Creativity and spirituality are connected aspects of the human experience or at least I believe they are. So naturally, spiritual practices are included in my creative regimen. Contemplation is essential for tuning out life’s distractions, so I can focus more fully on my creative projects. Here are a few contemplative practices I’ve added to my routine more regularly to nurture my creative spirit.

Diagram

If there’s a lot on my mind, it can be hard to get into a creative flow. Before I start anything, I always make a diagram of what I’m thinking about. This helps me get a better sense of what I need to remember and what can be released to make room for inspiration and new ideas. Make your diagram fun. Mine often include a lot of colors and shapes that reflect how I’m feeling and different categories. I always feel a little less heavy and more present by the time I’m done.

Daydream

We’re taught early that daydreaming is a distraction but what if we let our minds wander on purpose? We can choose to take five or ten minutes to play in our subconscious mind and see what rises to the surface. It can be helpful to journal afterwards, so new ideas can be saved for later.

Divinas

Divinas refers to three separate practices: lectio, visio, and audio—Latin for sacred reading, seeing, and listening. Each divina stimulates a different sense by incorporating various forms of art, but follows a similar flow. Most of the time, I engage one of the divinas to ground myself before beginning creative work but they’re also perfect as a quick morning or evening meditation.

1. Select a passage, image, or sound to meditate on. You can choose a poem, painting, or song. Open yourself to receive guidance or inspiration from the art.

2. Sit in a comfortable position. Read the passage or listen to the song a few times; observe the image for a few minutes.

3. Reflect on the details that stand out to you. You can contemplate them silently, speak them aloud, or write them down. Continue until you feel complete.

4. Sit in receptive silence for a few minutes, then transition to creative work.

If you’d like some reflection prompts, give a few of these a try.

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Last week, I went to the Guggenheim for the first time. I walked through the revolving doors into the sunlit foyer and was warmly welcomed by the architecture. The museum is circular with a singular winding ramp and galleries nestled throughout. Its open layout seemed to facilitate a more collective experience. Of course, I’m not the first person to feel this way; the Guggenheim is renowned for its revolutionary style. Architect Frank Lloyd Wright described the design as an “expression of pure optimism” intended to support a “dynamic social space” and it accomplishes his aspiration well.1 Together, but alone, we wander, pause, observe, and reflect.

Navigating the path is direct or at least it seems that way. You can choose to ascend towards the Infinity Room, a sensory space created by Yayoi Kusama, or descend to the theater in the basement. Still, there are surprises at every level—a tactile library, cafe, and several galleries. The experience reminded me of past visits to Christian monasteries. The simple but significant design of the building, shared intention of those gathered, and opportunities for contemplation transformed a trip to the museum into a mystical experience.

Everyone comes with the desire to enjoy some art. We walk the labyrinth-like path together. Carol Bove’s eclectic pieces line the path; an array of shapes, colors, and materials command our attention every few steps. So, we all step mindfully and pause to meditate on the art. Pauses are extended by plush couches where we enjoy one another’s company, silently or aloud. Laughter echoes and rises like hymns of praise in a chapel nave. Where two or three are gathered, God is.

This isn’t exclusive to the Guggenheim. Whenever we’re in a museum, it means we’ve gotten away from the day-to-day and carved out some space for play. Going to museums is part of my spiritual practice because I believe that amusement is an essential aspect of spiritual well-being. Play and the pleasure that it cultivates can be a pathway to the Beloved. So, next time you’re seeking God, consider visiting your local museum or another cathedral hidden in plain sight.

Lately, my feed has been inundated with variations of this idea: being materialistic is the final stage of spirituality. I’ve read it so many times that it’s starting to feel like a subconscious mantra. The longer I reflect on these proclamations and the carefully selected imagery that accompanies them, the more I feel like this is a direct response to the increase of conservatism in religious and spiritual spaces.

No one can figure out why everyone wants to be a Christian again. Former Protestants are taking an interest in conservative Catholicism. Folks who dabbled in New Age Spirituality are returning to the conservative Protestant traditions they were raised in. Why? I’m sure the reasons are endless but I’d guess that when times are tough people seek safety and stability. When in doubt, humans conserve. We hold on to the past, to what was, to what will never be again. So everyone’s a conservative now.

Spiritual, not religious spaces couldn’t escape this shift either. Spiritual communities have become like the religious institutions they previously critiqued. Critical thinking is discouraged. Obedience is demanded. Racism is expected. Bio-essentialism is reinforced. White supremacists are (once again) claiming to be Vikings and co-opting Nordic traditions. Extreme asceticism has been rebranded as high vibrational living.

So, the response is clear. If I have to be a Puritan to get to heaven, I don’t wanna go. Minimalism has been abandoned for maximalism. Girls who wanted to be classy are aspiring to new levels of gaucheness. No one wants to be a tradwife anymore. Reducing yourself to one-dimension is no longer in style. Now we want to be everything we’ve ever been at once. We want to take our spiritual lessons and apply them in the material world and that’s kinda the whole point, right?

Christian mysticism affirms that two things can be true at once. We’re spiritual beings because we’re created in the image of God. We’re also earthly beings who are part of the beauty of creation. I’ve never been into the rejection of the secular world to gain spiritual favor. I actually think it’s kinda heretical to refer to God’s creation as evil. We won’t get closer to God by demonizing others and isolating ourselves from the wonders of the world. We also won’t get closer to God through overconsumption.

Everything is best in moderation. You’re not holier than others because you’ve never bought yourself anything nice. You’re not evil because you own a Prada bag. Reality requires more nuance than entry level ethics and virtue signaling. I think this trend is interesting because it invites curiosity about what it means to be materialistic. I’m hopeful it can expand to include being invested in improving our collective material conditions. Maybe we can make room, alongside the material goods, to get involved in social and political change because that’s an important part of material reality too.

James Langston Hughes (1901-1967) was born to Carolina and James Hughes in Joplin, a city on the outer edge of the Ozark Mountains in Missouri. Like many African American families in the Midwest, the Hughes suffered under the conditions of Jim Crow segregation. Despite having studied to become a lawyer, James was prohibited from taking the bar exam and after determining that African Americans could not prosper in the United States, he relocated to Mexico. Carolina chose to remain in the United States and, with the support of her mother, raised Langston in Kansas. As a child, he developed an interest in theater and literature. His mother nurtured his curiosity by taking him to the playhouse and library as often as possible.1 He carried this appreciation for the arts through adolescence.

