Posts Tagged with heidikalyani

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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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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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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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burrowing

When the world is too much for me (or I’m too much for the world!), I burrow down, down, down into a place of warmth and darkness with stuffed bunnies and bears. I rub my hands over their soft fur, align myself with their namesakes winter patterning and retreat for awhile from a world that is too cold and harsh to feel liveable. In these moments of quiet conservation of energy, with the external noise of the day at a minimum, I can finally begin to hear myself — my body, my mind, my heart, my internal wisdom. And though not a full hibernation (neither rabbits nor bears actually hibernate either), I emerge from my warm burrow refreshed and refuelled enough to carry on.

— 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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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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labels not required

I’m not an illustrator, a graphic designer, or a dancer. I’m not an planner, a writer, or a hiker. I’m not a seeker, a yogi, or a lover. Yes, I like to draw, design and dance. I like to think, write and walk. I like going beyond the edges of my known experience, exploring my mind-body-soul, sharing intimacy with people. I am me. Fully, completely, unabashedly. And when I meet you, I’m not seeing your occupation, your religion, your ethnicity, your gender. I’m seeing your eyes and the way they burn like lanterns on a moonless night. I’m hearing your voice and how it fills the tiny room we’re standing in, or floats up to the tops of the trees and becomes the wind. I’m feeling your energy and noticing how this connection both excites and calms every cell in my body. I’m witnessing your presence, your compassion, your tenderness. I’m aware of your breath, your heartbeat, your electromagnetic field — your aliveness. And I’m delighted by the miracle that is you, no matter what your past or future story is, no matter what you call yourself or what others call you, no matter what fascinates and obsesses you, what repels or engages you. And I hope that, in the same way, you are delighted by the miracle that is me, without naming it or labelling it or squaring it off to make me fit better into the little tick boxes our culture is so fond of.

— 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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flying

6_flying

I’ve always liked falling — or rather, coming down. I’m forever leaping and jumping, just to feel that split second freedom of hanging in mid-air, followed by the intense rush of surrendering to gravity and coming back down. To the earth. To the ground. To solidity. But these are motions of the body. Falls of the heart, or the ego, or the spirit have always been much harder and, until recently, something I tried to avoid. However, more and more I’m starting to see it Rumi’s way; “The way of love is not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation. Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they’re given wings.” So I’ve decided to throw open my arms and jump off every tall challenge in sight — and trust that I’ll learn to fly!

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