Back to Black

I decided to set my alarm to get up early today and start a morning meditation and yoga practice. Although my alarm clock holds and plays an ipod, I haven't figured out how to tell it to wake me up with music rather than the buzzer. Lame, I know, but the sorta cool thing is, sometimes it just happens.

Today I woke up to one of Amy Winehouse's classics (she's such a beauty in this video, too):

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to

Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,

I go back to

I go back to...

I love Amy Winehouse, and it makes me very sad that she died, but I was glad that she was the one to wake me up today. The last couple of days I've had a very powerful feeling that I'm capable of anything, including being an early riser, resuming my long-shelved meditation practice, and not letting the pain of the past drag me down any further, for starters.

As I laid there listening to her sing about love, drugs, loving drugs and dying a hundred times:

I love you much

It's not enough

You love blow and I love puff

And life is like a pipe

And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to.....

I could hear so much sadness and resignation in her voice, but I bet she had moments when she felt capable of anything. I'm not sure one could possess that voice and not have some pretty damn in-your-power moments. I sure wish she'd been able to stay in her power longer, but I know she must've been in an incredible amount of emotional pain, and in the grip of a really strong addiction, to keep going back to black the way she did.

Speaking of going back to black, I was out at a bar with a friend last night and there was a TV on right in my line of vision broadcasting a sporting event. Most of the time I'd be sort of offended by that or at least unhappily distracted, but this particular sporting event was glorious to behold: Serena Williams in a U.S. Open match. What an amazing athlete! What a beautiful woman! I love the juxtaposition of her proudly bared cleavage and her linebacker legs. She's redefining feminine beauty, and, along with her sister, what's possible for black women in the game of tennis. Or any other game, for that matter.

On my cushion this morning, I wrote in my gratitude journal for the first time since March. Both Amy's am serenade and Serena's sheness made the list today. 

Here's to feeling your power and embracing it and the many ways -- music, muscles -- that can inspire others...