Many times after writing a new piece of music, I am consumed by a sense of bewilderment as to “where” this music came from—how it came to enter my psyche and essentially use me as both midwife and birther in the labor of bringing it into this world. Many times, taking credit for a composition feels almost uncomfortable, like an explorer passing off an ancient discovered treasure as his own creation. In my experience, the role of the composer is closer to a “lightning rod” than an actual Zeus.

Are our compositions really ours or are we more accurately conduits for energy passing through our earthly beings? Is this what artists are experiencing when they speak of divine inspiration? Is there a difference between receiving inspiration from a higher power versus feeling commanded by God to create art? And if art is a form of individual expression, then does the instance of divine inspiration contradict the idea of an artist’s expression?

I asked myself none of these questions when I gathered three of my closest musical collaborators—Jon Smith, Lenny Mobley and Yesseh Furaha Ali—in the fall of 2023 and showed up at my friend Michael Cumming’s studio, Treacle Mine, in the Kensington neighborhood of Philadelphia without a goal, plan or idea for the project we would ultimately end up creating over the course of the next eight months. I was unaware that the voyage we were embarking upon that day would ultimately become my second solo album, A Blessed Leap Into Eternity. In fact, despite such a consequential eventual outcome, the deepest question I posed to myself or anyone else was probably, “Hey, bro, are you free to do a session at Michael’s studio Thursday?” (Yesseh may disagree, depending on how he felt about my asking, “Can you bring your bass clarinet?”) Despite the absence of explicit motive, I felt called to take advantage of a rare break in my schedule performing on The Late Show to record, but I never stopped to ask who or what was calling.

This was nothing new or out of the ordinary. Music has always been a presence from another dimension in my life, communicating with the divine and demonic from other unseen worlds. As with many musicians, it has been “calling” me since childhood, leading me through this world and my life as I blindly follow, hardly more able to understand my path than a bird flying south in September. Indeed, I have chased it well into adulthood, without even an inkling of what I might receive for all my obsessive pursuits.

One might exclaim, “That’s bizarre!” or even “That’s terrifying!” They might question my decision to blindly follow such a mercurial passion without a plan. Yes, I confess I have doubted in moments of weakness; cursed myself a fool for devoting my life and livelihood to music of all things. But every moment of doubt or fear was dissipated by immersing myself in the music— and through my relationship to it—creating an antidote and an even deeper faith in following the path on which the Creator was sending me. Whether losing myself in John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme or spending the night in a studio making beats, doubt is no match for the divine power of music. Have you listened to Kendrick Lamar?

As one session at Michael’s studio begat another, a sound we could never intentionally create emerged, growing and developing as our faith in this musical path grew. It is this faith which became the central theme of A Blessed Leap Into Eternity. It’s a faith that me, Lenny, Jon, Yesseh and Michael had embarked on a musical journey in which, ultimately, the songs we recorded—based on loose sketches or on-the spot improvisations—would not only mirror our own musical spirituality to ourselves but also, hopefully, evoke in the listener a confirmation of the beauty of faith itself. There’s “Hallelujah!”—an invocation later revealed as an opening prayer for the suite. There’s “Sagittarius”—a testament to the bittersweet nature of life in which love cannot exist without loss. There’s “Haters Paradise”—a reminder of the beauty present within a violent and absurd world. And there’s “Requiem for Saint James”—a mass performed as a plea to God that the love and friendship of a deceased friend was not in vain.

As the release of the music approached, I began to feel like Abraham bringing Isaac up Mount Moriah. While my musical companions and I had initially been the ones on the journey thus far, the time to offer our sacrifice upon the altar of commerce had arrived. As I prepared to let go of my musical offspring, I reminded myself that just as God had told Abraham to make his journey, and Abraham, in his faith, had obeyed the call, God had been directing me—and perhaps whoever would listen— to take the leap.

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Corey Bernhard’s sophomore album, A Blessed Leap Into Eternity is currently streaming on all platforms. Vinyl copies of the LP are available at birdbrainrecords.com