“The small man builds cages for everyone he knows. While the sage, who has to duck his head when the moon is low, keeps dropping keys all night long for the beautiful rowdy prisoners.” — Hafiz
This cage, my love, is too small to hold my soul, even if it temporarily holds my body. I may be lithe and portable (and as easy to rearrange as the furniture), but my essence is harder to hold onto, impossible to gather in the hands, as fluid and ephemeral as ice becoming water, or water becoming steam, and twice the size of the biggest sea, or the night sky filled with stars. So don’t worry about me, I am not as contained as I seem to be. And even so, a little containment is comforting (so long as I still hold the key). There have been times where I have willingly crawled into caves or corners, seeking warmth and stillness, a little protection from the wind or rain, some shelter from the vulnerability of my wide-openness. I’m not afraid of structure, of limitations, of rules — so long as I maintain the perspective and the fierceness of spirit to walk away, to break free, to use the key when it’s right for me.
— heidi kalyani, 2017
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line