Articles from March 2016

Published

letting go of spinning

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Today, I am waking up — literally. I’m taking a long slow breath that fills both my stomach and my chest to full capacity. And then I’m letting it go… all of it. The expectations, the doubts, the regrets… all the parts of myself that are whirling endlessly without actually going anywhere. The parts that echo a turntable stuck in the static after the music has ended. Or a tire that spins and spins on the ice, burning energy without moving the car forward. If I’m going to be dizzy, I’d like to at least enjoy the journey — by dancing, by exploring the body of a lover, or by learning something new at the speed of a hundred-foot waterfall! I’m tired of the ache in the pit of my stomach, the shallow breath that makes me feel fragile and barely alive, the clumsy unsteadiness that causes me to drop things or bang my hands into hard objects that seem to appear out of nowhere. I’m breathing in again, filling myself with oxygen, with the energy of the present moment, with the lightness of *now*. And breathing out all of the disquieting distractions of my pain (which is all in the past) and anxiety (which is all about the future). In *this* moment, I am fine. I’m better than fine. I’m strong and whole and my heart’s on fire! There is no past, no future. Only this perfectly imperfect moment.

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

 

 

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big stringy mess

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There’s a monster in your heart — screaming out to me, flirting with me, shooting flares through your eyes when it thinks you’re not looking. But I see it. I feel it. I hear it. I know it’s there. It’s a large, agonizing mess of millions of long sticky black threads. There’s a thread of self-doubt, of self-loathing, of self-punishment. A thread for flesh wounds, for emotional wounds, for intellectual ones. There’s a thread for each of the harsh words someone has spoken to you. For all of the relationships that started so hopefully, but didn’t work out. One for each time you shut down instead of opening up. A long one for the times you thought you were “right” but “failed” anyway. A whole bundle dedicated to not feeling heard. Another created by feeling misunderstood. A whole sub-section devoted to fear. This sticky, black mass is sneaky and stealthful, trying to shame you, trying to convince you that it’s not normal, natural, or even necessary to have this kind of darkness inside you. But it is! It’s part of you! Embrace your darkness — just don’t let it take over. Ignore its hungry cries for more fuel. It only wants to make a bigger wall around your heart. Instead, cut away a few loose ends, trim back a few strings, untangle a whole unneeded section. Give yourself some breathing room and let your heart shine through!

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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learning from difficult situations

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Recently, I was overwhelmed by a confusing and painful situation — trying to see it from all angles, trying on all of the emotions surrounding it, trying to eliminate it with distraction, flush it with tears, disassemble it with logic… but it wouldn’t let go. Then finally, at the point of screaming, “leave me alone!” I came across this quote by Buddhist teacher, Pema Chödrön. “Nothing ever goes away until it teaches us what we need to know.” So, I’m going to brew another cup of tea and open my heart to hearing what I need to hear… until the tension goes away. Breathe deeply. Listen fully.

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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breathing room

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I often speak of being claustrophobic — and though I am mildly disturbed by being squished into small physical spaces — it’s actually a scrunching of being, a smallifying of heart or spirit, a condensing of imagination or intellect that I’m troubled by. My soul wants to be big, uncontained, limitless — its arms stretched out everywhere, trying everything. And sometimes, it wants to be alone — for days or weeks at a time — not to disregard others or love them any less, but to bask in its own experience, its own rhythm, its own unexplored depths. Rainer Maria Rilke said it well: “Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue, a wonderful living side by side can grow, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky.”

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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untameable wildness

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“You were wild once, don’t let them tame you.” I’ve loved those words by Isadora Duncan ever since I was young. And for a long time I lived by them, unleashing my untamedness on an unsuspecting world. “You seem so sweet and innocent,” everyone said, and then *wham*, I’d laugh and spin and drop a bundle of raw, unflinching honesty that shook people out of their complacency and rendered them speechless, yet impassioned. But what happened to that dynamic, energetic world-changer? That barefoot dancer? That confident soul-speaker? When did the flirting stop? The breathing become shallow and thin? The voice barely loud enough to be heard? When I allowed myself to be beaten down by criticism, to shrink into society’s comfort zone, to embody other people’s fear. For a time, I snuggled into a tiny hole and hid beneath a false sense of safety and ease. I thought, “If I don’t talk, no one will berate me, tell me I’m crazy, try to change me.” But ultimately, hiding is not the real me — I’m a social being and very fond of fresh air — so I’m climbing out of my cave, re-entering the world and birthing what I’m hoping, this time, is an untameable wildness!

