I meet singer-songwriter Dermot Kennedy this morning. Afterwards, I type his name into Spotify and admire his voice, lyrics, and most of all, his passion.
Listening to his music ignites something deep inside of me. I have the urge to dance. To write. To spill technicolour all over a blank canvass.
I need to give birth to this swirling energy inside my chest. To express this sensation that rises and fizzes.
I want to throw my arms wide and look the beast straight in the eye as lightning spikes into puddles and sheets of rain encapsulate me.
I long to roar so fiercely that my throat tears open and nightingales spring skyward.
I want to race across fields where thistles prickle and lash me with their giant purple heads.
I wish to tap-dance along the hide of the earth. My diamond heels working up a fever. Sparks bursting. The planet thrums.
I yearn to drink in the incredible beauty of this whole miraculous universe.
I feel an urgency so strong that normal life moves too slowly for me. My desperation lies shallow in my belly.
But I’m in work. I can’t unleash the dragon right now, despite my impulses.
I remember that I have to breathe.
Inhale. Life. Exhale. Let go.
The fear is that this wild abandon will dissolve like a unicorn’s wing behind the charcoal clouds.
But if I sit still and silent, I can just about hear the sun creaking above the horizon and the applause of wave after wave after wave upon the shore.
I know that if I breathe, I’ll always be present for another song, another flame, another mouthwatering moment of life being really lived.
And if I am, if I really am who I truly am, I’ll shine and I’ll keep on shining. I’ll shoot rainbows from my fingertips.
I’ll fling my heart open. I’ll bellow until the beast lifts his sleepy lids.
And he and I, we’ll jive.