Music has always formed me.
Long before I ever picked up AI tools, long before I deconstructed parts of my inherited faith, music shaped my theology, my emotions, and even my sense of identity.
When I was deeply immersed in Christian hip-hop, I gravitated toward artists who taught. Artists like Shai Linne, Cross Movement and Christcentric didn’t just make songs — they preached sermons over beats. Their lyrics were dense, doctrinal, precise. That music catechized me. It shaped how I thought about God, Scripture, salvation, and truth.
Music was never just entertainment.
It was formation.
Now, years later, I find myself in a very different spiritual place — studying metaphysics, reflecting on love as the central frequency of life, working through A Course in Miracles, journaling daily, and exploring intuition in ways I never would have allowed before.
And I realized something:
There isn’t much music that speaks directly into that space.
So instead of waiting for it to exist…
I started creating it.
Using AI.
But not in the way most people think.
AI Music Isn’t the Practice — Intention Is
Let me say this clearly:
The tool is not the practice.
The intention is.
I use tools like OpenAI’s ChatGPT and Suno to generate music. That’s the surface-level fact. But if all I were doing was typing “write me a cool rap song” and pressing generate, that wouldn’t be spiritual formation.
That would be novelty.
What makes this a spiritual practice is the sequence:
- I journal.
- I reflect.
- I sit with intuition.
- I engage my inner world honestly.
- Then I translate that into music.
The music is downstream of self-connection.
Every morning, after I work out, I sit at my desk and journal. I often pull a tarot or oracle card — not as superstition, not as fortune-telling, but as a symbolic mirror. A way of surfacing what is already present beneath the noise of my mind.
From there, I reflect.
Sometimes the themes overlap with what I’m studying in A Course in Miracles. Sometimes they echo something I read in Rebecca Kastl’s Daily Moments with the Angels. Sometimes they’re simply an honest admission of fear, desire, doubt, or creative stirring.
Then I take those reflections — my words, my lived experience — and I build a song.
Not because I need more content.
But because music embeds truth differently than prose.
Music as Daily Formation
There’s something powerful about hearing your own reflections sung back to you.
Not in a narcissistic way.
In a formative way.
When I create a song from my journal entry, I’m doing something subtle but profound:
I’m turning insight into repetition.
And repetition shapes identity.
This is how hymns worked.
This is how liturgy works.
This is how worship music works.
This is how political propaganda works.
This is how advertising works.
We become what we rehearse.
For years, I rehearsed doctrine through music. Now, I rehearse alignment.
When I create a song about intuition, love, non-judgment, or inner stillness — and then listen to it throughout the day — I’m reinforcing the frequency I want to live from.
It’s not about the AI.
It’s about what I’m choosing to amplify in myself.
From Deconstruction to Creative Rebuilding
My first AI-generated project was called The Jesus Files.
And it didn’t come out of nowhere.
It came from blog posts and YouTube videos I had already written during my deconstruction journey. I wasn’t outsourcing my thinking. I was translating my thinking into another medium.
That matters.
There’s a big difference between:
“Write me something about spirituality.”
And:
“Here are 1,500 words of my lived reflection. Turn this into a song.”
The first is extraction.
The second is transmutation.
AI becomes a collaborator, not a ghostwriter.
And that collaboration, when approached with intention, becomes creative alchemy.
Why This Isn’t “AI Slop”
There’s a lot of noise right now around AI art being soulless, lazy, or cheap.
And honestly? Some of it is.
But tools have always been neutral.
A paintbrush can produce sacred art or meaningless decoration.
A guitar can produce shallow pop or deeply transformative music.
A printing press can produce propaganda or Scripture.
The tool does not determine the depth.
The consciousness of the user does.
When I use AI music as a spiritual practice, I’m not replacing creativity. I’m channeling it through a different interface.
I’m still:
- Choosing themes.
- Defining values.
- Setting creative constraints.
- Refining lyrics.
- Editing outputs.
- Curating final versions.
The intentionality remains human.
The formation remains human.
The technology simply accelerates the medium.
Creating Music That Shapes Who I’m Becoming
There’s another layer to this that surprised me.
I didn’t just want music that reflected where I am.
I wanted music that helped shape who I’m becoming.
That’s subtle, but powerful.
If I create songs centered on:
- Love over fear
- Intuition over anxiety
- Stillness over noise
- Alignment over performance
And then I listen to them regularly…
I’m rehearsing those identities.
I’m literally building a soundtrack for the person I’m growing into.
This is not escapism.
It’s intentional identity formation.
In many ways, it’s no different than affirmations — except instead of monotone repetition, it’s wrapped in rhythm, cadence, and aesthetic beauty.
And rhythm bypasses defenses.
The Nostalgia Layer: Reclaiming a Creative Desire
There was another unexpected gift in this process.
Twenty years ago, I loved artists like Tonéx (now B Slade) and the Nureau Ink movement. Their futuristic, genre-bending, electronic hip-hop felt ahead of its time. I was fascinated by it.
But I never saw myself as musical.
I didn’t play instruments.
I didn’t produce beats.
I didn’t see myself as an artist.
Creating music now — even through AI tools — feels like reclaiming something I once admired but thought was inaccessible.
That matters more than I expected.
Because spiritual growth isn’t just about belief systems.
It’s about recovering parts of yourself you abandoned.
Sometimes AI becomes the bridge.
Creativity as Communion
If I had to summarize this whole practice in one sentence, it would be this:
Creativity is communion.
When I sit down to journal, I’m communing with my inner world.
When I reflect on symbolic imagery, I’m communing with archetype and subconscious.
When I build music from that, I’m communing with expression.
And when I listen back to it?
I’m communing with the version of myself that chose alignment that morning.
That’s the practice.
The AI is just the instrument.
Why I’m Sharing This Publicly
Some people will watch the embedded video above for the tutorial.
Some will skip the mechanics entirely.
That’s fine.
The technical walkthrough is there if you’re curious how I build a consistent artist persona and generate music step-by-step. But the heart of it — the part that matters — is what you’ve just read.
I’m sharing this because many people feel a tension right now:
Is technology corrupting creativity?
Is AI replacing the human?
Is this spiritually dangerous?
My lived experience so far has been this:
Technology amplifies the intention you bring to it.
If you bring ego, you amplify ego.
If you bring fear, you amplify fear.
If you bring curiosity and alignment, you amplify growth.
The question isn’t:
“Is AI spiritual?”
The question is:
“What frequency am I bringing to it?”
A Final Thought
Music formed me when I didn’t even realize it was doing so.
Now, I’m consciously choosing what forms me.
That shift alone changes everything.
AI music, for me, is not about automation.
It’s about alignment.
Not about replacing creativity.
But about translating insight into rhythm.
Not about chasing trends.
But about building a soundtrack for who I’m becoming.
And that — regardless of the tool — is a spiritual practice.