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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my empathy wears clothes

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I know, tender self, that you are strong and wise and capable (at least most of the time). And I know that your current mantra is open, open, open — but still you must remember that there are times when you need to protect yourself from the energy and emotions of certain people — even ones you love dearly. It’s easy otherwise to get chewed, swallowed, and sometimes even digested (and I know, poor heart, you agree that the darkness of an angry person’s stomach is not a healthy place to be). I hear your protests, tender self. You want to open to love, not close to fear. But protecting yourself is not a total shutting down. It’s like wearing a winter coat when the temperature slips below freezing — you can open up and take it off when the weather warms up. It’s only a temporary safety measure — and I hear you, dear heart — it’s one that feels bulky and restrictive at first. “How can I feel someone’s bones and flesh through all these awkward layers?” But that’s the point! Sometimes it’s better to have some padding between us and the other, especially if the other is in the middle of a turbulent storm, a crash of violent thunder, a rain of hardened pellets… or a moment of intense ecstatic joy. Feeling other people’s emotions, tender self, can be beautiful and rewarding when you’re alert and grounded and ready for it… But we know, you and I, that when we’re tired or distracted, it can be dangerous and confusing. We lose track of what is ours and what is theirs. It takes over our entire being. It overwhelms us. So remember, tender self, to keep a warm jacket and a wooly hat nearby, but please go naked whenever the conditions are favourable!

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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fear of kindness

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Sometimes, when inspired, I give you gifts — small things mostly. A hug. A book. A kettle full of boiling water. I give these freely — unconditionally — without expecting anything in return. They are gestures of recognition, gestures of gratitude. Ways of saying thank you for being so present and wonderful or so warm and lovable… For awakening beauty, stirring my soul, making me think in a new or provocative way. They are gifts from my heart with no strings attached. And yet, you mistrust them. Find suspicion in them. Waver before accepting them. How did you become so afraid of simple kindness?

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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embracing what we have

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I’ve always felt that it’s important to be happy with what I have — not in a making-do sort of way, but in a way that embraces the moment, that celebrates what is actually happening to me right now, the gifts I have rather than the ones I think I want/ought to have. For me it’s about living in the now. I’m happy eating cabbage and carrots because it’s winter where I live and that is what keeps well after the growing season has ended. I’m happy that it’s raining because I love the misty feeling of moisture on my eyelids. I’m happy hanging out with you today, because you are here, present, alive and just as interesting (in your own wonderful way) as any of my other friends (past or present). I like to take a moment in the mornings, or just before I crawl into bed, to be grateful for where I am, what I have, and who is around me. In Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse wrote, “The river is everywhere at once, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the rapids, in the sea, in the mountains… there is only the present time for it, not the shadow of the past, not the shadow of the future.” Embrace the present — it’s what we actually have right now!

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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behind the masks

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A few months ago, a friend suggested to me that to deeply find peace with other people, we need to focus on who they really are — in the moment. We need to look beneath the masks and the façades that so many of us hide behind, to the essence, the nakedness, the pure self. But how do we do this? We can look closely and guess. We can imagine what we ourselves are like underneath all our own layers and make the (usually false) assumption that the other might be similar. We can read books on personalities and archetypes, study psychology, look deeply into spirituality. But all of these are little more than guesses… This past weekend, as I attended an intensive workshop on compassionate communication, I was reminded of a very simple and elegant answer: just ask! Gently inquiring into someone’s needs and feelings is a powerful act. It’s direct, clear, responsive and provides the gifts of connection and being heard. On more than one occasion, as I looked around the circle of faces, I witnessed years’ worth of protective masks, habits, and grudges quickly melting away when someone simply asked about their unmet needs or feelings. So next time you’re at a loss with another human being, try asking, “Are you feeling angry? Afraid? Excited?” and watch the transformation!

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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resisting conformity

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I’ve always been resistant to conformity. Usually because I feel like the socially accepted conventions or standards to which I’m meant to conform are all the wrong shape for me. It’s a little like trying to fit into ready-made or off-the-rack clothing rather than making my own or having it custom made by an attentive tailor. What kind of society expects everyone to be comfortable in one-size-fits-all social norms? Yes, social norms provide order (and I sometimes think that’s a good thing!), but they also strip us of individuality and creativity of expression by shunning and outcasting those who cannot, or choose not, to conform. A few years ago (I’m not quite sure when as it crept up on me like a morning fog), I got tired of struggling against conformity, and somehow started “behaving” myself. Started pretending that I fit in. Started to down-play or abandon my most “freakish” non-conforming traits. Started quelling my “radical/outlandish/weird” desires. And how did it make me feel? Oppressed, small, bland, listless, asleep. In the fifteenth century, mystic poet Kabir wrote, “You have slept for millions and millions of years. Why not wake up this morning?” Thank you, Kabir. I just did!

— heidi kalyani, 2016
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line