The simple honor of writing about the essence of a woman who throughout her life, and in my case through her death, makes me possibly beneath profound, and most suitably more humbled than an imagination could ever imagine.
My first encounter with eunice/nina wouldn’t happen until seven years after her flesh had passed and her spirit appeared in a hotel room late one evening at a resort in Santa Barbara. To say, on any conscious level that I knew much about her, her life, her music, or her journey would simply be a lie. In truth, I am still learning about her, through random spiritual downloads, and journals that her daughter and son-in law have most graciously shared. She has been careful with me not to expose me to too much to soon. She is loving and delicate in that way.
However, in other moments she extends her desire to use me and assuredly others, with forceful instructions to not only to help a new generation remember their call, but also to save me from traveling down a road that would lead to my own pre-mature death having yet fulfilled, re-writing a new ending to the story of black women with the power to change things without destroying themselves in the process.
The spirit of Nina Simone came to save me…LITERALLY. In her own clever, unique way; she caused me to compose an opera, about her journey which ultimately would take me down a road of healing for myself, her family and any other strange genius’s who may still not me comfortable with their strangeness. Trying to find the balance of living between worlds without carrying the burdens of the in between. Nina, as you are, I am . As you continue to guide me to be, I will,.. As this generation passes through the embers of revolt, I stand, in proper classic form, upright, prepared for the fight, gun toting , pen stroking, soul strong, extending the complicated yet simple lullabies-deeply woven in all of your songs. I thank god for your resurrection, your extensive light, your hard-core tongue: let them who have ears to hear, listen. ~Nia Hill