In 1921, Hughes moved to New York City to attend Columbia University, a school he selected primarily because of its proximity to Harlem. After multiple racist encounters, he began to prioritize exploring the city over academics.2 Langston immersed himself in the Black creative scene that became the Harlem Renaissance. He formed friendships with Black artists and intellectuals like W.E.B. Du Bois, frequented Jazz clubs, and enjoyed Broadway productions. After freshman year, Hughes dropped out of Columbia and traveled to Africa and Europe before returning to Harlem in 1924. While establishing himself as a writer in the United States, Hughes graduated with honors from Lincoln University, a historically Black institution.3 The wisdom he gained through his travels and experiences in New York City served as the foundation for the perspective recorded his poetry, novels, and plays.

Langston Hughes’ poetry wrestles with God. This results in his work being overlooked despite the complex religious concepts he explores. Hughes’ intimate conversations with the Divine are often misinterpreted as disrespect because he was critical of harm and exploitation in religious spaces. Still, his poetry engages spiritual themes and mysteries in similar ways as ancient mystics. His most well-known religious poem God (1931) laments divine experiences of loneliness. Inversely, Gods (1924) challenges human notions of the divine as a whole, declaring that all deities are merely reflections of the people who create them. Hughes’ ability to wrestle with God and religion through art can serve as a source of comfort as we navigate our own curiosities and concerns. Doubt is a natural and necessary aspect of the spiritual path.

Hughes’ religious poetry also examines political issues such as race and class. In Christ in Alabama (1931), he highlights the similarities between Christ’s crucifixion and the violent lynchings of Black people in the South. Goodbye, Christ (1932), one of his more controversial pieces, remarks on the role of religious belief and romanticization of nonviolence in preventing social change. Hughes was attacked for this perspective but was successful in sparking conversation about religion in society. Langston Hughes’ contributions to the Harlem Renaissance and American literature demonstrate the relationship between art, activism, and spiritual growth.

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More on Langston Hughes

The Fascination of Cities (1926)
Essay by Langston Hughes for The Crisis

The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain (1926)
Essay by Langston Hughes for The Nation

Langston Hughes: The Dream Keeper (1987)
Documentary from Black Film Archive

The Illusive Langston Hughes (2015)
Article by Hilton Als for The New Yorker

Langston Hughes’ ‘Goodbye, Christ’ is the Poem of the Hour (2015)
Article by Noah Berlatsky from Sojourners Magazine

Langston Hughes, Religious Thinker (2016)
Podcast from African American Studies at Princeton University

Langston Hughes: Progressive Poet and Wanderer (2022)
Article by Taylor Dorrell for Community Party USA

Digging Into Our Ancestors’ Drama (2025)
Podcast from Code Switch at National Public Radio

Bibliography

Best, Wallace D. Langston’s Salvation: American Religion and the Bard of Harlem. New York: NYU Press, 2017.

Rohan, Rebecca Carey. Langston Hughes: A Poet. New York: Cavendish Square Publishing, 2016.

I’m always met with bewildered expressions when I share that Moses, the revered prophet of the Torah, likely never existed. How is this possible? Moses is by far the most well-known character in the Hebrew Bible and his legacy of liberation has been celebrated for thousands of years. It’s really impossible to overstate the significance of the Exodus narrative and its lasting impact which has been reinforced through art and media. My heart still flutters when I remember my first time watching the Prince of Egypt (1998) and the joy I felt seeing brown-skinned representations of biblical figures. Moses is particularly essential to Black liberation: Harriet Tubman has long been called “Moses” for her work with the Underground Railroad and Martin Luther King Jr. explicitly references Moses’ experience on Mount Nebo in his prophetic speech I’ve Been to the Mountaintop (1968). Yet, this Moses that we’re all so familiar with bears little resemblance to the main character of the Exodus narrative and is not a man who lived. So, who is Moses and why should we care?

Moses: The Man

The title is a little misleading because I’ve already dropped the bomb that Moses wasn’t an actual person. Before diving into his character, it’s important to clarify that the array of texts we think of as the Bible are works of literature, they’re not meant to be interpreted as historical records. There is no archaeological or historical evidence of Moses’ existence or the Israelites’ escape from Egypt.1 Actually, archaeologists have theories about the Israelites and Canaan—the ancient region that included Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, and parts of Syria—that contradict biblical narratives entirely. Gradual Emergence Theory, widely accepted amongst scholars who utilize the historical-critical method, argues that the Israelites’ were Canaanites who developed their own distinct identity over time.2 But if the biblical narratives of Israelite deliverance from Egypt aren’t historical, then what are they?

In 1997, a German Egyptologist named Jan Assmann published Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism, a book where he proposed that Moses is a figure of memory, not history. Mnemohistory is the term he created for this fusion of memory and history.3 When we look at Moses through the lens of mnemohistory, a practice that honors the importance of cultural memory, we begin to understand that he embodies our collective memory of righteous resistance and resilience. This is not a coincidence. While we can’t know when exactly, we have a sense that our current iteration of the Exodus narrative was developed during and after the Babylonian exile. Around 587 BCE, the Babylonian Empire captured Jerusalem and deported Judeans, especially members of the elite. Many biblical texts reflect the grief and suffering that accompanied this imperial violence and experience of exile including Exodus.

In the Exodus narrative, Moses is born during a period of persecution in Egypt, not unlike the historical Israelites under the Babylonians. Despite male Hebrew newborns being targeted by an unidentified Pharaoh, Moses survives and is raised by Pharaoh’s daughter thanks to his mother and sister’s defiant acts of love (Exod 2:3-4). Moses’ miraculous existence is meant to reflect the resilience of the Judean people during and after the exile. The narrator also informs us that Moses is a Levite which means he belongs to a lineage of Israelite priests (Exod 2:2). Even though he’s not a priest, for an ancient Judean audience, this detail about Moses’ ancestry reinforces the resilience of Israelite religion in the face of oppression and the destruction of the temple, their central place of worship. The Exodus narrative depicts the loss of cultural identity and return to ancestral religion.

As Moses gets older, it becomes clear that he’s a complex character. He’s often reimagined as wise and courageous but in reality, he’s extremely stressed out about the whole ordeal. After he finds out he’s actually a Hebrew, he kills an Egyptian taskmaster who’s oppressing an enslaved Hebrew and runs off to the wilderness of Midian (Exod 2:12-15). Then, his ancestral deity sets a bush on fire to get his attention and explains that he’s gotta go back to Egypt to free his folks (Exod 3:2-10). Unsurprisingly, Moses is not feeling it at all and goes on to explain that he’s not eloquent and concerned that his people will reject him (Exod 3:11-13). If you’re familiar with prophetic literature, you know they always decline the call at first. Eventually, he agrees, goes to Egypt and makes a scene with God’s help. As we’ve interpreted this story over time, the timid and reluctant Moses has been overshadowed by Moses the Prophet but I think it’s important to remember that as imperfect as we are, we’re all worthy in God’s eyes.

