The Songwriter Who Said “Listening To Van Morrison Makes Me Feel Like I’M Trespassing In Someone’S Prayers”

April 2, 2025

The night was warm and heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine as I sat on my bedroom floor, surrounded by a mess of old sheet music and half-finished lyrics. The dim light from my desk lamp flickered as if it were dancing to the music playing softly from my favorite speaker. I was lost in my thoughts, trying to find the perfect words to express the feelings swirling around in my heart. That’s when I stumbled upon a quote from a famous songwriter. “Listening to Van Morrison makes me feel like I’m trespassing in someone’s prayers.” Those words struck a chord deep within me, igniting a spark I hadn’t realized was there.

Van Morrison had always been a guiding star in my musical journey. His soul-stirring melodies had a way of peeling back the layers of my emotions, revealing the raw essence of what it meant to be human. I remembered the first time I heard “Brown Eyed Girl.” The vivacity of his voice wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, and I knew right then that music was my escape, my prayer. But it was more than just listening; it was about feeling connected to something greater—an echo of shared experiences, dreams, and heartaches. With every note, Van Morrison had created a bridge to a world where vulnerability was celebrated rather than shamed.

Determined to channel that feeling into my own work, I picked up my guitar and started strumming a few chords. My fingers danced over the strings, each note a whisper of my hopes and fears. The melody flowed like water, and I began to write about the moments—the late-night conversations with friends, the laughter shared under the stars, and the tears shed in silence. Inspired by Morrison’s honesty, I poured my heart into every lyric. It was as if I was opening the curtains of my soul for the world to see. In that intimate space, I felt like I was trespassing into my own prayers, hoping someone else would find solace in my words, just as I had found in his.

The months passed, and my little songs found their way to small open mic nights around town. The nerves always trembled beneath my skin, but with each performance, I discovered a new layer of strength within myself. I could feel the connection with the audience, the shared vulnerability of our experiences. They listened, and I poured my heart out, just like Morrison had done for me. The journey was not always easy, but the moments of connection, the waves of applause, were like the sweet notes of a Van Morrison song, lifting my spirits and inspiring me to keep going.

I can’t say for sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I learned the most important lesson: that music is not just about the notes and lyrics; it’s about the stories we share. It’s about the strum of a chord that resonates with someone else’s heart, making them feel seen and understood. As I look back on that summer, I realize that listening to Van Morrison wasn’t just about enjoying the music; it was about finding my voice in the midst of a chaotic world. Through every performance, every song I wrote, I felt like I was offering a piece of my prayers to the universe, hoping they would reach others and bring them the comfort I so desperately sought.

Now, years later, as I stand on stage in front of a crowd, I think about how it all began. The trembling hands, the unpolished songs, the moments of doubt—all of it has shaped me into the artist I am today. With each note I play, I honor the legacy of those who came before me, like Van Morrison, who dared to bare their souls through music. And as I play, I remember that beautiful feeling of trespassing into someone’s prayers, and I hope that my songs bring a little light to those who listen. After all, music is the heartbeat of our shared existence, and I am grateful to be a part of it.