ONE LAST SPARKLE

Man, it's too early
What the hell you doin' wakin' me up at 5:30?
Why the hell are you worried?
Play somethin' that is very, very vibe-worthy

At the top of the house, in the room where I rest my head every night, there is only one small window which has no glass in it. It is reminiscent of a tiny lancet monastery window, as its width dimensions cut back deep into the thick stone wall it's framed by.

All year long, come rain or shine, it remains without glass and even when the rain is heavy and constant, the depth of the wall in which it sits protects me from exposure to it.

However, when it gets especially cold in the winter I generally close it up with a window sized piece of polysterine that's almost as old as me. Wrapped in some random fabric that I found for it a few years ago, I've grown increasingly fond of this hugely unglamorous and possibly carcinogenic 'Wabi Sabi' style blockade.

In the summer, it's mostly relgated behind a chair unless I need to shut out the  morning light after a night of re-writes for a screenplay I've been working on.

Don't let, don't let the lifestyle drag you down
Who knows when was the last time you felt the love
One last sparkle to follow in my light
One last sparkle to follow

Back in August, I had spluttered to a standstill with my creativity, a combination of hopes dashed by some significant developments from 2020 which had disappointedly fizzled out, as well as a creeping post-lockdown malaise that had me uncertain as to what to do next with my life, although I can hardly blame lockdown for that I suppose.

The long days of summer continued to exacerbate this uncertainty of mine as I found myself like a zombie, waiting for something to spark me back into life, something like a cosmic defibrillator.

I don't recommend waiting around for divine intervention to propel one back into creativity as you can be left waiting for a long time if you don't take destiny into your own hands, but I needed something to re-ignite the fire inside me that currently felt as if someone had smothered ash across it and closed the vents tight shut.

I don't want my mind alerting
How 'bout have my heart hurtin'?
Hold it all inside, that could make you die early

In the wee small hours of Friday 27th August, 2021 I had been ruminating all through the night and feared the arrival of the early dawn would soon put paid to any attempt at sleeping.

Necessity being the mother of invention, I boarded up my exposed window with the 'old faithful' so that my room became a complete void, remniscent of an isolation tank or an Egypytian tomb.

As I lay in the total darkness, my mind still racing, I did what so many of us with little self-control do in the 21st century.

I reached for my phone.

You need somethin' unexpected, some form of weapon

Scrolling through the current trends on Twitter, I found little to distract my mind away from existential, mid-life concerns.

Then, I noticed a few enthused tweets in caps and ending with plenty of exclamation marks alerting the vast army of acolytes that Ye (formerly known as Kanye West) was having a listening event at Chicago's Soldier's Field live on Apple Music.

As an avid fan of the artist/polymath since The College Dropout (2004 Roc-A-Fella Records) I instantly tuned in (or beamed-in?) as my phone remained propped on a chair next to my bed. My eyes were heavy but my ears were alert; I found myself in a quandary. Although I was feeling naturally sleepy I was determined to remain awake for the man who has so often given me "the codes of self esteem" at various stages of my life since his career began and aligned with my own chequered one.

Between being awake and sleeping, I found myself in a sort of temporary living bardo with Ye's Donda (2021 Def Jam) as my soundtrack. I could feel the heavenly choirs, motivational words, and banging beats slowly rousing the embers of my soul to life once more.

But the moment I felt the spark truly ignite for me was when Believe What I Say was introduced with a familar sounding Lauryn Hill vocal sample as the carousel-like track bopped and grooved into a fairground roller coaster ride that perfectly combined old school Ye (Paranoid) with new school Ye (Wouldn't Leave). The feeling I had listening to it was reminiscent of when you're a kid and you'd find a track to carry you through the entire summer which would then become the temporary anthem for your whole life.

And the funny thing is, the emotional and musical climax of the album was yet to arrive in the form of three more masterpieces: Pure Souls, Come To Life and No Child Left Behind, although the sheer exhilaration of Believe What I Say had already felt like the sufficient volts I needed to compel my imagination back to order.

Finally giving up on the idea of sleeping, the pure adrenalin of feeling happy again was coursing through my veins, creating a natural high that I would now further supplement with an early morning cafetière of Italian coffee.

I lifted out the polysterine blockade as the sunlight began to stream in and felt blessed that we still live in an age where I'm not yet desensitised to pure joy from a pure musical soul.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!