Moses: Myth and Magician

Many different versions of Moses exist because he’s a phenomena of cultural memory. In Black cultures around the world, Moses has become a significant figure for different reasons. In liberation contexts, he represents the resilience necessary to overcome oppression. Go Down Moses, an African American spiritual that dates back to the pre-Civil War era, exemplifies Moses’ centrality to African American political protest. Harriet Tubman has been given the title “Moses” to honor her resilience while working with the Underground Railroad. The Exodus narrative as a whole has also been adopted to represent the struggle for Black liberation. Acclaimed theologians like Martin Luther King Jr. and James Cone have connected the narrative with social movements and political philosophy. Moses is an important figure in Black art. If you haven’t heard Isaac Hayes’ 1971 album Black Moses, it’s mandatory listening.

Zora Neale Hurston’s depiction of the prophet in Moses, Man of the Mountain (1939) brings together aspects of both African American and biblical traditions. The way it expands existing scripture, Hurston’s novel is a sacred text in its own right. In her mythology, Moses is reimagined as a skilled sorcerer with extensive knowledge of ancient Egyptian magic. In the Exodus narrative, Moses has the ability to perform signs and wonders on God’s behalf. He commands Aaron’s staff to transform into a snake (Exod 7:11-12) and turns the Nile River into blood (Exod 7:20). Most notably, Moses manages to separate the sea and create a pathway to liberation (Exod 14:21). Hurston draws on these details from the biblical narrative and seamlessly weaves them with African American spirituality.

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Nymphaea caerulea, Latin for blue nymph, is an aquatic plant indigenous to Eastern Africa and parts of Southern Arabia. In my study of Ancient West Asian ritual plants, I’ve come across blue lotus in Egyptian literature and imagery. Around 2500 BCE in Egypt, the lotus became a prominent symbol of unity and immortality.1 The plant was appreciated as an aphrodisiac for its sweet-smelling essence and known for its magical and medicinal properties.2 Among ancient and modern people alike, blue lotus is most popular for its ability to vitalize dreams and visions.

We consume blue lotus’ aromatic flowers which are delicate and delicious. When I’m preparing for evening prayer, I steep one tablespoon of blue lotus flower in a cup of boiled water for five minutes to drink during my devotional rituals. This is my favorite herbal infusion for evenings of revelation and restoration. As an extension of my practice, I’ve designed a blue lotus blend to enhance your spiritual rituals.

Lately, since it’s basketball season and playoff games are at night, I’ve been experimenting with blue lotus in botanical spirits. My partner and I have been enjoying this martini-inspired blue lotus cocktail. So, without further ado, here’s the recipe for the what I’m calling The Dream Weaver.

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Coltrane’s appreciation for music continued to develop as he aged. In elementary school, he wrote a research report on Marian Anderson. By the time he was a teenager, Coltrane developed an interest in the saxophone with attention to the innovative sounds of Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, and Johnny Hodges. After moving to Philadelphia in 1943, his musical exposure and education increased exponentially and he began his career as a saxophonist. Seeking to avoid serving in the army, Coltrane enlisted in the U.S. Navy and played in their band for a year.3 His return to the scene resulted in significant success. However, as his career bloomed, he began to struggle with addiction.

After having a religious experience in 1957, Coltrane was compelled to take steps towards recovery from substance abuse. In addition to his Christian upbringing, his wife Naima’s faith as a Muslim revert influenced his religious understanding. Coltrane studied the Qur’an alongside the Bible and Bhagavad Gita. His second wife Alice also supported his spiritual journey through shared interest in Hindu philosophy. As mystics, they maintained an open mind and embraced spirituality in all its forms including astrology.4 Still, the Hindu tradition served as the foundation of his sonic expression.

The significance of spirituality in Coltrane’s music is evident in one of his most acclaimed works A Love Supreme (1965). Designed to support prayer, A Love Supreme is comprised of four movements or parts: Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance, and Psalm. He composed this project as a hymn of praise to God. These themes are central to other albums like Ascension (1966), Meditations (1966), and Om (1968). Christian motifs are also found throughout his songs including Dear Lord (1965) and Amen (1965). Coltrane flawlessly wove mysticism into his music which increased his popularity in spiritual and secular spheres.

Coltrane’s influence continues to reverberate through history. His spiritual beliefs, as expressed within his music, have inspired ancestral veneration. Coltrane was canonized by the African Orthodox Church, an African American denomination founded by George Alexander McGuire and Marcus Garvey, and became a saint on September 19, 1982. He is the patron saint of Saint John Coltrane Church in San Francisco, a parish of the African Orthodox Church. Coltrane is a celebrated mystic and widely recognized as essential to the Black Mystical Tradition.

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More with John Coltrane

Interview with John Coltrane and August Blume (1958)
Audio by August Blume from University of Pennsylvania

Playing at the Nth Note: John Coltrane and Proliferation (2004)
Article by Tamas Dobozy from Genre Journal

The Story of ‘A Love Supreme’ (2012)
Audio by Eric Westervelt from NPR’s All Things Considered

Chasing Trane: the John Coltrane Documentary (2016)
Documentary by John Scheinfeld from PBS Independent Lens

Coltrane and Me: Why Jazz is My Religion and Wally’s is My Temple (2017)
Article by Cuthbert Simpkins from Harvard Medicine Magazine

The Canonization of Saint John Coltrane (2023)
Article by M.H. Miller from The New York Times Style Magazine

How John Coltrane’s ‘My Favorite Things’ Changed American Music (2024)
Article by Jeff MacGregor from Smithsonian Magazine

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Related Reading

Bibliography

Brown, Leonard. “You Have to Be Invited: Reflections on Music Making and Musician Creation in Black Culture.” Pages 3-10 in John Coltrane: and Black America’s Quest for Freedom: Spirituality and the Music. Edited by Leonard Brown. New York City: Oxford University Press, 2010.

Lavezzoli, Peter. The Dawn of Indian Music in the West. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2007.

Porter, Lewis. John Coltrane: His Life and Music. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999.

Hibiscus (Hibiscus sabdariffa) is native to West Africa and naturalized in Asia and the Caribbean. This plant partners with our bodies in a variety of ways like lowering blood pressure and cholesterol and protecting our cells through antioxidants that prevent heart and liver disease.1 Hibiscus blooms during the warm summer months but is available dried year-round.

We consume Hibiscus’ bright red flowers which are warm, stimulating, and sweet. This is my favorite drink for slow and sensual mornings where I’m immersed in spiritual devotion and self-love rituals. Hibiscus supports with opening the heart which allows us to be present and receptive to love in all forms. By opening us to receive, Hibiscus enhances contemplative prayer.

Here are two recipes for my favorite hibiscus infusions:

Sourcing Ingredients: If you’re looking for somewhere to purchase your herbs, check out Nappily Naturals and Anima Mundi Herbals.

