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Posts Tagged with relationships

Published February 26, 2019

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

Published May 1, 2017

i see you

Fellow human, I see you.

I see most of what you intend to show me, and much of what you don’t.

I see radiant eyes filled with sparks of deep compassion as well as great sadness.

I see swirls of energy that could move mountains, or bring them down around you.

I see an unfaltering knowing masked by years of conditioning, of doing what you thought you were supposed to do, of being rewarded for falling into place rather than honouring who you really are.

I see a heart ready to explode.

I see a wild, nearly untameable, desire to be free, to speak your mind, to say the things that feel true to you.

I see a shadow of regret, a heaviness in the way you carry your body, the weight of all the things you’ve left unsaid, the hearts you were too afraid to touch, the hugs and human connection you have turned away.

I see an infinite soul being squeezed into the space of a walnut shell by a society afraid of love, afraid of vision, afraid of anyone who doesn’t make themselves small.

I see an intellect that’s on fire, that’s juicy and vital and deeply alive, but which has every inspired idea shoved aside by someone with more fear than courage, or snuffed out by a kind of collective jealousy.

I see a body that is leaking out everywhere, trying to express itself, trying to resist the pressure of conforming to someone else’s comfort level or some manufactured idea of beauty, trying to ignore the message that it’s somehow not good enough just they way it is, even though in the deepest reaches of your inside, your body knows it just needs love.

I see a will that can change the flow of rivers, rearrange the stars and planets, bring life back to shrivelled trees, and yet still shrink to the size of a pea under outside scrutiny.

I see an abundant courage that shows up with love,  that accepts difficulties as openly as it accepts gifts, that knows that growth is imperative but rarely easy.

I see a radical optimism that strikes like lightning, transforming the night sky with its intense energy, awakening the darkest corners of our inner and outer worlds with its jolting honesty, then resting quietly while gathering enough charge to shine again.

I see hands that are filled with strength, with scars and a million tiny creases of individuality, hands that grip, that chop, that type, hands that offer support and yearn  for comfort, hands that are sources of sensuality, that are the connection between being hungry and being full, hands that are capable of almost anything.

I see an intuition that speaks loudly and asks to be heard, that can be overshadowed by the fallacy of fact, that never lies and yet is lied to.

I see a friend, a lover, a co-creator.

And I feel your pain, because some of it is mine too. We breathe the same air, you and I. Eat the same nutrients. Drink the same water. Are sustained by the same sun.

Our stories are both different and alike. It’s the uniqueness within the sameness that appeals to me, that fuels my attraction to you, that helps me hear you when you speak (with your mouth or with other parts of your being), that fills our conversations with such intense potential and transformative power, that builds the path of an open and compassionate way forward for all of us… if we let it.

Fellow human, I see you.

You are not alone.

 

— heidi kalyani, 2017

{Thanks to the lovely folks at Rebelle Society for publishing these words in the “you and me” section of their inspiring website!}

Published April 28, 2017

project 139 – five

i watch as you disappear, your red coat the only colour in my monochrome existence, until you turn, catch me watching you, and i blush.

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

Published March 1, 2017

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

Published February 6, 2017

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

Published January 27, 2017

in the moment

Every few hours I have a thought, read an article, see a beautiful image that I want to share with you… But when we’re together, I melt into the moment and forget all the things I’ve stored up ― and only remember them when I’m alone again with an open book on my lap, watching the trees sway in the wind, or the flames flicker in the fireplace. Perhaps if I write the words on my body, hide the images in my hair, tuck little folded printouts into every pocket, you’ll discover them next time we laugh and talk and listen, revealing all the things I wanted to share. And perhaps, if I look carefully, I’ll find a week’s worth of stories nestled into the curves and corners of your body too…

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

Published January 11, 2017

melting

I’ve been wondering if you’ll blush when I run my hands over your face and down your neck to your throat, when I tell that you’re beautiful from the inside out, when my eyes penetrate you so fully that I can read the language in your mind before it reaches your tongue. I wonder how you will feel when I cradle your vulnerability in the firmness of my hands, or in the softness of my heart ― what will happen to your breath, your nervous system, the million minor worries that you carry like a cloud of insects on your back. I wonder if you will melt like I do, as quickly as a sliver of ice in boiling water, or a palmful of coconut oil on hot skin.

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

 

Published January 3, 2017

cold dusk

Sometimes in the stark loneliness of cold winter dusk, I reach under my wool shawl and rest my hand on the tender place between my ribs and my hip bone, wishing it was your hand there instead. I like the feel of you, the warmth and weight, the subtlety of pressure that wants, offers, and waits to be wanted before offering more. I like the wide-eyed way you look at me, as if there is a wild story written on my body, as if while blinking you’re afraid I’ll disappear. I like the resonance of your laughter, the ease with which it sinks into my skin, slips into my veins and swirls around inside me, nourishing, healing, sparking all kinds of happenings I’ve only dreamed of before. I like imagining you at a window, staring into the grey and pink streaked sky, waiting for the kettle to boil, and feeling my presence so strongly that you make two cups of tea instead of one.

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

Published December 22, 2016

night sky

Sometimes when you fall asleep in my arms, I whisper things that I’ve never spoken to you ― or anyone ― out loud before. I speak of how much I love the curvy topography of your ears, and how the distribution of freckles on your back reminds me of drops on a windshield when it first starts to rain. Of how the richness of your voice resonates through my head in the quiet hours of the night, as well as in the loudest moments of the day, warming me from the inside out, and clearing the static from my system with its vibration. I tell you about a pain in my heart that I’ve had as long as I can remember ― a pain that has thick and thin places, a pain of separation that eases when I’m alone in the woods or wrapped around your reciprocating body. I tell you about the visions I have in the middle of the night, when almost every other creature is still and silent, but my mind is racing in circles trying to make sense of the day’s words and images before they fade away. I tell you what it’s like to feel the emotions of everything around me, human and non-human alike, how it overwhelms my internal sensors, fries my nervous system, makes me believe I am someone I’m not. And I whisper that, for years, I’ve looked up at the night sky, hoping to find you, somehow mixed in with the stars.

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

Published December 11, 2016

project 139 – three

if i could manifest extra arms at will, i would make two for encircling you, two for pouring tea, and two more for juggling the cosmos.

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

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