You know how a lot of people say, 'I lose myself in music,' or

The luminous artist Jhene Aiko, whose voice drifts like incense and whose words pierce like truth, once spoke these words of vision: “You know how a lot of people say, ‘I lose myself in music,’ or ‘I like to escape,’ but I want my music to be more of an awakening. I want it to make people be aware of life; I don’t want my music to be a distraction. I want to light a path.” These are not the words of an entertainer seeking only applause, but of a seeker, a teacher, a guide. For she reveals that music, at its highest calling, is not an opiate but a torch.

To say that many wish to lose themselves in music is to speak of the universal hunger for escape. Life is heavy with burden, with grief, with confusion. The heart longs for moments when it may drift away, forget, and dissolve into rhythm. This has always been one purpose of music: to comfort, to numb, to provide respite. Yet Aiko’s vision turns in a different direction. She does not wish her art to be a veil that hides reality, but a mirror that reflects it clearly. She desires her song to awaken, to shake the listener from slumber, to open the eyes of the spirit.

She speaks of awakening, and this word carries ancient weight. The Buddha, upon his enlightenment, was called “the Awakened One.” In the Gospel, Christ’s words were often to “stay awake” and “be watchful.” For to awaken is to rise from ignorance into awareness, from sleep into vision, from blindness into light. Aiko places her music in this lineage of awakening. She desires not to soothe the soul into forgetting, but to call it forth into remembering—to remind her listeners that life, fragile and sacred, is happening now.

Her desire “to light a path” is a noble one. The image is of a guide carrying a lamp through darkness, not forcing others to follow, but illuminating the way so they may see for themselves. This is the role of true art: not to dictate, not to distract, but to reveal. Just as the poet Rumi once wrote verses that lit paths for seekers of love, just as Bob Marley sang not only of rhythm but of resistance and liberation, so too does Aiko hope her voice might serve as a flame in the night for those searching for meaning.

History offers parallels. Consider Billie Holiday, whose haunting rendition of Strange Fruit was not an escape but a confrontation—a song that forced listeners to face the brutal reality of racial violence. It was not a distraction; it was an awakening, a path toward justice. Or recall John Lennon, whose Imagine did not numb the pain of war but offered a vision of peace, stirring millions to reimagine their world. These artists, like Aiko, sought to make music not an escape from life, but an invitation to live more deeply and more truthfully.

The lesson for us is profound: we must ask ourselves—do we seek life only to escape it, or to awaken within it? To awaken is harder, for it means facing truths we would rather ignore, but it is also richer, for it means seeing beauty and meaning where once we were blind. Aiko’s vision of music calls us to use not only her songs, but all art, as fuel for awareness, not anesthesia.

Practically, this means: listen with intention. When a song stirs something within you, ask what truth it reveals about your life. Seek out art that challenges as much as it comforts. Create with honesty, not with the goal of distraction, but with the aim of illumination. And in your own way, whether through words, through kindness, or through courage, strive to light a path for those who walk in darkness.

So let Jhene Aiko’s wisdom ring in your soul: music can be more than escape—it can be awakening. Do not settle for being numbed by rhythm; seek to be lit by it. For when music lights a path, it becomes more than art—it becomes guidance, it becomes revelation, it becomes the voice of the eternal whispering, Wake up. Live fully. See clearly. Walk forward.