other writing

Fellow human, I see you.

I see most of what you intend to show me, and much of what you don’t.

I see radiant eyes filled with sparks of deep compassion as well as great sadness.

I see swirls of energy that could move mountains, or bring them down around you.

I see an unfaltering knowing masked by years of conditioning, of doing what you thought you were supposed to do, of being rewarded for falling into place rather than honouring who you really are.

I see a heart ready to explode.

I see a wild, nearly untameable, desire to be free, to speak your mind, to say the things that feel true to you.

I see a shadow of regret, a heaviness in the way you carry your body, the weight of all the things you’ve left unsaid, the hearts you were too afraid to touch, the hugs and human connection you have turned away.

I see an infinite soul being squeezed into the space of a walnut shell by a society afraid of love, afraid of vision, afraid of anyone who doesn’t make themselves small.

I see an intellect that’s on fire, that’s juicy and vital and deeply alive, but which has every inspired idea shoved aside by someone with more fear than courage, or snuffed out by a kind of collective jealousy.

I see a body that is leaking out everywhere, trying to express itself, trying to resist the pressure of conforming to someone else’s comfort level or some manufactured idea of beauty, trying to ignore the message that it’s somehow not good enough just they way it is, even though in the deepest reaches of your inside, your body knows it just needs love.

I see a will that can change the flow of rivers, rearrange the stars and planets, bring life back to shrivelled trees, and yet still shrink to the size of a pea under outside scrutiny.

I see an abundant courage that shows up with love,  that accepts difficulties as openly as it accepts gifts, that knows that growth is imperative but rarely easy.

I see a radical optimism that strikes like lightning, transforming the night sky with its intense energy, awakening the darkest corners of our inner and outer worlds with its jolting honesty, then resting quietly while gathering enough charge to shine again.

I see hands that are filled with strength, with scars and a million tiny creases of individuality, hands that grip, that chop, that type, hands that offer support and yearn  for comfort, hands that are sources of sensuality, that are the connection between being hungry and being full, hands that are capable of almost anything.

I see an intuition that speaks loudly and asks to be heard, that can be overshadowed by the fallacy of fact, that never lies and yet is lied to.

I see a friend, a lover, a co-creator.

And I feel your pain, because some of it is mine too. We breathe the same air, you and I. Eat the same nutrients. Drink the same water. Are sustained by the same sun.

Our stories are both different and alike. It’s the uniqueness within the sameness that appeals to me, that fuels my attraction to you, that helps me hear you when you speak (with your mouth or with other parts of your being), that fills our conversations with such intense potential and transformative power, that builds the path of an open and compassionate way forward for all of us… if we let it.

Fellow human, I see you.

You are not alone.

— heidi kalyani, 2017

{Thanks to the lovely folks at Rebelle Society for publishing these words in the “you and me” section of their inspiring website!}