Richard Negri: Into the Mystic

Can the lyrics of a song be both calming and urgent?

Can a painting pull that off on its own?

Can an artist—any artist, in any medium—convey a soul’s voyage where it lets go not in fear, but in readiness and peace?

When I was working on this piece in February, Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” came on. I put the brush down, took a sip of coffee, and just listened. I was made still—not in a frozen, paralyzed way, but in a kind of unmoving mindfulness. It wasn’t just, “Wow, this sounds good.” It was more like, “Listen to this classic one more time—really listen.”

I’m a bass player, and I always notice the foundation first. That wonderful bass line enters just after the first bar—following acoustic guitar, subtle ambient organ, and delicate movement. And when it comes in, it doesn’t try to impress. It’s not flashy. It doesn’t need to be. It’s supportive, steady, and soulful. It carries the song’s spirit in the background—anchored deep, never stopping, never showy.

To me, that bass line holds the entire spiritual feeling of the track. It lifts everything. And it lingers.

I looked back at my painting. Sipped more coffee. Scratched my head. The imagined face in front of me almost seemed to be listening with me. I said aloud, to no one, “Now we’re cooking with gas.”

I returned to the canvas. It was like she was painting herself at that point—I was just there to watch whatever this thing was unfolding. It felt like I had box seats to a show I didn’t know I’d bought tickets to. I was having a great time—almost joyful. Free. Wide open to anything.

I put the song back on. Then again. Seven more times, maybe more. I started thinking about whether my wife or neighbors were growing tired of hearing the same track on repeat, but honestly? I didn’t care. Or maybe I did, but it didn’t matter. Playing it over and over felt like a necessity—the music needed to keep going.

When I felt the painting was done—when I was out of ideas—I let her sit for a day. I usually post these pieces to Instagram with a flash-fiction caption, a short poem, or a line I love. I stared at this new beauty of mine. What do I add to the caption?

Grabbed another coffee. Sat with it.

It took me longer than it should have to realize: the moment had already written its own caption. The lyrics. Just the lyrics.

"Into the Mystic" – Van Morrison We were born before the wind Also, younger than the sun ‘Ere the bonnie boat was won As we sailed into the mystic Hark now, hear the sailors cry Smell the sea and feel the sky Let your soul and spirit fly Into the mystic Yeah, when that fog horn blows I will be coming home Yeah, when that fog horn blows I wanna hear it I don’t have to fear it And I wanna rock your gypsy soul Just like way back in the days of old Then magnificently we will float Into the mystic When that fog horn blows You know I will be coming home Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows I gotta hear it I don’t have to fear it And I wanna rock your gypsy soul Just like way back in the days of old And together we will float Into the mystic Come on, girl Too late to stop now

As of this writing, that Instagram post—with just the painting and the lyrics—has been seen by over 400 people. Two inquired about buying her. I’m still getting DMs. People want to know if I’m a huge Van fan, why I picked this song, and—my favorite question—if she’s the one Van says he wants to “rock her gypsy soul.”

I can’t tell you if I conveyed a voyage that felt both calm and urgent to others. But for me, without question, that’s what happened. A rare, precious moment of timelessness—one among many, yet it still stands out.

She’s been hanging since February. Then, just last week—early July—she came to me in a dream. I was in London, watching Van Morrison perform. I’ve never been to London. I’ve never seen Van live. But in the dream, it all made sense.