I've got a few reasons why I've got to maintain stability. I've

“I’ve got a few reasons why I’ve got to maintain stability. I’ve got into wanting people to hear my music. I’ve got something I want people to hear because I know they’ll like it. They’ve gotta like it! The songs I’ve been writing are the sort of things you have to like.” Thus spoke Sly Stone, prophet of funk and pioneer of sound, whose words pulse with the urgency of a man carrying a treasure too radiant to keep hidden. In this confession there is both vulnerability and power: the need for stability, the hunger for expression, and the unshakable conviction that the music within him has the strength to reach and move all who hear.

The origin of this saying lies in Stone’s own tumultuous journey. His life was marked by brilliance and chaos, by the soaring heights of creativity and the crushing weight of personal struggle. Yet in the midst of storms, he recognized that the gift entrusted to him—his songs—was greater than his turmoil. To share them, he needed stability, for only a steady vessel can carry such fire to the world. This is the ancient truth he echoes: that the artist is both servant and steward of his gift, and if he collapses, the message risks being lost.

History gives us echoes of this same truth. Consider the life of Franz Schubert, who wrote symphonies and songs of incomparable beauty while plagued by poverty and illness. His body faltered, but his soul burned with melodies he believed the world must hear. He wrote as though time itself were against him, pouring out his art with urgency. Like Sly Stone, he carried the conviction: they have to like it, not out of arrogance, but out of certainty that beauty speaks to all hearts when given the chance. His works, largely uncelebrated in his lifetime, later became jewels of human culture—proof that the artist’s conviction was not in vain.

Sly Stone’s words also reflect the heroic boldness of the true creator. He does not whisper that perhaps his work might be appreciated—he proclaims with fire: “They’ve gotta like it!” This is not mere pride; it is faith in the universal power of authentic expression. The ancients would call this the divine mania of the artist, a frenzy inspired by the gods, compelling him to believe that his songs are not merely for himself but for the healing and joy of the people. Such conviction is necessary, for without it, the artist might crumble under doubt and never release their gift.

Yet embedded in his words is also a lesson of balance. Stability is not a prison, but the foundation upon which creativity thrives. An unstable life, consumed by chaos or distraction, can drown the voice of art. To create and share meaningfully, one must ground themselves—through discipline, through rest, through focus—so that the fire of inspiration can burn without being extinguished by disorder. Thus Sly Stone reminds us: the gift is powerful, but it demands care of the vessel that carries it.

The lesson for us is clear: each of us has something the world needs to hear, see, or experience. It may not be music, but it may be words, compassion, innovation, or courage. Do not belittle it, and do not silence it. Cultivate the stability you need—mentally, physically, spiritually—to bring your gift forth. Then share it boldly, with the conviction that it matters, that it is needed, that others will be moved by it. For the world does not hunger for perfection; it hungers for truth expressed with passion.

Therefore, let each person act with courage. Guard your life so that your art, your calling, your truth may flourish. And when you share it, do not whisper timidly, but declare it boldly: this is for you, and you will find life in it. For the artist’s gift is never meant to be hoarded, but to be poured out like water on thirsty ground.

So let Sly Stone’s words endure: “I’ve got to maintain stability… I want people to hear my music.” Take them not only as the creed of a musician, but as a teaching for all souls. Find your gift, protect it with stability, and share it with conviction. For when you do, your life itself becomes a song—one the world cannot help but listen to.