BY JEAN P. KELLY

BEFORE PULLING my minivan from the driveway of our South Carolina vacation home, I cued up a playlist of post-punk club jams, which were once the soundtrack of my single days. Tunes by New Order, the Clash, and Joy Division helped me recall how long ago I had “danced like no one was watching.” Pounding synths connected my heartbeat to a past pulse of life and creation, just like the “om” mantra of Eastern meditation practice does.

Because music offers gifts that can fill a soul, Spiritual Reading can be practiced using songs, rhythms, and other sounds as “texts.”

Saint Hildegard of Bingen once wrote that “Music arouses the sluggish soul to watchfulness. It has the power to soften even hard hearts.” That is why I now tune into music as a potential portal of wisdom, whether the song is an oldie or the latest Taylor Swift chart-topper.

That day, my softened heart began to sing, solo and a little off key for sure, as I drove off on a rare solo day-trip.

Only during sessions of Spiritual Reading with music could I tune out off-key voices of self-denial and turn up the volume on God’s truth about authentic love: it is never earned.

“As you listen for the word or phrase,” writes Spiritual Reading expert Christine Valters Paintner, “you are opening yourself to unexplored areas that may stir difficult feelings. Most often these are the places that also need healing.”

Because my spouse at the time was an abusive alcoholic with no interest in recovery, difficult feelings were never far below the surface. I denied them by whistling in the dark a tune about how I was in control and could protect our three daughters. Only during sessions of Spiritual Reading with music could I tune out off-key voices of self-denial and turn up the volume on God’s truth about authentic love: it is never earned. Audio divina, or “divine listening,” offered sweet harmonies of self-acceptance even in times of distress, thanks to wise guides, poets, and composers with advice via accompaniment and arpeggios.

That day, as I headed toward a favorite nearby town, the playlist served up “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division. “Resentment rides high but emotions won’t grow,” the band intoned. “We’re changing our ways, taking different roads.” Literally the words represented songwriter Ian Curtis’s grief over an extra-marital affair. Metaphorically, his musical text reflected the tenuous nature of all relationships.

Although 20-plus years in a toxic relationship made me a master of avoidance, my growing interest in meditation and contemplation made it impossible to deny the cosmic synergy between those lyrics and my current family situation. So I slowed my speed, found a safe place to exit, put the car in park, and rewound the song. Just as ancient monks paused and pondered scripture, I allowed that section of melody and lyrics, which seemed meant for me that day, sink more deeply into my body, mind, and heart. I played and replayed four times, approaching the audio with a different focus each repeat: reflecting, responding, receiving, and responding.

The final step of audio divina—respond—means making a promise to change and be changed by grace. Often that resolution begins with self-forgiveness, acceptance of incremental progress over perfection. One step back after two steps forward is the usual route to God if we seek the Divine with authentic love. My promise that day was only to stop the denial, a very slight divergence of my cosmic course but one offering a rich awareness of my true self in the past and excitement about who I might become if freed from self-martyrdom.

I piloted the van back to my family that day, but a few months later I arrived at a crossroads made possible only by that meditative moment of audio divina. With deep regret I accepted the hard truth that the addict in my household wouldn’t never make the right turn toward AA and counseling. And I found the courage to redirect instead. My route was unchartered, but thanks to music, books, and other wisdom considered in Spiritual Reading, the destination was a joy no longer depended on the happiness of others.

Excerpted from Less Helping Them, More Healing You: The Transcendent Gift of an Ancient Spiritual Practice by Jean P. Kelly