Ultralight Beam

I’ve loved Kanye West’s Ultralight Beam for years.

This week, I realized I hadn’t actually been listening to the song…I had been living it.

What began as a reflection on one lyric from Chance the Rapper’s verse became an exploration of prayer, protection, identity, Lot’s wife, and the strange temptation to keep turning around after life has already begun carrying you somewhere new.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:01

I'm Ashley and this is Dear Sovereign Self, my audio journal on the way I walk through life, practicing sovereignty, living from truth, not wound, and choosing alignment over self-abandonment. Here's today's entry.

SPEAKER_00 0:18

I'm on a bit of an ultralight beam right now. And if you do not know that Kanye West song, please pause this to go look it up. It is very good. That whole album, I think that's The Life of Pablo. Some might argue one of the last great Kanye West albums, but what do I know? Okay. So I loved this particular song for years, and it's one of those songs that I come back to because it somehow manages to mean something different depending on the season of life that I'm in. And this week it came back around again. And to start, I'll say I realize that there are at least three completely different layers of this song simultaneously speaking directly into what I've been living. So, first thing I notice when this song comes on on Shuffle, because that's always how it starts. I'm like reminded that the song exists, and then it completely takes over for me until whatever the message is is fully absorbed. So, so first thing I notice in this song is that it begins with a prayer, not with Kanye. So before Kanye says a word, before Kelly Price belts a word, before a chance to rapper raps a word, a child prays. That matters because the song tells you how to listen to it before it tells you what it's about. It doesn't invite you into certainty, it invites you to surrender, to just be present at the top of the song. Then the choir comes in, Kelly Price comes in. And I don't even want to overanalyze every lyric because I think the emotional environment is actually doing more work than the words themselves. So she's singing about being tested, about continuing anyway, about returning to the light, and then the refrain keeps bringing us back. We on an ultralight beam. Right. Think about that image for a second. A beam isn't a destination, it's movement. A beam is directional, a beam carries, a beam lifts. It doesn't ask you to climb, it carries you somewhere you couldn't have gotten under your own power. And I think that's why the song has been hitting me so hard lately, because I feel like I'm living on an ultralight beam right now. Not because everything is easy, quite the opposite, but because I know deep down that my life is moving into a different chapter, a different identity, a different future. I'm somewhere between worlds, I'm not who I was, I'm not fully who I'm becoming, I'm in transit still. And maybe that's what an ultralight beam actually is. Not the reward, the crossing, the space between one life and the next. And then I notice something else because the song begins with prayer, not certainty, prayer, we said, right? It means the beam isn't self-generated, it's received. So I take that to mean the song is quietly suggesting that maybe grace isn't something you create, maybe it's something you align yourself with. The question isn't whether it exists, it being grace, whether grace exists, right? Whether whether divine uh guidance, this is more than just guidance, right? Because it's a beam, so it's a force that's actually moving you. So divine forces. The question isn't whether divine forces exist, the question is whether you're willing to step into their path, to step onto the beam. Then chance comes in. And here's what's so fascinating: his verse doesn't begin with success, it doesn't begin with confidence, it doesn't begin with victory, it begins with protection. When they come for you, I will shield your name, I will field their questions, I will feel your pain immediately. That's where he starts. And I couldn't stop thinking about that because Kelly Price has just spent the previous section singing about trials, attacks, and perseverance. So chance doesn't change the subject, he responds to it. Not with domination, not with bravado, with covering, with protection, stewardship, frankly. Almost like he's saying, if we're gonna make this crossing, I'm going to protect what's precious while we do it. And that's gonna hit me because one thing I realized lately is that every new identity requires a season of protection, a new career, a new relationship with yourself, a new dream, a new sense of peace. They're all incredibly fragile at first. Not because they're weak, because they're young. You don't throw a seedling into a hurricane force wind and expect it to become an oak tree. You protect it, you tend it. You're talking about tending to your satisfaction, you give it time to root. I think I've been doing that without even really realizing it, protecting my peace, protecting my daughter, protecting the life I'm trying to build, protecting a version of myself that still feels too new to expose to every opinion and every old pattern. You know what I mean? So then that brings us to the story of Lot's wife that chance tucks into his verse. What fascinated me about that he chose that story to place inside this song is that the context changes the meaning, right? So if I were just reading Genesis, I'd probably walk away thinking about obedience. But when you put that exact same story inside a song about being carried towards a new life, suddenly the question changes. It's no longer why did she look back? It's what does looking back do to someone who's already being carried forward? So the line itself from the song, I know my ex looking back like a pillar of salt. Now, that is not commentary on my own, because we will all one day have exes looking back like a pillar of salt, okay? This is fascinating though, because the question I've been asking myself this week isn't who's looking back at me? It's how do I make sure I don't become the person who turns around? Because I don't actually think the brilliance of this lyric is about his ex. I think it's about chance. More specifically, I think it's about the fact that chance chose to place this story in this song. Again, I say that again, but Lot and his family are told to flee Sodom before God destroys it. Should have explained this first. So Lot and his family are told to flee Sodom before God destroys it. And God's instruction to them truly could not be simpler. Don't look