Music has the power to make me feel good like nothing else does.

Gil Scott-Heron, poet of rhythm and prophet of truth, once declared: “Music has the power to make me feel good like nothing else does. It gives me some peace for a while. Takes me back to who I really am.” In these words he unveils the sacred role of music: not merely as sound, not merely as art, but as a mirror of the soul, a force that restores the weary spirit to its true self. His statement carries the resonance of an ancient teaching—that amidst the noise and chaos of life, it is music that recalls us to our essence.

The ancients understood this power. Pythagoras spoke of the harmony of the spheres, saying that the universe itself was strung like a lyre, and that those who listened could find balance in its hidden tones. In the Scriptures, David played the harp for King Saul, and the troubled spirit of the king was eased. The Greeks sang hymns before battle, not only to call upon the gods but to steady their courage. In all ages, music has been more than pleasure—it has been peace, medicine for the heart, and a guide back to the truest self.

Scott-Heron’s words also reveal a deep longing. To “feel good like nothing else does” is not mere enjoyment—it is restoration. The human soul, torn daily by struggle, injustice, and noise, seeks refuge. Music becomes that refuge, not forever, but “for a while,” granting a moment of sanctuary. In that brief interval, burdens are lifted, and the self that was hidden beneath pain or distraction rises again. Thus, music is not escape, but remembrance. It takes us back to the person we were before the world’s weight pressed us down.

Consider the example of the enslaved in America’s South. Torn from their homeland, chained and beaten, they created spirituals—songs of sorrow, hope, and endurance. Those melodies, sung in the fields, gave them “peace for a while.” They reminded them of their true dignity, their true humanity, even in the face of bondage. The oppressors heard only noise, but the enslaved knew: this was music that gave them back their souls. Their songs prove Scott-Heron’s wisdom—that through music, one remembers who they really are.

Even in modern times, the power of music has never waned. Soldiers returning from war, broken in spirit, have found healing in melody. Activists marching for justice have found strength in song. And countless individuals, lost in despair, have been drawn back from the edge by a lyric or a rhythm that spoke to them when no human voice could. This is why Scott-Heron, himself a man of both pain and passion, spoke so fervently: music is not accessory, it is salvation in moments when the soul has forgotten its own name.

The lesson here is clear: guard your relationship with music. Do not dismiss it as mere pastime, nor neglect it as trivial. When life weighs heavily upon you, turn to it. Let it restore you, not as distraction, but as remembrance. Find the songs that call you home, that remind you of your strength, your roots, your truth. And if you are able, create—sing, play, write—for in creating music, you not only heal yourself, but you give to others the same gift of remembrance.

Practical wisdom follows: make time each day, however small, for the listening of music that nourishes your spirit. Choose not only what entertains, but what uplifts. Seek out the melodies of your ancestors, the hymns of your people, the rhythms that speak to your deepest self. And when turmoil surrounds you, let music carve out a space of peace, however brief, where you can breathe again and recall who you truly are.

So let Gil Scott-Heron’s words be carried forward: “Music has the power… it takes me back to who I really am.” In them lies an eternal reminder—that to live fully is not merely to labor or endure, but to return, again and again, to the root of your being. And music, more than any other gift, is the path back to that root. Walk that path often, and you will find yourself renewed, restored, and alive.