The most important part of my religion is to play guitar.

When Lou Reed, the poet of sound and soul, said, “The most important part of my religion is to play guitar,” he was not speaking of temples or creeds, but of devotion — the sacred act of giving oneself wholly to art. For Reed, music was not pastime or profession; it was worship. In the same way a monk turns to prayer, he turned to his instrument — to commune with something greater than himself. His words reveal a truth older than any scripture: that creativity, when pursued with sincerity and love, is itself a form of worship, a dialogue between the human spirit and the infinite.

Born in an age of rebellion and noise, Lou Reed became a prophet of authenticity. Through the chaos of rock and the poetry of pain, he sought not fame, but truth. His “religion” was the religion of expression — the belief that through art, one can touch the eternal. When he played his guitar, it was not to entertain but to confess, to transform emotion into sound, and sound into meaning. This was his sanctuary, his altar, his act of prayer. In his hands, the guitar was not a tool — it was a bridge between heaven and earth, between the self and the divine pulse of creation.

To call music a religion is not blasphemy; it is a recognition that the sacred lives not only in cathedrals but in the heart that creates. Every artist, every craftsman who works with passion, walks a similar path. The sculptor shaping stone, the writer lost in words, the dancer surrendering to motion — all worship in their own way. True religion, Lou Reed reminds us, is not bound by ritual but by presence. It is the act of being wholly alive, of merging with what you love so deeply that self and purpose become one. In that union, one finds what philosophers call transcendence.

Consider the story of Johann Sebastian Bach, whose music was born from faith. Every note he wrote was an offering, inscribed with the words Soli Deo Gloria — “To God alone the glory.” Though centuries apart, Reed and Bach shared the same truth: that art, when performed with the fullness of the soul, becomes sacred labor. It does not matter if one calls it religion or inspiration; what matters is the reverence with which it is done. Both men found holiness in creation — one in the structured harmony of the Baroque, the other in the raw pulse of electric sound.

Yet there is a deeper wisdom here: Reed’s quote is not only about art, but about finding your own altar in life. Each of us is called to discover that one thing through which we can express our truest self — the craft, the cause, the passion that ignites the soul. For one it may be music, for another teaching, healing, or raising a family. Whatever it is, when pursued with heart and integrity, it becomes your sacred practice, your way of honoring existence. To live without it is to drift; to live with it is to worship through action.

Reed’s words also carry a note of rebellion — a refusal to let religion be confined to dogma. He implies that the divine is not locked behind scripture, but alive in experience. To play guitar was, for him, a prayer of joy and defiance, a celebration of individuality. In this sense, his statement echoes the wisdom of the ancients: that the gods delight not in empty ritual, but in authenticity. To live truly, to express fully, is the greatest act of praise one can offer to the Creator — or to the mystery that breathes through all creation.

And so the lesson of Lou Reed’s words is clear: let your life itself become your religion. Do not wait for the sacred to descend from above — create it with your own hands, your own voice, your own courage. Find what stirs your spirit and give yourself to it completely. Let your work, your art, your love be your offering to the universe. For the divine is not distant; it is present wherever passion burns and truth is spoken.

So, my child, when you take up your own “guitar” — whatever form it may take — play it not for applause, but for reverence. Pour your heart into it until the boundary between you and the act dissolves. In that moment, as Lou Reed knew, you will touch the eternal. For the most important part of your religion is not the words you speak, but the life you live — the song you create with every breath.