Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, released in 1968, is unlike almost anything else in popular music. It is not an album in the conventional sense, but more a spiritual experience rendered through jazz-infused folk, stream-of-consciousness lyricism, and raw, emotional delivery. At a time when rock was growing louder and more political, Morrison turned inward, creating a work that is meditative, poetic, and transcendent. Its themes span from rebirth and memory to longing, surrender and mystical union. What makes Astral Weeks endure is not just its sonic beauty but its deeply spiritual undercurrent, drawing from both Eastern philosophies and Western mystical traditions.
A Sound Beyond Form
Recorded in just a few sessions with jazz musicians who were given little direction beyond a few chord structures, Astral Weeks unfolds like a meditation. The lack of traditional song structure or pop hooks allows Morrison’s voice to wander and explore, more like a chant than a performance. The instrumentation—flute, double bass, vibraphone, acoustic guitar—creates a gentle, flowing soundscape that feels almost sacred. It is the sound of someone searching, or perhaps remembering something just out of reach. The music does not demand your attention but rather invites you to enter it, to feel its atmosphere rather than analyse its parts. That, in itself, is a spiritual act.
Astral Weeks: Rebirth and Spiritual Flight
The title track sets the tone for the entire album. “If I ventured in the slipstream,” Morrison sings, opening a song that feels more like a prayer than a narrative. The imagery is mystical and dreamlike, referring to “the viaducts of your dreams” and “a kingdom by the sea.” There is a strong sense of reincarnation and the idea of travelling between realms—of the body, of memory, of spirit. In Kabbalistic thought, the soul passes through various levels or dimensions, and here, Morrison seems to be navigating those layers. He speaks of being “born again,” but this is not a religious conversion—it is a metaphysical rebirth, the shedding of ego and a return to essence.
Beside You: Surrender and Intimacy
“Beside You” is one of the album’s most emotionally raw tracks. The lyrics are fragmented and childlike, yet full of yearning. Morrison sings directly to a figure—perhaps a lover, perhaps a spiritual companion, perhaps even a divine presence. The song explores themes of closeness, protection and vulnerability. In the way the voice stretches and breaks, there’s a surrendering of control, a movement toward letting go. In Eastern spirituality, particularly in bhakti yoga, devotion often takes the form of longing for the divine, expressed through intimate metaphors. This track feels like a whispered offering, an admission of need not just for another person but for union, for belonging.
Sweet Thing: Joy and Spiritual Abundance
If much of Astral Weeks dwells in longing and mystery, “Sweet Thing” bursts forth with joy and light. The lyrics are full of radiant imagery—gardens, rainbows, rivers—symbols often found in both mystical Christianity and Eastern spiritual texts. “I will never grow so old again,” Morrison sings, touching on the idea of spiritual renewal, of stepping outside of linear time and entering a realm of eternal now. There is an almost tantric appreciation of the senses here, but it is not hedonistic—it is a celebration of the divine in the natural world, the sacredness of beauty when perceived through awakened eyes. The repeated phrase “And I shall drive my chariot down your streets and cry” can be heard as a metaphor for ecstatic revelation.
Cyprus Avenue: Memory and the Illusion of Self
“Cyprus Avenue” returns us to the territory of memory, of a past that still haunts and shapes the present. The song is rooted in the physical landscape of Morrison’s Belfast, but it transcends geography. Cyprus Avenue becomes a symbol of the self at a distance, a projection of who one once was or wishes to be. The spiritual dimension of the track lies in its tension between longing and awakening. Morrison is not simply reminiscing—he is confronting the illusion of identity. In mystical traditions the self is seen as layered, masked by ego and history. The pain in this song reflects the struggle to break through those layers, to see clearly.
Madame George: Detachment and the Sacred Other
“Madame George” is the centrepiece of the album, a sprawling, impressionistic narrative that blends specific detail with symbolic resonance. The titular character could be a real person, a dream figure, or even an aspect of the self. The lyrics are fragmented, shifting between scenes that seem both mundane and mythic. There is something sacred in the way Morrison lingers over phrases like “Get on the train” and “Say goodbye.” The spiritual power of the song lies in its depiction of impermanence, of moments passing without closure or explanation. In Buddhist teachings, there is an emphasis on non-attachment—on recognising that all things must pass. This song captures that beautifully, with a tone that is both tender and devastating.
Ballerina: Transcendence Through Movement
“Ballerina” feels like a moment of breakthrough. It is a song about being seen, about transformation through movement, both literal and metaphorical. Morrison urges the subject to “step right up” and “try it again,” which may sound like encouragement for performance, but within the spiritual context of the album, it feels like a call to presence—to step into life, to be fully embodied. In certain yogic and tantric traditions, movement and dance are forms of worship, of aligning the physical with the spiritual. The ballerina is not just a performer but a symbol of grace, balance, and the possibility of transcendence through the body.
Slim Slow Slider: Death and Dissolution
The final track, “Slim Slow Slider”, closes the album with quiet devastation. The lyrics are sparse, the melody minimal, but the emotional impact is profound. The song deals with death, addiction, or spiritual loss—it is never quite clear. What is clear is the feeling of fading, of slipping away. Morrison sings “I know you’re dying, baby,” not with despair, but with recognition. In many spiritual teachings, death is not an end but a transformation, a returning. The track’s sudden cut-off mid-sentence is one of the most powerful moments on the album—it leaves the listener hanging in silence, as if to say the rest of the journey lies beyond sound, beyond words.
Motherhood and the Sacred Feminine
While Astral Weeks does not overtly address motherhood in a literal sense, the album is suffused with feminine energy—nurturing, intuitive, and devotional. Songs like “Beside You” and “Sweet Thing” hold within them a tenderness that echoes the maternal. In Kabbalah, the Shekhinah represents the feminine aspect of the divine presence, often associated with longing, exile, and return. Morrison’s recurring themes of separation and homecoming reflect this dynamic. There is a sense throughout the album of seeking the mother—not necessarily one’s biological mother, but the archetypal source, the place of origin and unconditional acceptance.
Conclusion: A Sacred Song Cycle
Astral Weeks is one of the rare albums that truly deserves the label “spiritual.” It does not instruct or define; it evokes and reveals. Morrison created something deeply personal that touches on universal truths—the impermanence of life, the search for meaning, the ecstasy of love, the sorrow of loss, and the mystery of the soul. It is a work that asks the listener not to understand it, but to feel it, to live inside it. In doing so, it becomes not just music, but a path—a quiet, shimmering doorway into the sacred.
