Posts Tagged with heidi kalyani

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becoming

If I knew my name, I’d tell you. I’d whisper it in your ear, my lips brushing the skin of your face, my breath warming the space between us. Or I’d yell it from the top of the hill everyone calls a mountain, my voice reaching the top branches of the trees where the ravens circle. I’d tell you other things about me too, if I knew. I’d place words on leaves in the splashing stream, waiting until you’d read one to send another. I’d fold sentences into pieces of scrap paper and fly them to you on gusts of wind. I’d share everything with a handful of dried grasses, light a fire, and let you read the smoke messages that curled through the night air. I’d introduce you to who I am about to become… if I thought I was done.

— 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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solstice night

It’s you again, moon of fullness, reminder of the strength of light. Oh how I’ve craved you these past few nights, these months and years of seeming darkness. I’d forgotten how to receive you, how to reflect you, how to hold you in my soul. Tonight, finally, your illumination is no longer lost on me. It brings courage to my darkened heart, dissolves the burrows inside me that I no longer need, and radiates insight into the jumbled maze of my mind. Staring up at you now, drawing in deep breaths of frosty air, I see what you see, know what you know and, like you, have a sky full of dreams.

— 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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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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wildness

When I see her, she is a wild, unruly mess of skirts and scarves, hair and laughter, gesture and motion — with facial expressions so alive and fiery they could awaken the drowsiest of dragons. She is neither young nor old, though everyone tries to label her, judging her actions unsuitable regardless of what age they choose. Her words have a frenzy of meaning when they are spoken calmly, and a serenity of meaning when they are spoken fast. They are the kinds of words that sink mountains one letter at a time, free caged birds, bring flowers into full bloom, and are either celebrated or cursed depending on the state of the listener. Her feet are always dancing, her hips always swaying, her eyes always flashing. She has a weedy tenacity that grows in heat, cold, drought or swamp, and doubles in strength when no one is looking. She refuses cultivation (except when it happens to feel right), and only goes with the flow when it’s going the same way she is. She wonders loudly about the complacency of the world, dragging its feet through another pre-rehearsed day — and wants more than anything to shake things up, to expose the joy and wildness she suspects are there.

— 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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gifts of imperfection

This second hand dress, with its tiny tear along the hemline and extra threads where the hook and eye have been reinforced more than once, fits me perfectly in size and character. A new dress with this many details and such beautiful but delicate material would go around and around in circles from my closet to a test-fitting in front of the mirror and back again, destined to never be worn for fear of damaging it. But I can slide into an already used dress, with its gifts of imperfection, on the same day it comes home with me. I can take it for a gentle walk in the woods, wear it while practicing harmonium sitting cross legged on the floor, stuff it into a knapsack and fly it across the world. It’s the fear of the first fluff ball, the first pull, the first hint of a sweat stain that relegates a dress to life in my cupboard. But a second hand dress is already free. Already beautiful in it’s own unique way. Already broken in. Like me.

— 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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slippery threads

Sometimes the words slip away so fast, I start to doubt if they were there at all. I’m holding a handful of slippery, wiggly threads — the answer to all my challenges so nearly articulated, so close to spilling out complete and clear. And then I blink, or swallow, or cough. And the words are gone. Vaguer than a dream. More fleeting than lightening. And buried deeper in my heart.

— 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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quietly now

Step closer, she said, if you want to hear my soul speak. It shares quietly now — through masks and mirrors and false self-doubt. It’s been startled, mis-heard and put down so many times that it no longer shares freely what it used to share so fiercely.

— 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