For a person as obsessed with music as I am, I always hear a

When Björk proclaimed, “For a person as obsessed with music as I am, I always hear a song in the back of my head, all the time, and that usually is my own tune. I’ve done that all my life,” she opened a window into the inner sanctuary of the artist’s mind. These are not casual words, but a revelation of what it means to live with art as breath itself. For her, music is not merely created in the studio or sung on the stage; it is ever-present, an endless current flowing behind her thoughts, a second heartbeat that has accompanied her from childhood to now.

The ancients would have called such a state divine possession, the touch of the Muses upon a chosen one. They taught that those blessed—or burdened—by this constant song lived in two worlds: the outer world of daily toil and the inner world of eternal melody. Björk describes this same dual existence. While others walk in silence, she walks accompanied by invisible choirs, her spirit always in dialogue with her own tunes, her own secret symphonies. It is the mark of a soul not content with ordinary perception, but forever immersed in creation.

Consider the life of Mozart, who was said to hear entire compositions fully formed in his mind before ever putting pen to paper. He would walk, converse, even laugh with friends, while simultaneously holding vast harmonies within his thoughts. To outsiders it seemed miraculous, but to him it was natural, for like Björk he lived always with music humming in the background of his existence. Such minds remind us that genius is not a sudden spark, but a continuous flame that burns within, often unseen until it emerges in song.

But there is also a deeper truth here: when Björk says the song she hears is “usually my own tune,” she speaks of the authenticity that every artist must seek. To imitate others is easy, to echo the sounds of the crowd is effortless. But to hear one’s own melody, to recognize it, and to honor it, is the truest form of creation. She has not been content to let other voices dominate her inner world—her inner soundtrack is her own, unique and untamed. In this, she shows us that originality is not invented in the moment, but cultivated over a lifetime of listening inward.

There is a heroic endurance in her words, too: “I’ve done that all my life.” To carry a constant stream of music can be both a gift and a burden. It is not silence but sound that surrounds her, demanding attention, demanding release. And yet she has embraced it, allowing it to guide her through the years. Like the prophets who could not resist their visions, or the poets who claimed to be seized by inspiration, Björk lives as one who cannot escape creation—nor would she want to.

The lesson for us is clear: each of us carries an inner song, though not all recognize it. Some hear it as a calling, some as a craft, some as the quiet insistence of conscience or creativity. The danger is that we silence it with noise, with fear, with conformity. Björk’s example teaches us to listen attentively to our inner melody, to honor it even if it seems strange or solitary, for it is in that tune that our true self is revealed.

Practically, this means creating space for your inner song to emerge. It may not be music—it may be writing, painting, building, serving, or dreaming—but whatever form it takes, give it your attention. Carry a notebook, a sketchpad, an instrument; when the tune arises, capture it. Protect moments of silence, so you can hear what hums beneath the chaos of the world. In time, that background song will guide you to your path.

Thus, Björk’s words stand as a torch for all who seek to live authentically: do not drown out your inner tune. Walk with it, listen to it, let it accompany you through the years. For if you honor it, as she has, you will not only live with greater wholeness—you will give the world a song that only you could sing, a melody that will echo long after your voice is gone.