It’s getting so close to Christmas now and the days are pretty much madcap craziness. On top of trips to the Post Office and all kinds of shopping and gift-wrapping, I’ve had birthday parties, graduation parties, book club parties, and all kinds of other non-holiday-but-celebration-related activities going on.

I love all these events, but I’ll be a bit glad when December 26th arrives and I can hole up with a manuscript again like a troll.

When I don’t start my day at work on a manuscript, I always feel anxious at night. And since I didn’t work yesterday, I didn’t want to go to sleep last night, and I discovered this music video around midnight —

It took my breath away, and I can’t stop watching it —

It’s the official music video for Sia’s hit, “Chandelier” —

The first time I heard this song on the radio, my reaction was, “Mmm… not my favorite, but I won’t change the station.” I thought it was just a mindless party-girl club song, and if you take the time to figure out she’s singing an anthem to getting wasted, via rock-bottom self-esteem, with the lyrics, “1 2 3 1 2 3 drink” as the subject of the song trashes herself into oblivion — well, this wasn’t a piece of music that moved me.

Which means this wasn’t a song I listened to on my computer — so I never watched the video.

Then I found out last night that Saturday Night Live and Lena Dunham have both parodied this video — and I was like, okay, I have to watch this now.

(The SNL parody, with Jim Carrey and Kate McKinnon, completely rocks by the way — you should totally watch it if you haven’t seen it yet!!)

It’s easy for me to know why I love this music video so much — it’s a perfect work of art, with a simple perfection in lighting and filming that gives every moment a powerful beauty — but it’s so much more than that. It’s the contrast between the dancer and her setting; the pairing of the wig and the color smeared on her hands; the exquisite way she moves when spinning and tumbling, coupled with the ferociousness of her expressions and moods. She’s a violent babydoll, she’s a woman and a child, she’s lost and sad and deeply knowing, she’s lashing out and subversive and unhinged.

She’s totally gorgeous, thrilling, living art. There is wild magic here, and I can’t stop smiling.

When I watch the video, I feel this gigantic, tawny goddess with the mane of a lion rise up in my chest, and she carries a spear coated in blood and a battered shield decorated with a black ankh — and when she studies this dancer, my lion-goddess possesses me with incandescent delight. She says, “Play it again…” and I do.