Honey Hibiscus Rose
This is a single serving recipe.

Ingredients
1/2 tsp of hibiscus flowers
1/2 tsp of rose petals
1 tsp honey
1/2 tsp sugar (optional)
10 oz of filtered water

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No prophet is accepted in his own country, so it shouldn’t be surprising that after writing prophetic works that encompassed the righteous anger of African Americans, James Baldwin died in France in 1987. Baldwin’s life, which reflected the systemic subjugation of Black and Queer people in the United States, cultivated conditions for the complex and, sometimes, contradictory political perspectives he held. His interpretation of the Divine, work for civil rights, and contributions to Black literature make Baldwin an essential figure within the Black Mystical Tradition.

James Arthur Baldwin (1924-1987) was born to Emma Jones in Harlem, a historically Black borough of New York City. At the age of three, his mother married David Baldwin, a Pentecostal preacher who also worked at a soda bottling plant on Long Island. Throughout his childhood, Baldwin’s family experienced extreme poverty. The conditions they faced alongside other Black Americans in Harlem were a source of reflection throughout his writings. Baldwin’s self-perception transformed during high school, when he became aware of his identity as a queer person through a traumatic experience. He struggled to reconcile his queerness and religiosity until he moved to Greenwich Village at eighteen and was able to embrace his identity more fully.

Baldwin’s intellectual, artistic, and spiritual formation was primarily the result of his father’s ministry in the Pentecostal Church. David Baldwin required that he attend Abyssinian Baptist Church, a historic African American church on 138th in Harlem and later, Mount Calvary on Lennox. After experiencing a religious conversion, James Baldwin became a minister at Fireside Pentecostal Church where he preached from the ages of fourteen to seventeen. Later, Baldwin described the Black Church as a fusion of worship, music, poetry, and communion that enabled experiences of ecstasy. His writing and oration styles continued to be influenced by biblical literature into adulthood.

His perception of the convergence of art and Spirit was made clear with the naming of his first novel, Go Tell It On the Mountain (1952). The book, a coming of age narrative which reflected his own childhood experiences, was originally titled Crying Holy and later renamed after the well-known Negro spiritual. The significance of Black music was often highlighted in Baldwin’s literary works. In addition to its name, The Fire Next Time (1963), contains a prophetic warning about the state of race relations in the United States that utilizes the hymn’s theology to communicate the severity of the situation. Baldwin’s theological training is demonstrated through his use of biblical imagery to condemn the sins of chattel slavery and ongoing Black suffering.

Baldwin’s writing provides a framework for Black mystics who seek to address systemic oppression through the arts alongside activism. Writing and oration are inherently powerful tools that are enhanced when utilized for collective liberation and mutual flourishing. In this way, Baldwin’s work demonstrates the necessity of speaking truth to power and naming our shared struggles. As we continue the work of liberation, it remains clear that transformation is not possible without writers who give words to the world we’re building.

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More from James Baldwin

Letter from a Region in My Mind (1962)
Essay by James Baldwin in The New Yorker

The Price May Be Too High (1969)
Essay by James Baldwin in The New York Times

James Baldwin: Conversation with a Native Son (1974)
Interview with Maya Angelou from Assignment America

James Baldwin, The Art of Fiction No. 78 (1984)
Interview with Jordan Elgrably from The Paris Review

Pentecostalism and All That Jazz: Tracing James Baldwin’s Religion (2008)
Article by Douglas Field in Literature and Theology

The Devil Finds Work: James Baldwin on American Cinema (2016)
Lecture by Rich Blint from Yale University

What the Church Meant for James Baldwin (2020)
Article by Ayana Mathis for New York Times Magazine

You can access more in the James Baldwin Digital Resource Guide from the National Museum of African American History and Culture.

Bibliography

Campbell, James. Talking at the Gates: A Life of James Baldwin (Oakland: University of California Press, 1991).

Mullen, Bill V., James Baldwin: Living in Fire (London: Pluto Press, 2019).

Back to the Basics

All aspects of mystical life are rooted in love of God and by extension, love of neighbor. This manifests in the mystic’s life as spiritual devotion and communal care. We commit to daily prayer and contemplation, as well as seasonal fasting. These practices help us nurture an intimate relationship with the Beloved. Communal life is equally central to mystic unity. Serving our communities is sacred work and a step towards political solidarity. When we engage in these activities, we’re present.

Some approaches to personal practice:

Prayer deepens our relationship with God through active communication. We share ourselves without shame, seek support on behalf of others and proclaim our love. I often work with spiritual texts like Cole Arthur Riley’s Black Liturgies and the Desert Fathers’ ancient collection of Anonymous Sayings. I’m also patiently waiting for ’s House Prayer Cards to be back in stock.

Contemplation opens us to a personal experience of God through passive communication. We sit with Source in silence, taking the role of an active listener. This opens us to receive affection and support. So many methods of contemplative prayer exist, my favorite are the Incarnation Prayer and Centering Prayer.

Divinas are a form of meditation and reflection. The three types are named for their Latin meaning: Lectio or reading, Visio or seeing, and Audio or hearing. By meditating on sacred texts, images or music and journaling our reflections, we open ourselves to receive divine guidance and wisdom. Some questions to ask are:

• What is Spirit highlighting in this passage/image/song for me?

• What wisdom is being revealed to me through this?

• How does this wisdom inspire me to act or create?

• How can I practice this wisdom throughout my day?

Fasting is one way we release beliefs and habits that stop us from maintaining a healthy relationship with God and our neighbor. We can fast on behalf of ourselves, others or the problems of the world. This might manifest as fasting from self-sabotage, gossiping or choosing to participate in a political boycott.

Some approaches to communal care:

Mutual aid is one way we can directly contribute to the lives of others. Mutual aid networks are created by community members and based on the exchange of resources and services. This practice is a form of political solidarity, not charity.

Volunteering is another way we contribute to direct change. We can volunteer with local schools and programs or get involved with organizations who work on issues we’re passionate about. Communities flourish when their members are fully present.

Organizing is how we build political power within our communities. Organizers participate in and facilitate political education and mobilize people to take action. We can get involved with local organizing efforts and work towards collective flourishing.

Sustaining the Self

By centering spiritual devotion and communal care, we better align ourselves with God’s will for our lives and all that is. Another important aspect of self-preservation is how we care for our heart, mind and body. If we hope to live a long, healthy and fulfilling life, we have to do more of what brings us joy, peace and vitality.

Some tips for emotional harmony:

Creativity is critical for our emotional well-being and energetic heart health. We have a need to express ourselves through our art forms and hobbies. We become more attuned to our likeness with the Creator when we exercise our ability to create. Take the time to read, write, paint, dance, make music and watch films more often. Creativity is essential, not optional.