back. That was the instruction, don't look back. Lot's wife, of course, does. She becomes a pillar of salt. And what's fascinating is that the text never tells us why. Uh why she looked back, that is. So for centuries, people have tried to answer the question was it longing, disobedience, attachment, disbelief? Maybe. But I think there's something even more interesting happening. She wasn't being punished because she stopped moving, she was being punished because she stopped orienting herself toward deliverance, and specifically reoriented herself toward destruction. Not because she walked back, because she turned. That's different. The punishment isn't necessarily looking back, it's turning around while you're already being led forward. Think about the physics. An ultralight beam is directional, it doesn't just illuminate, it carries, it lifts. You're constantly turning around. You are no longer aligned with the thing carrying you. Not because the beam disappeared, because your orientation changed and continues to change. Then I noticed one tiny word that completely changed the verse for me. Chance doesn't say, I know my ex is looking back. He says, I bet my ex is looking back. That one little word is actually doing an incredible amount of work because if he knew, that would mean that he was still checking. He would have had to turn around. Instead, he bets. He's making an inference. He's saying, based on where I'm facing, I imagine she's facing somewhere else, but he never interrupts his own ascent to verify it. I think that's the brilliance of the line. His ex isn't actually the subject. His orientation is, his direction has already been decided. He's already committed to the beam. He's already committed to the crossing. Which suddenly makes another line land differently. Because in the middle of this already incredible verse, he says, Hold up, hold up. This is my part. Nobody else speaks. Alright? He says this twice. Not because he's arrogant, because he's settled. He settled into the verse at this point. It comes about midway, but he settled into the mission. His story isn't up for negotiation anymore. He's already decided which direction he's facing. And honestly, that's where this song became a journal entry for me for real. Because if I'm honest, there is a part of me that is still very much tempted to turn around. Not because I necessarily want my old life back, but because I want to rummage through the ruins. Because memory is persuasive. Because the life you've outgrown still feels more believable than the life you've been promised. And maybe that's the real lesson of Lot's wife. Looking back doesn't mean forgetting, it means trusting. The assumption behind God's instruction was always what lies ahead is more trustworthy than what lies behind. Exercise faith. Which brings me to Kirk Franklin, who of course gets the last word on this already power-packed song. So after the prayer, after Kanye, after Kelly Price, after Chance the Rapper, after the Pillar of Salt, Kirk Franklin doesn't arrive to make another argument, right? I don't think. He arrives to answer the question the rest of the song has quietly been asking, who is the beam for? Who is tapped to ride a beam? Because he begins speaking directly to the people who think they're disqualified, the people who think it's too late to become someone new, the people who aren't sure they belong in the story at all. And that's exactly the kind of person who's most likely to become Lot's wife. Not because they're evil, because they don't actually believe the promise belongs to them. If I don't believe the beam is for me, of course I'll keep turning around. I don't believe I'm actually being carried anywhere. Of course I'll keep checking whether I should go back. So then I suddenly realize Kirk Franklin is answering Lot's wife. In a sense, he's saying, no, this is for you too. The beam is still for you too. The invitation to elevate is still for you too. So maybe that's what I needed to hear this week. Because this has been a season of looking back. I would say this summer has definitely been a season of looking back at old relationships, old identities, old versions of myself. They all come knocking at once, it seems, and it and I actually don't think that's a bad thing. I mean, review is sacred, reflection is sacred, memory is sacred, but reflection and reorientation are not the same thing. You can honor where you've been without asking it where you're going. Because the beam never asks you to erase your past, it simply asks you to trust its direction more than your memory. So I think that's why this song found me again this week. Not because I'm swimming in a glass case of emotions this summer, but because honestly, the question right now isn't what happened. The question is which direction am I facing now? So this entry isn't arguing against looking back, it's arguing against asking the past to become your compass. Those are different things. And maybe that's what this larger review season this summer has been teaching me not to avoid the past, not to erase the past, not even to stop loving parts of it, but to stop asking it where I'm supposed to go next. Because that's not its job anymore. Its job is to explain me, not direct me. And maybe that's why chance never checks. He bets. He doesn't interrupt his own crossing to gather more information from the life he already left. His orientation has already been settled. And I think that's where I want to be. Not because I won't ever wonder, not because I won't ever grieve, but because I trust the beam more than I trust my memory. Because every once in a while, life places you on an ultralight beam. A relationship ends, a career begins, a child is born, a version of you dies, another version quietly takes her place. And somewhere in that crossing, there is always the temptation to turn around, to compare, to verify, to ask one more question, to revisit one more conversation, to see if the ruins are just still there. And maybe faith isn't the absence of that temptation. Maybe faith is hearing it, smiling at it, and turning your face back towards the beam anyway. So this week, that's my non-denominational prayer. Not that I stop remembering, not that I stop loving, not that I stop grieving, just that I stay oriented because what lies ahead has finally become more trustworthy than what lies behind. And I think that's what it means to stay on the beam. So I'll leave you with this. What part of your life keeps asking you to turn around? And what would become possible if you trusted the beam more than your memory? Let me know.

SPEAKER_01 15:36

We'll close the page here for now. Until next time.