Imagine being personally serenaded by Bob Marley in the yard of his home at 56 Hope Road on a warm tropical night in Kingston, Jamaica. A steady, cool breeze blows gently through the thick smoke of ganja wafting through the air, carrying hypnotic scents of fragrant island flowers.
Playing No Woman, No Cry with his band, Bob stands strong and still, eyes deep like cosmic oceans, with an unflinching gaze pouring out mystical energy as he strums his guitar and sings. This was my experience in 1974, and it changed my life forever.
Ostensibly, I was in Kingston as an Antioch College exchange student, studying at the Jamaica School of Art and the Jamaica School of Dance. In truth, I was in Jamaica because I had lost my faith in God and in everything I thought I knew and believed in and was losing my grip on life.
Mired in emotional pain, I was overwhelmed by grief at the sudden cancer death of my favorite cousin, Diana Sands, my role model from the time I was 7 when she starred in the Broadway play A Raisin in the Sun. With her incandescent energy and talent, her career flourished until her death at 39. Witnessing her body shut down each hospital visit, I wondered what happens to energy—she once had so much of it, where was it going? And where was God? After she passed, I felt lost and tethered to nothing. Jamaica called to me, and I went to try to heal.
I had been to Jamaica once before and felt an incredible energy emanating from the majestic Blue Mountains and rich tropical beauty. Once I had arranged for my study there and settled in, I thought just maybe I could find my way. Instead, I smoked ganja incessantly to ease my deep pain, barely making it to class. Morning cornmeal porridge, street vendor foods of patties, and bun and cheese sustained me in my despair.
One day my roommate invited me to join her to visit a friend. We went to Bob’s house, a large old 19th-century mansion with several tenants, including her friend. We all became fast friends and visited together frequently, smoking ganja, sharing our trials and tribulations, and spending the evenings in the yard listening to the band play. While furnishings were sparse and we always sat on the floor, the house had a vibrant energy with musician friends moving in and out—guys named Peter, Bunny, Family Man, Seeco—to convene with Bob, play soccer, and play music.
I had no idea who Bob was or that he was on his way to superstardom. Back home, my brothers had bands, so I was used to being around musicians. 56 Hope Road became my sanctuary.
Soothing aromatic scents always flowed from the kitchen where soups and herb teas simmered, and fresh juices and peanut punch were blended. Bob would frequently hang out with us, sitting quietly doing bench presses while intently studying us. One such day, our eyes locked, and I could feel him look right through me as if scanning my soul. Later that night, in the yard, smoking ganja and listening to The Wailers play, the magic happened. Staring into my eyes as he sang, Bob sent a telepathic message that said, “You must let go of this pain, you must go on.
You have so much to do in this life.” He had read my energy, my pain, and my possibility. By the time he played the last chord of No Woman, No Cry, my despair vanished. Bob was a shaman and performed a spiritual intervention of the highest order. That is what his music is about to this very day—a healing force, a vibration like no other. And that is what led me, decades later, to create OneFirelight.
The author of this article, Kathryn D. Leary, is an Antioch College and Stanford Graduate of School of Business alum, yoga teacher, and Co-Founder and CEO of OneFirelight.com, an innovative fitness and wellness app offering a wide range of streaming classes and content with a body/mind/spirit focus, featuring the soul- nurturing licensed music of the legendary Bob Marley and The Wailers.
by Kathryn Leary
