Posts Tagged with essence

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sprouts

In the kitchen, I stand with my hands in the sink, rinsing seeds, tending sprouts. There is a freshness that I love — a smell, a brightness, a burst of energy — a willingness to be transformed. I run a little more water over them, shake the jar to drain it, watch the tiny seeds slide down the sides of the glass, and place it back on the ledge where it soaks up the sun. The sprouts are at the little-tail-peeking-out-of-the-ball stage, babies really, so near the beginning of their new journey. With my hands still wet, I wonder if I’m so different from those little specks of green. Am I not also a bright ball of energy, soaking up nourishment, and bursting into the world in a brave new form?

— heidi kalyani, 2019 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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waking up

In this shut-tight sealed-in half-asleep state in the first rays of light, my limbs ache from gripping, my brain aches from looping, my heart aches from lack of air. In the darkness that surrounds me, with the blankets pulled up high, I can believe anything — the world is on fire, I live in a house made of ice, my siblings are four-legged, my hair is olive green, no one is starving, we’re all starving. And what I believe (or don’t believe) becomes my reality. It etches itself into my still-impressionable being and colours how my day unfolds. Alone, in this cocoon of a bed, as I wrap myself in imaginings, in futuristic predictions, in half-digested memories, I enter into a powerful transition, an emerging from the other side, the swirling fog of a half opened/half closed mind, the daily practice of awakening.

— heidi kalyani, 2018 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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wind

Wind unnerves me when it whistles through cracks in my windows in the darkness of a moonless night, or slaps wet tree branches against the siding of my little wooden house. It makes a mess of my hair — the long strands stinging my eyes and tangling themselves around my tongue when I try to eat or speak. It pulls the fall leaves down weeks before I’m ready, leaving the trees bare and the ground an unexpected yellow. It moves my emotions as fast as clouds, sometimes in straightforward lines, but more often in increasing and decreasing spirals — round and round until I’ve felt so much, I feel nothing. And sometimes, as it cools the back of my neck, dances through the long grasses on the side of the path, or lovingly surrounds me with the raw scent of wild roses, I’m grateful for the animation and movement inherent in it — for without it, I fear I’d get stuck.

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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cracker calm

I sat today, on the shady steps of a series of houses that were all for sale, with a five year old who was carefully spreading hummus on crackers with a miniature spoon, then stuffing the little savoury “cookies” into their mouth — whole — and chomping away with incredible focus and devotion as if nothing else mattered. In the middle of the adult-generated whirlwind of questions, decisions, timelines, facts, factors, finances… there was a centre of calm. Spoon. Cracker. Hummus. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

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belonging

Where are you from? they ask. And I reply, gently, I am from here. From this earth. Fed by this water and warmed by this sun. I have knelt on these rocks, picked fruit from these plants, sheltered under these trees. I sleep here and awaken here. I laugh here and cry here. When I speak, the air carries my words in swirls from here to there and back again. I am from here. I am from everywhere. I belong.

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
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

16_behind_the_masks

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