Relationships are a fundamental part of the human experience. Solitude serves a purpose but we’re not meant to always be alone. Still, detachment is an important principle in mystical life. Relationships that are rooted in oneness require healthy boundaries. We must know where we end and our parents, friends and lovers begin. Mystics do not seek ownership through relationship. Instead, we recognize that they’re an opportunity to expand and be transformed by experiencing how the God manifests in new and unique ways in others. Some questions to ask are:

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Before operating as a religious institution, the Black Church served as a social space. In this sacred environment, Black culture was conserved and cultivated. During enslavement, our ancestors sustained their spiritual traditions in secret, an attempt to avoid violent persecution and death. The Black Church was born from their radical resilience and devotion to our ways. By extension, Black Church style is a form of political resistance that we can’t reduce to a reflection of religious restriction.

Slavery was an unsuccessful attempt to suppress Black sovereignty. Within this death-dealing system, our ancestors devised strategies to keep our beliefs and practices alive. Black churches developed distinct theologies of hope and protest with vibrant forms of worship that adapted West African practices.1 They also functioned as sites of collective care where members of the community could receive services and support. In this way, the Black Church preached and practiced liberation.

The concept that adornment, the selection of attire and accessories, can be a form of devotion to the Divine is prominent in many African cosmologies. In the United States, we know this as wearing our “Sunday’s best,” a phrase that alludes to the clothing enslaved Black people reserved for special occasions, most often activities at the praise house. Getting dressed for church became a brief escape from the horrors of daily life and an outlet for creative expression. Through the use of natural dyes and weaving techniques, clothing was customized and styled according to the season.2 This set the stage for the elaborate styles that would follow.

My head leads me, my feet guide me.

Adornment of the head is a well-known aspect of Black Church style. From hats to hairstyling, Black people across genders and generations engage in some form of head care. This is another way that African cosmology prevailed despite slavery. In Ifá, the Orí, which means head, is the seat of the soul. This is reflected in Odu Ifá, “Orí gbe mi, ese gbomi,” which translates to “My head leads me, my feet guide me.”3 For this reason, caring for and covering the head is a critical form of spiritual hygiene. In alignment with ancestral belief and practice, head adornment in Black Church is an expression of personal style and social prosperity.4 Within the context of Black Church style, headwear and haircare is a reclamation of destiny and divinity.

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Art can serve as a medium for spiritual exploration and expression. Betye Saar captures this truth in her work which blurs the line between art and artifact to celebrate the sacred nature of African American culture. Betye Saar (1926-2026) was born Betye Irene Brown in Los Angeles, California. As a child, Saar lived with her paternal grandmother in Watts and later her maternal great-aunt in Pasadena. While in Watts, she visited the Watts Towers which inspired her interest in collecting ephemera and assemblage art. Watts became central again after the 1965 Watts Rebellion led her to deeply consider the role of artists in resistance movements.

She attended Pasadena City College to study art and continued on to the University of California, Los Angeles where she received her Bachelor of Art in Design. After working as a social worker, she studied at California State University, Long Beach and Northridge, University of Southern California and the American Film Institute. Saar is a renowned painter, printmaker and assemblage artist. She received national and international recognition for her work throughout the 1980s and 90s and at ninety-nine years old, she continues to be one of the most acclaimed artists of our time.

Saar incorporates beads, feathers, photographs and textiles into her assemblage that highlight her exploration of African and Western mysticism. She has shared childhood experiences of clairvoyance and a lifelong interest in the supernatural. Her work is infused with spiritual influences from Africa, Haiti and Mexico. This is exemplified in Window of Ancient Sirens (1979), a mixed media assemblage that centers an image of Tutankhamun’s funerary mask alongside falcons and feathers to create an ancestral altar. The most prominently featured found-object, the window that holds the altar, is critical to the piece because it invites us to envision a present that acknowledges the influence of African contributions to the world.

Gathering objects is the foundation of Saar’s work. While she was unable to visit Africa until 1977, she was moved by experiencing African art at the Field Museum in Chicago where she reflected on commonalities between cultures and how they could be represented through gathered objects. Many of her materials come from her travels to Mexico, Haiti, Africa, Europe and her local adventures at swapmeets and flea markets in Los Angeles. Saar’s ritual of enclosing sacred objects in protective vessels is inspired by the work of Joseph Cornell.

By emphasizing the liminality between the present and past, Saar’s work makes ancient wisdom accessible to us. She shows us what’s possible by highlighting what has always been. Her work leaves us with more questions than answers in order to spark curiosity that moves us to action. Saar’s work demonstrates that the world is improved by creative critique that is grounded in culture and community and invites us to contribute our gifts to the work of liberation.

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More from Betye Saar

Influences: Betye Saar (2016)
Article from Frieze’s Influences Magazine

In the Studio: Betye Saar (2019)
Interview with Leah Ollman from Art in America

Radical Women: Betye Saar — Working My Mojo (2019)
Podcast with Helen Molesworth from the Getty Museum

Betye Saar: Taking Care of Business (2019)
Video by Christine Turner from LACMA Art + Film

At 94, Betye Saar is Letting Intuition Lead the Way (2020)
Interview with CCH Pounder from Interview Magazine

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Biography

Martin, Courtney J. “Betye Saar.” Now Dig This! Art and Black Los Angeles, 1960–1980 Digital Archive. Los Angeles: Hammer Museum, 2016.

Von Blum, Paul. “Saar, Betye.” Grove Art Online. Oxford University Press. Last modified January 9, 2023. Accessed February 24, 2026.

Before we fast, we feast.

We celebrate Carne Vale, an ancient Roman festival which is named goodbye flesh/meat in Latin, on the final day before the fast. You may know it as Mardi Gras in New Orleans or be familiar with Carnival festivals in the Caribbean and Latin America. Practically, Christians took this day to finish all the food they were giving up for Lent. For this reason, it’s a day of intentional indulgence with community.

Theologically, Carne Vale is a celebration of the flesh. God became incarnate, our bodies are a gift. The pleasures of life that we experience through our bodily senses aren’t sinful, they’re just not all that is. From a Christian mystical perspective, we can’t give anything up, if we have nothing to give. It’s natural to desire and pursue material satisfaction until we decide to seek true fulfillment in divine love. So how should we celebrate the holiness of being human?

☆ Enjoy your favorite foods with your friends and family.

☆ Take time to indulge in your guilty pleasures.

☆ Be dramatic and do the most.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

At the beginning of the new season, we shed our skin. We’re anointed with ashes and reminded of our mortality: you are dust and to dust you shall return. We enter the wilderness, where we remain for forty days and forty nights. This liturgical season mirrors Jesus’ time in the desert, when he fasted and prayed as he prepared to begin his ministry. We fast to align with God’s will for our lives and our gifts. In this way, Lent is also a time for us to prepare to begin or recommit to our sacred work.

