A Natural Mystic
By Jamila “JAM Poet” Wimberly
Are you familiar with the song, Natural Mystic by Bob Marley? It has that iconic easy skanking vibe to it that Marley is known for, but there’s something a bit more somber, a bit heavier hidden in the groove. If you listen closely, you can hear this haunting sense of grief laced throughout the melody, something so subtle, it might go unnoticed to the untrained ear.
The bass line gives off this quivering sense of debauch, an eeriness that is intensified with the lyricism:
“There’s a Natural Mystic blowing through the air
If you listen carefully now, you will hear
This could be the first trumpet
might as well be the last
many more will have to suffer
many more will have to die
don’t ask me why.”[i]
Natural Mystic foretells impending doom, as recanted by a man considered a Messiah to many around the world. But whether or not you’re the religious type, you have to admit that Marley’s lyrics are pretty prophetic. It was true then, and probably even more so now. Although nearly 50 years have passed since this song was written, this “natural mystic” still looms in the air, causing suffering across the world.
It’s strange, but this song has given me a lot of comfort throughout quarantine. From the virus, to Black murders, ICE, global warming, and this terrifying US election that might as well be a choice between Judas and Brutus…
This year has been one terrible storm after the next. Don’t forget we lost Kobe earlier this year too. Now Chadwick. And as we see our proverbial giants fall before our eyes, we can’t help but to shudder at the thought that we too are just as close to demise.
That’s why this metaphor of a “Natural Mystic blowing through the air” has been on my mind heavily. There is an undeniable mystical force that is sweeping through the entire world, affecting all of us. Physically, mentally, spiritually, financially. Our emotions have been put through the wringer. Our traumas, intensified. And whenever I think about it, I keep seeing this vision of this hazy, mist pluming over the world, a poison as deadly as fear.
“Things ain’t the way they used to be…”[ii]
The new normal, aren’t you worn out by that phrase? There’s nothing normal about this newness. The new normal might be our normal for the rest of our lives. How we work is different. How we eat is different. How we play, learn, grow, connect, show love to one another is different. Our complete way of life has been dumped into a vortex and spit out in a nonsensical collage that we’re all desperately trying to figure out. Still, with each passing day, our hopes of returning back to normal become more and more of a fairytale. And the reality of how dangerous and messed up our world really is becoming frighteningly clear.
As an artist I’ve felt compelled to create. My own musings, my writings, my prophetic moments alone with spirit as I sit and reflect on all that is occurring outside of me, and within me. I’ve been writing as if I know that I have no more time to waste. Like I have a story that must be told. I wonder if this is how Marley felt when composing Natural Mystic. I wonder if he spent time alone in nature, listening to the whispers on the wind.
A few weeks back I escaped my quarantine bubble and ventured off into the desert. Alone, underneath the sun rays I soaked up the spirit of the desert, the reverberations of the sands, the heart of the sky. Nature has a way of making peace of the chaos, internally and externally. I marveled at the glowing yellow cacti. I chortled with the singing cicadas. I heard the call of my ancestors on the wind.
Life is simpler when you’re in nature. You come to the satisfying realization that everyone and everything is just doing their best to survive. It makes you a little more patient with yourself, and your waning sanity. I made peace with myself in the sun-bleached dunes. I am who I am, and that’s all that matters.
Jotting down my musings from the whispers on the wind, I wrote the following poem to transmute all my feelings about this time, and the mystics of nature:
In the Midst of the Midnight Hour
In the midst of the midnight hour
Where the crows call their souls home
We make a place for ourselves
A dinner table set
Candles a lit
Bones strewn
Flavors savored sensually, like it’s the last
Time
The final rhyme
Like I’m
Crossing a threshold into
A new reality
A zenith beyond the horizons
Following the echoes of mystic frogs
Chanting ancient psalms of freedom
Let’s escape into the midnight sky
Where hours transcend normality
And beauty bequeaths itself in the
Iridescent rue of stars
I’m silent only to capture the embodiment
Of spirit
Cascading across
Ships of algae
Floating in hot water springs
Soul detoxified
Mind enlightened
Flesh feeling good
We cross the threshold
In the midnight hour
To hear the crows call their souls
Home
At our table we feast upon
The flesh of ripe vegetables
Consenting to be our nutrients
Mother Earth finds a way to heal in mass hysteria
As people are drawn to
Find themselves, their true selves
Deep within
I imagine life inside the desert dunes
And muddy oceans that separate my feet
From the Amethyst mountains
I am crystalline with admiration
For life
[i] Bob Marley and the Wailers, “Natural Mystic”
[ii] See above
Photo/JAM Poet.
Jamila “JAM Poet” Wimberly pushes the bounds of poetry and literary expression. Using her captivating voice, dynamic stage presence, and surrealist storytelling, JAM is ready and willing to challenge the status quo and be a champion for women and people of color. Author of the book To Get Ahead (JANCO, 2017) and founder of The JAM LV, JAM resides in Las Vegas, Nevada, where she is a pillar of the blossoming local arts community. She is a literary teaching artist, a graduate of New School University, and a founding member of Hi Coup Poetry Collective.
Preview photo credit/Connie Ann Santos.
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