Posts Tagged with heart

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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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project 139 – eight

when you sing to me, my heart expands slowly, petal by petal, like the blooming of a time-lapse flower, and my cheeks grow sore from smiling.

heidi kalyani, 2017, from *project 139 (or less)*

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strings of words

 

For me, writing is love. And when I’m in love, everything tingles! I am awake to more sensations, more feelings, more energy, and more insights. I’m existing in a juicy “in between place” — a place between the known and the unknown, a place of both intention and surrender, a place where the extraordinary and the ordinary co-exist, a place that is so raw and beautiful and eternal that it hurts in that delicious way that being in love hurts, because it’s breaking me open, it’s pushing at my walls and limits, and vibrating so intensely that all I can do is sing… or dance… or string words together in long, unfurling sentences.

— 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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self-love

I finally know — really know with every cell of my body — that I’m okay, that I will be okay, that the pain of falling, crashing and being shattered will dissipate and fade, that I will learn to love myself again… fully… with my whole heart, instead of just the sliver I allowed myself before. I see now that I was defensive, quick to explain and justify, to compromise, to acquiesce… wanting to hide anything I thought you might not approve of. I wanted to be loved, to be included, to be invited, but I didn’t fully love, include, or invite myself. I wasn’t breathing deeply and my feet weren’t connected to the ground. Like a black cloth on a sunny day, I soaked up the fear and anger you projected. I was penetrable. Vulnerable. Unboundaried. I believed the fear and anger were mine, even though they were as foreign to me as a third and fourth arm. I believed that I had forgotten how to be with people, how to be whole, how to hold a friend in the light. And in that state of instability, I wanted your bravado, your energy, your seeming sureness to refresh me, to give me strength and encouragement to be how I wanted to be. I wanted your love to coat me in resolve, in knowledge, in grace. But it didn’t. It brought me down. Brought us both down. Because it wasn’t real. It was a mask you use to cover over your insecurities, a way of hiding from yourself, a way of shifting responsibility for your unhappiness onto others. Rupi Kaur says, “How you love yourself is how you teach others to love you.” And so, I’m learning to love myself fully, unconditionally and with a soft gentleness that both rocks me to sleep and ignites the wildest fires!

— 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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learning to swim


My heart is so wide open right now, it hurts. But it’s a good hurt… a beautiful breaking open… an expansion of muscles that have been tight for too long… a release… a flood. Only this time, I’m not drowning (like last time, and the time before) because you, all of you, are helping me keep my head above water, helping me relax into the unknowing, and helping me, finally, learn how to swim…

— 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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heart-path

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The road I walk is not straight, but rather follows my heart. And I can see that sometimes ― from the outside ― it seems to meander in unpredictable ways. But my heart has never lied to me. Has never steered me into a situation I couldn’t eventually handle. Has never forgotten that u-turns are a valuable and viable way to travel. For it’s not indecision or lack of conviction that encourages me to double back on myself, but rather a desire to revisit something beautiful, something I hadn’t fully internalized, something bigger than I was able to absorb the first time around. My heart is not interested in the efficiency of direct routes, or getting somewhere quickly, or at a certain time. Instead it craves the quality and depth of connection, the willingness of another being to slow down and engage in a full sharing of attention, the courage and humility of opening to each other in every way we know how.

— 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 heart

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My heart is a ball of fire. It engulfs. Ignites. Illuminates. Sparks populate the night sky, dance over water, melt frozen masks and reveal vulnerable inner truths ― mine and others.

My head is a cool ocean ― turbulent on the surface but calm and eternal underneath. The water shifts ideas, rearranges them, recycles them, sometimes crashes them into rocks on the shore.

My soul is the wind, ever present but made visible only by what it moves.

— 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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project 139 – one

my heart moves in many directions. it bursts in as well as out. it shrinks and jumps and swells — each equally beautiful and messy.

heidi kalyani, 2016, from *project 139 (or less)*

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bent, not broken

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I don’t see how you can break me — even though I feel like you’ve tried! I’m too soft and flexible and fluid to snap like a branch or an icicle beneath your heavy-handed words. That doesn’t mean your interactions don’t hurt me. I bruise sometimes — especially when I forget to raise my shields. But blood vessels, even those around my heart, have a way of healing themselves, of working together to soothe and erase the damage. So don’t worry that you’re coming apart at the seams, or that you don’t know how you really feel in this exact moment, or what you really want to do. I can handle the storm of your indecision, your unknowing, your fear. I will bend a little under the weight of it all, perhaps even hit the ground, but I will bounce back. So go ahead, unburden yourself. Tell me your fiercest secrets. Your unbearable observations. Your confusion. We’ll bend together for awhile, but no one will be broken.

— 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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ancient wisdom

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My heart is a million years old. It has died and been birthed so many times, the sensation is like blinking, it happens whether anyone’s aware of it or not.

It has seen a lot, this heart of mine. Aggression. Hunger. Beauty. Love. Evolution. Extinction. My heart has been at the centre of it, on the periphery of it, has even caused it.

Sometimes it has arrived in a fragile body, with skin that is soft and semi-transparent, and eyes that are quiet and pale. Sometimes, the body is so resilient that my heart has used its muscle to make changes that have filtered down through the ages. Sometimes, the body only lives a few days. Sometimes longer — creaking and crumbling at the end, and resting more often between tasks.

My heart is a million years old, and has loved more times than there are ants in an oversized colony. It has loved every kind of person. Every gender, every culture, every disposition. All equally. Sometimes simultaneously. Always fully — with everything that is available to it. Over time, my heart has loved every creature, every plant, every subtle shadow or shift of light.

And yet, this heart is often ridiculed. Disbelieved. Discounted. Many people only trust what they can see, or perceive in measurable units. The intangibles, like my heart, are often swept aside — sometimes accidentally, but often out of fear as someone first starts to suspect its existence.

This sustainable heart is the ultimate in recycling. It never wears out and has its origins long before the phrase “planned obsolescence” was ever dreamed of. It gives and gives and gives and only asks our co-operation in return.

This ancient heart is the part of me that “just knows”. The instinct. The gut. The primal assurance. It’s the confidence in every breath. The unshakable knowing.

My heart is a million years old — which is why I learned, early on, to trust it.

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