Lent is when we release the ideas and habits that prevent us from connecting with the Divine. When we’re discerning what to fast from, we should consider our limiting beliefs alongside daily distractions. When we release what no longer serves us, we have to replace it with things that do. So it’s important to incorporate spiritual and creative practices that deepen our relationship with God.

☆ Dedicate daily time for devotion through prayer, dance or song.

☆ Practice intuitive writing to open your heart to divine communication.

☆ Begin a project that allows you to express your creative essence.

Note: Ash Wednesday will be observed on Wednesday, February 18, 2026.

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We often complain that we wish reality felt more enchanted. We yearn for experiences that remind us there’s more to life than our eyes can see. Despite this desire, we’re aware that we’d be met with bewildered expressions if we shared that we believe unseen forces can influence the human experience. You know how we say that people have old souls? Well, if you believe in the unseen, yours might be ancient.

In the ancient world, it was common knowledge that a deity or a demon could bless you with wealth, inspire you to write a poem or make you really sick. Specialists were trained to meet all of your metaphysical needs. Marketplaces bustled with healers selling amulets, incantations and remedies. To survive, it was understood that you had to enlist the support of guardians that resided in the realm of the unseen.

Angels and saints received petitions for divine intervention and ancient stories describe the ways they answered these prayers. If physicians were unsuccessful, people often visited shrines to receive miraculous healing. In the Acts of Thecla, a popular 2nd century CE apocryphal1 text, Saint Thecla is said to have healed a man through his dreams while he was asleep in her shrine. Divine beings could also intervene in human lives more directly. In the Book of Tobit, a Jewish text from the 2nd century BCE, the protagonist Tobit and his son Tobias are guided and healed by the angel Raphael.

Our word angel comes from ἄγγελος (angelos), the Greek translation of the Hebrew מַלְאָךְ (mal’akh) which means messenger. Human messengers are also angels, the term is not exclusively divine in either language. Many divine messengers in biblical literature are not visibly supernatural, often they appear and dwell among humans which allows them to intervene without being identified. In ancient Judaism and Christianity, Raphael was an angel associated with divine healing. The name Raphael is the English transliteration of the Hebrew רָפָאֵל which means El2 heals.

This post explores the Book of Tobit and practices for connecting with the Archangel Raphael. Become a paid subscriber to support spikedholywater and keep reading.

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Raphael: Hidden in Plain Sight

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Toni Morrison (1931-2019) was born Chloe Ardelia Wofford in Lorain, Ohio.1 She was raised by her parents and maternal grandparents who she cared for in old age. Morrison often read the Bible to her grandmother when she became ill.2 As a child, she was immersed in African American storytelling and music traditions. Morrison’s grandfather was a violinist and her mother was a skilled singer with talents that spanned from blues to opera. Her parents familiarized her with Black supernatural folktales and her grandmother interpreted her dreams.3 When she was twelve, Morrison converted to Catholicism and received the baptismal name Anthony for Saint Anthony of Padua, she began going by Toni for short.4 She identified her childhood as the source of her enchanted perspective.

Morrison attended Howard University as an undergraduate and Cornell University as a graduate student. Morrison returned to Howard in 1957 as an English professor where she taught Kwame Ture (then Stokley Carmichael), Houston A. Baker Jr., and Claude Brown.5 She wrote the first draft of The Bluest Eye while teaching at Howard, when she was a member of a D.C. writing group.6 In 1965, Morrison began her successful 20-year career as a publisher during which she worked at Random House. Simultaneously, she taught at Bard College, Yale University, and SUNY Albany and Purchase. She ultimately left publishing in 1984, when she accepted a professorship at SUNY Albany. Later in 1988, she became a professor at Princeton University, where she remained until her retirement in 2006.7

Morrison’s multifaceted spirituality is reflected in her literary work which connects biblical literature, African American and African spirituality, the Black preaching tradition and Catholic liturgy. Jazz weaves together the myriad of cultures that comprise Morrison’s religious heritage. Across her novels, she represents the spiritual world as present and active, an expression of West African cosmological beliefs.8 Her writings are also shaped by the Jewish and Christian traditions. In Jazz and Song of Solomon, Morrison models wisdom after Hokmah, divine wisdom as she is represented in biblical literature. She also criticized the church in her writings by exploring the idea of the heretical woman in Sula, Song of Solomon, Paradise, and A Mercy.9 Morrison’s rich and complex relationship with spirituality, the Divine and religious identity prompts us to explore our own theological beliefs and assumptions.

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More on Toni Morrison

In Her Own Words: Toni Morrison on Writing, Editing, and Teaching (1980)
Conversation with Kathy Neustadt for Bryn Mawr Bulletin

An Interview with Toni Morrison (2005)
Conversation with Maya Jaggi for Brick Literary Journal

Toni Morrison’s Haunting Resonance (2012)
Conversation with Christopher Bollen for Interview Magazine

Sweetness (2015)
Essay by Toni Morrison in The New Yorker

Interview with Toni Morrison (2016)
Conversation with Chloe Brooks for The Harvard Advocate

The Work You Do, The Person You Are (2017)
Essay by Toni Morrison in The New Yorker

Episode 16: Toni Morrison (2022)
Podcast from the American Writers Museum

Bibliography

Goulimari, Pelagia. Routledge Guide to Toni Morrison. New York: Routledge, 2011.

Grewal, Gurleen. “Arcs of Transcendence: The Religious Imagination of Toni Morrison.” Pages 167-180 in The Bloomsbury Handbook to Toni Morrison. Edited by Kelly Reames and Linda Wagner-Martin. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2023.

Your treatment would be holistic and consider the material and spiritual diagnosis and remedies for your illness. How old are you? Where do you live and work? Are your humors balanced? Were you recently possessed by a demon? For medieval people, what we now call medicine, miracles and magic were all connected.1

Medieval Christians maintained belief in natural and supernatural approaches to medicine consistent with those developed by Greco-Roman philosophers and physicians like Hippocrates and Galen.2 As an extension of their spiritual obligation, Christian mystics studied the nature and its miraculous medical benefits which they believed were given to human beings by God. With this knowledge, they provided medical care to the public using different mediums inclusive of plant medicine or herbalism.

Hildegard of Bingen was a medieval mystic who practiced medicine in Benedictine monastic infirmaries and recorded her observations in two works Physica, a text that details the medicinal uses of plants, animals, gems and minerals, and Causae et Curae, a collection of causes and remedies. These materials provide us with extensive insight into how Hildegard understood the human body and the ways she believed we should care for ourselves. While some of her remedies are no longer acceptable, many are safe and remain consistent with modern scientific knowledge.

