Posts Tagged with growth

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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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resilience

You tried to rip my heart out but I moved too fast. I sealed the gash with worthiness and love for who I am now, and for who I used to be. I used the silken threads of friendship and the reassurance of my own inner voice. I spread the balm of singing late into the darkest hours with a resonate instrument against my chest. I bathed in the warmth of self kindness, of compassion, of hot spicy tea and a fire in my little enamel stove. I breathed deeply into the knowing that my beauty, my courage, my passion for life are inner and eternal. That these few holes in my heart will heal, that I will expand, and radiate, and trust again.

— 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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taking up space

 

Safety is knowing that I can breathe fully without the fear of taking up too much space. It’s knowing that your arms are open to me when I’m shining or when I’m a mess. It’s knowing that I can say no when I want to without suffocating under a mountain of guilt or shame. It’s being able to gently stretch into my full size with pride, finally seeing that someone else’s discomfort is their own challenge, not mine.

 

— 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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no longer, not yet

I have arrived — ripe — with both feet dancing in this place of no longer and not yet. I am making friends with uncertainty. Listening deeply. Loving enormously. Wrapping myself in vulnerability and answering yes. I’m bathing in transformation — rediscovering how to be soft and wise, curious and strong. My eyes are shining and my breath is deep. With courage as my companion, I’m ready to celebrate my full being again. No more silence to protect another’s comfort zone. My heart is alive, and my voice is my own.

— 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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vastness


When I sit with myself like this, in stillness and silence, I feel vast and impervious. I am a stone that gets wet and dries off. A stem that leans into the wind and straightens again. A curl that bounces back.

— 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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imperfect

I lie here nurturing my imperfect self, with my imperfect bear (worn thin from so many years of silent giving). Sometimes the tears puddle like a lake on my pillow (and Bear’s ears get wet), and sometimes I laugh so hard my body shakes. Freedom after so many years of suppression actually hurts. I’m unaccustomed to taking up so much space, to breathing so deeply, to expressing myself so fully. I know I’ve made mistakes, hurt others when I didn’t intend to, misunderstood, miscalculated, fallen down and hit my head so hard my jaw slammed shut. I know that. The reminders are everywhere for me to see (and sometimes shouted at me). What I forget is how resilient I am, how much courage and flexibility I’ve cultivated. How much awareness. I’m relearning how to love my imperfect self, as I love my imperfect bear — with curiosity, compassion, kindness and warmth.

— 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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upside down

Sometimes I feel like grabbing my house and shaking it upside down until the dead bits that no longer serve me all fall out. But some kind of ancient fear keeps stopping me, whispering, taunting, trying to bury me — all under the guise of protection. THINGS are a lifeline that you might need to survive, it tells me. Don’t you want to survive? Piles and piles of protection. Cloth. Paper. Metal. Wood. A thousand ideas written in tiny letters on fading scraps. Instruction manuals for things I no longer remember. Broken glass and pottery from twenty year old accidents. Kitchen utensils someone gave me that I’ve hardly ever used. A stack of black t-shirts with necks so tight I feel like I’m choking. Keep it. Save it. You might need it. Winter could be hard. The war might go on forever. An ancestral desire to hang on to what might keep me alive, what might help me thrive. A childhood habit of collecting and saving for when I might have a someone to share it with. A cultural mantra that more is better. And yet, when I’m away from this place, with only a bag of clothes and books, I feel strong, not vulnerable. Empowered, not impoverished. Rich, not overwhelmed. So, little house, with your closets bursting, your basement overflowing, your flat surfaces all smothered with stuff, it’s time to let go!

— 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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roaring

Today I am a tiger. Rrrrr! I’m processing emotion before it sinks into my gut and makes tight, hard places that are almost impossible to release. Rrrrr! I’m feeling the deep, sticky entanglement of frustration. I’m noticing it, naming it and letting it go. I’m riding the crashing wave of fear. I’m noticing, naming and letting go. I’m whirling under a cloud of pain, alternately thick and dull or shifting and stabbing. Rrrrr! I’m using my awareness of the present moment (the taste of my tea, the tiny creases in the back of my hand, the rise and fall of my chest) to hold myself tenderly through these emotional storms — the way you would hold me if you were here. Rrrrr!

— 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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untitled

I feel emboldened
by the astonishing courage of plants
as they poke their tiny green heads
above the soil

Is it faith,
habit,
instinct,
that allows them to burst forth
with such boldness?

It seems a mad disregard for safety,
and a deep embracing of vulnerability,
to come into a Northern spring
tender, naked and green

— heidi kalyani, 2017

{Thanks to the lovely folks at Open Heart Forgery for publishing these words in the Open Heart Farming 2017 issue!}

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being with water

Perched on the edge of the dock, the smallest amount of my flesh possible in contact with the wood, I try to appear casual, as if slipping into the water below is as routine and natural as drinking tea. A thing to do alone or with company. A commonplace activity we all learned to be comfortable with long ago. But it’s not. The tightness in my stomach tells me so. There are too many unknowns, suffocating memories, habitually reactivated fears. There is clearly a way to be with water that I haven’t discovered yet. An ease that exists, is present in those near me, but rushes into dark corners whenever I’m around. It’s not a thing to fake; “Look at me jumping, splashing, diving in!” Choking. Gasping. Drowning. Dead. Not a game of “breathe and push through it”, although I’ve played that one before and enjoyed the outcome. Sometimes fear is fear. The knot in my stomach tells me so. So I sit, chatting with the nearest soul, sunning myself, counting minutes off like elongated years, hoping no one will notice that I’m not yet wet.

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