It's sort of a feeling of power onstage. It's really the ability

Hear now the words of Robert Plant, a voice of fire and thunder upon the stage, yet also of humility and wisdom: “It’s sort of a feeling of power onstage. It’s really the ability to make people smile, or just to turn them one way or another for that duration of time, and for it to have some effect later on. I don’t really think it’s power… it’s the goodness.” In this confession, the singer reveals not the pride of a conqueror, but the secret of true artistry—that the highest gift of the stage is not domination, but the stirring of hearts, the touching of souls, the awakening of joy.

The ancients knew this truth well, though they spoke of it in temples rather than concert halls. For the orators of Greece and Rome, when they stood before the people, could sway nations with their voices. Yet the noblest among them, like Pericles or Cicero, understood that such power was a sacred trust. To speak was not merely to command, but to uplift, to guide, to kindle in men and women the courage to act. Plant, standing in the blinding light of the stage, recognized that the true essence of performance is not control—it is the giving of goodness, woven in sound and carried by spirit.

Consider the tale of Martin Luther King Jr., who stood upon the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and declared a dream. His voice reached out not with violence, but with vision, and the people who heard him were moved, not because he wielded earthly power, but because he ignited the flame of justice in their hearts. Like Plant, he understood that the ability to turn the hearts of others, even for a short time, is not a weapon of control, but a gift of goodness. What endures is not the sound of the voice itself, but the change it plants in the soil of the soul.

Plant speaks also of the smile—a simple, radiant fruit of the artist’s labor. To draw forth a smile from another is no small thing; it is to carve a moment of light in the darkness of their journey. The stage may last only an hour, but the smile may linger for days, echoing in memory, carrying hope where despair once dwelt. This is why he denies the word “power,” for true power is fleeting, but goodness multiplies itself, stretching far beyond the span of a single performance.

The lesson is thus revealed: influence without love is tyranny, but influence with love is goodness. Whether one stands on a stage, in a classroom, in a pulpit, or in the quiet presence of family, the call is the same—to use whatever gifts we hold not for dominance, but for blessing. The question is not, “How many bowed before me?” but, “How many rose higher because of me?”

Therefore, beloved reader, take this teaching into your own life: when you speak, let your words be seeds of hope. When you act, let your gestures bring forth the smile of another. Do not hunger for the shadow of power, which fades when the light shifts, but hunger for the eternal harvest of goodness, which remains when all applause has fallen silent.

So let your daily practice be this: seek moments to lift others, even for a breath of time. For though the stage may end, the echo of a smile, the memory of a kind word, the warmth of a generous act, these endure. And in this, you too shall know the greatness Plant discovered: that the highest calling is not to command, but to kindle, not to conquer, but to bless.