Hertford, NC: Crossroad Press, 2019
162 pp. $21.45 (hardcover)

In the introduction to the twenty-fifth-anniversary edition of The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand wrote of man worship and the joy of realizing one’s potential, saying:

It is an emotion that a few . . . men experience consistently; some men experience it in rare single sparks that flash and die without consequence. . . . Yet it is the view with which—in various degrees of longing, wistfulness, passion and agonized confusion—the best of mankind’s youth start out in life. It is not even a view for most of them, but a foggy, groping, undefined sense made of raw pain and incommunicable happiness.”1

How do we fan those “rare single sparks” into roaring flames? How do we amplify our experience of “incommunicable happiness”? The Fountainhead shows that, fundamentally, we must stay true to our selves, to our own chosen values, and work creatively to bring them to fruition. But are there more concrete steps we can take to further increase our joie de vivre, to enhance our sense of the sublime, to live ecstatically? Are there effective guidebooks to joyous living? If previously there were not, there is one now.

Alexandra York’s Soul Celebrations and Spiritual Snacks is dedicated to “men and women of reason who sense there may be something missing and to men and women of faith who sense there may be something more” (dedication page). She guides readers toward experiencing “spiritual celebrations” not in supernatural fantasies but in reality, via “secular spirituality.” She defines this as “A heightened state of being: a rapturous, exalted, ecstatic, blissful, expansive, or empowering psycho-sensory experience of unity with one’s own fundamental values in response to an ‘other’ [external] physical entity embodying them” (6).  According to York, “A secular spiritual experience begins with an overwhelmingly positive emotional and physical response to a real, here-on-this-earth ‘other’ material entity” (6). Such experiences “bring the principles essential to our personal identity to the surface of our consciousness via a heightened level of emotions that radiate throughout our entire physical being” (7).

What can engender in us such rapturous psycho-somatic experiences? And what steps can we take to find them? York identifies three main areas we can mine for powerful spiritual experiences: nature, art, and romantic love. Take them one at a time.

Many people are nature lovers. “Leave the city,” York urges. “Forget devices, go out into nature, immerse yourself in it, and refresh your soul.” (York uses “soul” in the same way Rand did, as referring to one’s consciousness.)  After all, she points out, we are born of it, and we return to it when we die. So get out and “See the sparkle. Taste the dry. Hear the rustle. Touch the fragile. Inhale the fragrant. Marvel at the majesty” (29). York’s language here reminds us of nature’s diversity and beauty—the autumn leaves crinkling underfoot, the summer sun beating on our skin, the fresh scent of winter’s morning air, and so forth. There is beauty in these things that we can stop, absorb, and savor.

York writes powerfully of nature’s grandeur even in moments of destructiveness; “even in its terribleness we find it both ominous and gorgeous when, from a safe place, we watch a midnight storm with gales bashing, thunder clashing, waves crashing, and lightning slashing” (29). She reminds us further that we can decamp from the city’s bright lights and stare up in awe at a black velvet night sky bespotted with millions of winking stars and frothed by the creamy gossamer of the Milky Way. The scope and beauty of our galaxy is stunning. We are part of it, and we can savor its awe-inspiring nature.

Art is also a fertile breeding ground for such transporting experiences. York writes of art’s various functions throughout history, stating that “its preeminent non-utilitarian function is to stimulate a spiritual experience in both creator and beholder” (47). To maximize such profound experiences, she urges us to visit an art museum alone, to leave earphones at home, to forego reading signs or placards, and to not prejudge, preconceive, or censor our reactions. She writes: “These private moments are a time to trust yourself. This is a quest for pleasure, self-discovery, and self-celebration. You’ll find yourself gravitating to certain areas over others. Your soul already knows [what you love]. Just let it guide you” (48).

Reading her chapter on art galvanized me. I knew there was a place I yearned to be. I journeyed into New York City, to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, to the American wings, and specifically to Emmanuel Leutze’s magnificent painting, Washington Crossing the Delaware. For a hero worshiper and freedom lover like me, this painting raises emotions so powerfully positive that tears of joy stream down my cheeks, and I don sunglasses to make these moments more securely private. York encourages the reader to spend contemplative time with works that move him—or to discover those that do.

York gives readers practical tips to maximize these moments of beauty. For example, she recommends getting prints of your favorites for the walls of your home. Or you can create a slideshow of artworks on your computer “and with one click sit back for one long, savoring moment and refresh [your] whole being with beautiful art” (p. 53). Similarly with playlists or videos of one’s favorite music. In multiple forms, we can spend quiet moments of serenity enjoying the music we find most beautiful. For example, after reading this chapter, I went on YouTube and enjoyed an eclectic variety of music that enraptures my soul: a flash mob forming in a European square listening to a live orchestral performance of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”; Sissel’s rendition of “Shenandoah”; Eva Cassidy’s cover of “Fields of Gold”; and more. As York points out, taking quiet time to listen to beloved music is balm for the soul.

York also writes of the power of romantic love to electrify our souls. She reminds us that a couple in love has achieved, “a soulful connection . . . from which spiritual experiences… can arise” (81). Romantic relationships are sometimes rocky, but York correctly affirms that “romantic love can ascend to the supreme height of human existence”—to “a unique stratosphere above all other spiritual experiences in nature and art” (83).

Many couples start out deeply in love, but, at times, it gets buried or extinguished under a weight of neglect, anger, or frustration. Fortunately, there are ways for couples to multiply and amplify their loving experiences. For instance, “Tell your beloved to pack a suitcase . . . but don’t reveal where you’re going. . . . Take your loved one on a trip, near or far, and provide surprise after surprise” (88). Or, “Give a gift in some unusual manner for no occasion at all” (89). York also suggests taking a bubble bath together, soaping and caressing each other, and she provides numerous other examples of transforming romantic interludes into peak experiences.

In Soul Celebrations and Spiritual Snacks, York draws our attention to two areas where many could benefit from focusing more and more regularly: the deep need for ongoing spiritual renewal—and numerous specific means by which to attain it. Anyone who hungers for increased moments of rapture grounded not in supernatural belief but in earthly life would do well to read this book.

In Soul Celebrations and Spiritual Snacks, York draws our attention to two areas where many could benefit from focusing more and more regularly: the deep need for ongoing spiritual renewal—and numerous specific means by which to attain it.
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1. Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead (New York: Signet, 1993), ix, x-xi.

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