Here are a few plants that Hildegard thinks we should keep in our apothecaries.

Cinnamon — This plant is a digestive aid and circulatory stimulant. Cinnamon can support us with regulating our blood sugar.3 Hildegard identifies it as hot and powerful. She recommends boiling it in water to drink and cooking and baking with it. She also explains that consuming it often results in internal balance.4

Ginger — This plant is antacid, anti-inflammatory, a circulatory stimulant and antiseptic.5 Hildegard identifies it as hot and easily diffused. She believes it’s beneficial as a digestive aid and recommends drinking ginger as a powder, often combined with other plants, as well as cooking and baking with it.6

Lavender — This plant is antibacterial, anti-fungal, anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, a sedative and digestive aid. Lavender can be beneficial for stress relief and insomnia.7 Hildegard perceives it as hot and dry. While she doesn’t recommend that it be ingested, she does highlight its aromatic properties and prescribes its scent.8

Mullein — This plant is antitussive or a cough suppressant, anti-inflammatory, astringent, antimicrobial and antioxidant. Mullein can support the lungs, alleviate coughs and sore throat.9 Hildegard describes it as hot and dry, although she acknowledges it has some cooling properties. She recommends combining it with fennel as a tea for respiratory health.10

Rose — This plant is antiviral, astringent, an aphrodisiac and anti-inflammatory. Rose is effective for managing a cold, flu or sore throat.11 Hildegard identifies roses as cold and virtuous. She explains that rose has the ability to calm anger and that it can be used topically as an ointment. Due to their virtue, she believes that they can be added to anything in small doses.12

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Bibliography

Hildegard von Bingen. Physica. Rochester: Healing Arts Press, 1998.

Horden, Peregrine. “Medieval Medicine.” Pages 40-59 in The Oxford Handbook of the History of Medicine. Edited by Mark Jackson. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011.

Rose, Karen M. The Art and Practice of Spiritual Herbalism. Beverly: Fair Winds Press, 2022.

I’ve always been drawn to rivers. I cherish memories of visiting my paternal grandparents in Guayanilla, Puerto Rico as a child. When we woke up early, my grandfather would take us on adventures around the island. One morning, he informed us that we would be going to the Guayanés River in Peñuelas, where the coast and mountains kiss. When we arrived, we were greeted by the flora and fauna of the river world. The lush canopy of trees covered us as we swam alongside the fish and river snakes. There, between the ripples of the river, I learned what has been known since the dawn of time: the Waters are alive.

Human beings have long honored the power of the Waters with reverence. Nun, the primordial waters, are attributed with the creation of life in funerary texts from ancient Egypt.1 Apsû and Tiāmat, fresh and salt water, are described as giving birth to the heavens and earth in the Enūma Eliš, a creation story from ancient Mesopotamia.2 Similarly, the Waters participate in the act of creation in Genesis in the Hebrew Bible (Gen 1:1, 2:6). Oceans and rivers are revered in the Yoruba traditions of West Africa and the Diaspora. Sacred stories depict Olokun and Yemaya, the oceans, involved in the creation of the cosmos.3 Oshun, the river, is celebrated for Her role in the creation of human beings.4 Cultures around the world and throughout time have venerated the Waters because they give and sustain life.

As givers of life, the Waters are also associated with death. In Kongo religion, the Kalûnga Line, also called the Kalûnga River, is the threshold between life and death, the living and the ancestors. This concept is rooted in Kongo cosmology which perceives existence in four parts: conception/birth, maturity/adulthood, death and “ancestorhood.”5 This belief that the Waters facilitate our transition between life and death is also found in the Christian tradition where they catalyze spiritual rebirth. When asked how its possible to be born in old age, Jesus declares, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit” (Jn 3:4-5). Through the sacrament of Baptism, an initiation ritual for practitioners, the Waters purify and sanctify enabling rebirth.

The choices we make have the ability to enrich or undermine our relationship with the Waters. Hydration is an often overlooked aspect of this relationship. We can choose to express gratitude when we drink water and remember that we exist within the web of creation, a world sustained through exchange. Bathing is also undervalued as mundane. We can choose to bathe with intention and allow ourselves to be transformed by the purifying power of the Waters. We can choose to engage with the Waters in the world. We can commune with the oceans, rivers and creeks; we can dance in the rain. When we’re more intimate with the Waters, they can teach us their wisdom.

Sources

Ajibade, George. “Water Symbolism in Yorùbá Folklore and Culture.” Yoruba Studies Review 4 (2021): 1-25.

Enlow, . “The Negro Speaks of Rivers: An Exploration of the Sacred Nature of Rivers in Africana Memory.” Pages 257-262 in Unmoored Yet Unbroken, ed. Susan Bodnair, Chrystal L. Dunker and Jean Kayira. New Jersey: Wiley, 2026.

Lambert, W.G. Babylonian Creation Myths. Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2013.

Mercer, Samuel A.B. The Pyramid Texts: In Translation and Commentary. New York: Longmans, Green, & Co., 1952.

Teish, Luisah. Jambalaya: The Natural Woman’s Book of Personal Charms and Practical Rituals. New York: HarperCollins, 1985.

Wisdom of the Waters

Water Gazing

Water gazing is a contemplative practice that involves meditating on a body of water in order to enter into a state of receptivity. While in this state, we are more open to communicate with Spirit and our own intuition. Sometimes, water gazing stimulates

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Zora Neale Hurston (1891-1960) was a writer, folklorist and anthropologist. She was born in Notasulga, Alabama but her family migrated to Eatonville, Florida within the first year of her life. Eatonville was the first incorporated all-Black town in the United States.1 Having worked as sharecroppers in Alabama, their relocation was steeped in hope for more dignified living and working conditions. Growing up, Hurston was immersed in the cultural wealth and diversity of the Black South and she cherished the experiences, language and creativity of her culture.2 Her unique upbringing within a self-sustained all-Black community informed her complex political perspectives and spiritual beliefs.

