s tuning into yourself, the other, and realizing there is no other—just a shared moment, a shared breath. That’s where the magic lives. This is where I have spent countless hours working on my rudimentary abilities to stay present in the HereNow.
Communication: The Dance of the HereNow
True communication isn’t a signal; it’s a dance. It’s an infinity loop, a figure-eight of giving and receiving, flowing endlessly in real-time. When you and I talk, it’s not just words—it’s a million micro-adjustments. Your slight smile tells me to lean in; your furrowed brow nudges me to pause. The way you shift in your seat, the catch in your voice, the space between your words—it’s all vital details, flooding in, shaping what I say next, how I say, what I include or shape, and how I meet you. This is the HereNow, the sacred space where we co-create something alive.
Think of a conversation that left you buzzing—a late-night heart-to-heart, a debate that sparked a new idea, a quiet moment where someone saw you. That’s communication: reciprocal, raw, a communion where both of us are changed. It’s not about being the loudest or the most polished; it’s about being present, open, and alive to the other.
And the Master key to all of it? Deep, full-body listening. Not just waiting for your turn to talk, but feeling the other’s rhythm, digesting their words, letting silence—true silence, like the space between notes in music—hold space for reflection, metabolism, and deep allowing. It’s being present to all that is, slowing the breath, calming the knee-jerk urge to fill the void.
The Misnomer We’ve Normalized
So why do we keep calling broadcasters “communicators”? It’s a cultural blind spot, and it’s dimming our connections. We’ve mistaken the ability to send for the art of sharing. Broadcasters are craftsmen who build cathedrals of thought—essays, TED Talks, and Instagram reels. They’re structured, deliberate, and designed to land. But communicators? They’re artists of the moment, reading your energy, catching the glint in your eye, sensing the weight of your pause. They’re not just talking—they’re communing, adjusting in real-time to serve discovery, connection, and truth.
This mix-up matters because it’s left us leaning too hard on extroversion, on broadcasting our way through life. We praise the megaphone but undervalue the quiet, the listening, the space for silence. We’re out of balance, which shows—in our rushed replies, half-heard conversations, and obsession with “content” over the connection. We’re broadcasting when we could be communing, and the world feels lonelier for it.
Reclaiming the Art of Communion
I want to be the loudest listener you’ve ever met ~ can you see me smiling right now? Hope so. Imagine a world where we strove for a state of being that allowed for more presence, focus, and being there.
I want to be so present that I can hear the spaces between your words, to feel the thoughts you’re not quite saying. And I want to meet you there with words that flow from my own truth, being shape-shifted as we go. That’s the art of communication, a craft we’ve let slip. We’re so good at broadcasting—tweets, posts, podcasts (yes, even this one, until you share back with me). But communion? That’s rare, precious, a dance that takes courage and practice.
This blog is my broadcast, sculpted for impact, but it’s incomplete until you step into the Loop. Communication starts when you respond—when you share your thoughts, feelings, and silences. It’s in the HereNow, where we adjust, discover, and co-create. So, let’s reclaim this art. Next time you’re in a conversation, slow your breath. Listen with your whole body. Feel the other’s rhythm—their hesitations, their fire, their quiet. Let silence hold space, not as an absence but as presence, a moment to digest, to allow. Make those million micro-adjustments to serve the moment, not to win it.
Do we need to make every conversation, every communication happen at this level? Nope. But, we need to have the ability to engage at this level and allow it to spill freely into every space and relationship we wish to see improve and grow.
Your Call To The Dance
Imagine a world where every chat was a chance to commune—to weave something real that lingers like a melody. That’s the world I intend to co-create, and I invite you to join me. Notice when you’re broadcasting—polishing, performing, sending—and when you’re communing, truly present, truly listening. Ask yourself: Am I sharing or just sending? Am I hearing or just waiting? Then lean in. Be the loudest listener. Be the one who meets the moment.