In 1904, after Hurston’s mother passed away, her father sent her to a Bible boarding school in Jacksonville, Florida. She faced adversity when her father abandoned her and refused to pay her tuition. The institutional leadership punished her for his neglect until she returned to Eatonville in 1905.3 In 1917-18, Hurston enrolled at Morgan Academy, then a high school for Black students in Baltimore, Maryland.4 Later in 1921, she transferred to Howard University to complete high school and begin her undergraduate studies part-time until she moved to New York City in 1925.5

In 1927, Hurston became the first Black student to attend Barnard College where she studied anthropology from Franz Boas, the creator of the modern discipline of anthropology, at Columbia University.6 As a student of Boas, she gained the skills necessary to research “the cultures that produced her” and found support for her appreciation of shared African and Black linguistic histories and African diasporic spirituality.7 Her studies served as the foundation for her research of Southern spiritual traditions. Hurston archived folk songs, children’s games, courting rituals and religious practices from Florida, Alabama and Louisiana.8

After completing her studies in 1927, Boas and Carter G. Woodson sponsored Hurston’s first expedition to Eatonville to conduct research. There she applied her training to the folkways of her people through extensive study of tales and songs.9 The following year, Hurston traveled to New Orleans. During this visit, she met with practitioners of Voodoo and underwent spiritual conversion. She spent the five months that followed learning about the tradition from elders.10 Her experiences as an anthropologist are reflected in her works as a novelist and folklorist.

Hurston is well-known for her novel Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937) and has written many acclaimed works inclusive of Mules and Men (1935) and Moses, Man of the Mountain (1939). She seamlessly weaves Black spiritual belief and tradition into her fiction and non-fiction writings as an act of cultural preservation. In this way, Zora Neale Hurston serves us as a keeper of the crossroads between our modern experiences as Black Americans and the spiritual traditions and ways of being of our ancestors in the United States and Caribbean.

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More on Zora Neale Hurston

Art and Such (1938)
Essay by Zora Neale Hurston

The Problem of Invisibility: Voodoo and Zora Neale Hurston (1993)
Article by Wendy Dutton from Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies

Possessing the Self: Caribbean Identities in Hurston’s Tell My Horse (2000)
Article by Annette Trefzer from African American Review

Jumpin’ at the Sun: Reassessing the Life and Work of Zora Neale Hurston (2005)
Issue 3.2 of The Scholar & Feminist Online at Barnard College

Episode 26: Zora Neale Hurston (2023)
Podcast from the American Writers Museum

Zora Neale Hurston ‘28: A Century of Influence (2025)
Article from Barnard College

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Bibliography

Hopson, Cheryl R. Zora Neale Hurston. London: Reaktion, 2024.

Hurston, Zora N. Dust Tracks on a Road. New York: HarperPerennal, 1991.

Griffin, Farrah J. “Zora Neale Hurston’s Radical Individualism.” Page 315 in African American Political Thought. Edited by Melvin L. Rodgers and Jack Turner. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2021.

Sun Ra (1914-1993) was a jazz composer, piano and synthesizer player, and poet. He was born in Birmingham, Alabama and named Herman Blount after Black Herman, a prominent African American magician who was beloved by his mother. Although his family was very religious, they didn’t associate with any particular denomination of Christianity. As a teenager, Sun Ra frequented the Black Masonic Lodge, one of the few places Black people could access literature in Birmingham, and immersed himself in esoteric knowledge.

While attending Alabama A&M University, Sun Ra experienced a mystical vision through which it was revealed that he would speak through music and the world would listen. This led him to drop out of college in order to devote himself completely to making music. In the mid-1950s, Sun Ra founded El Saturn Records, an independent record label. Later that decade, Sun Ra and the Arkestra, began to incorporate elements of ancient Egyptian adornment and science fiction into their costumes. While this act was intended to critique the arrogance of avant-garde artists, it later became a central aspect of the philosophy and aesthetic of Afrofuturism.

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More on Sun Ra

Celebrating Sun Ra: The Cosmic Visionary who transformed Jazz Music
Podcast from National Public Radio (2025)

A Guide to Sun Ra on Film
Article from Pitchfork (2020)

Space is the Place: The Lives and Times of Sun Ra
Biography by John F. Szwed (1998)

Space is the Place (1974) is a science-fiction film co-written by Sun Ra and directed by Jim Newman that explores Sun Ra’s cosmology through narrative. He composed the film and its score with the intention to uplift the spirits of African Americans struggling to navigate oppression.

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Sources

Szwed, John F. Space is the Place: The Lives and Times of Sun Ra. Duke University Press, 1998.

There’s so much pleasure in anticipation. In a world where everything we think we want is at our fingertips, there’s delight in desiring something that’s difficult to attain. It’s stimulating to be consumed with longing and to be fulfilled by the slow burning satisfaction of true love.

Advent is a season of anticipation; we’re awaiting a love unlike any other.

The most supreme love we will ever experience is between us and the Beloved. As humans, we’re designed with limits: a beautiful aspect of our being. There are boundaries to how much we can give and receive in return. Source is limitless. While we don’t have the capacity to truly love unconditionally, God does. There is nothing we could ever do to separate ourselves from Source. There is nowhere we could ever go to escape this divine love. God is always with us — Immanuel.

Advent is a season of reflection; we’re remembering a love unlike any other.

We must always look back to move forward: Sankofa. American society is devoid of celebrations of true love. We’re inundated with messages that romantic love is the pinnacle of intimacy and that the exchange of material goods is its greatest expression. Advent grounds us in gratitude for what we already have, the gifts that God has already given us. We’re blessed to have breath. We’re abundant because we are One with all that is. Our ancestors understood this and the fruits of their devotion to Source invite us to reflect on and learn from their experiences of divine love.

Advent is a season of embodiment; we’re experiencing a love unlike any other.

Pouring ourselves into presence opens our hearts to experience divine love. Contemplative practice enables us to enter a state of receptivity, so we can taste the Beloved’s unconditional love for us and all that is. Audio Divina or Divine Listening is a Christian contemplative practice that incorporates sacred music. Meditating with sound invites our senses into this intimate moment with the Beloved and allows our entire being to be held with love. During advent, I will be adding audio divina to my spiritual practice and setting my contemplative sessions to A Love Supreme by John Coltrane. If you’re curious, I invite you to join me in this experience of anticipation and fulfillment inspired by our ancestors.

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A Love Supreme

Recently, I was blessed to participate in a course guided by that centered the Black contemplative tradition in the United States. One of our sessions explored the mystical work of John Coltrane and we collectively engaged in an audio divina meditation to A Love Supreme. Josue explained that Coltrane created A Love Supreme to accompany daily prayer in four movements: Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance and Psalm. During Advent, I intend to set my daily prayers to the sacred sounds of A Love Supreme. Acknowledgement in the morning, Resolution at noon, Pursuance in the afternoon and Psalm in the evening.

✦ Listen to A Love Supreme on Apple Music

✦ Listen to A Love Supreme on Spotify

✦ Listen to A Love Supreme on YouTube

We also learned that Psalm, the fourth movement, was a written psalm before it was music. Instead of composing the song and writing lyrics for it, Coltrane wrote the words of the psalm and intuitively played the lyrics to compose the music. Josue shared this video of Psalm in Coltrane’s handwriting set to the song. The words are wonderful to meditate on and provide deeper insight into John Coltrane’s embodied experience of divine love.

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