How are you, in this moment, and whatever the answer - where do you feel it in your body?

Speaking to you with gratitude from my favorite place (a summit, don’t mind the wind 🗻) on a sunny Sunday.

I finished Prentis Hemphill’s What it Takes to Heal this past week. So much to say about it, but to put it most concisely: I can feel, suddenly, the depth of the dissonance between things I say (know) and actually do (understand). Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the talking of it all, I almost think that’s enough. I forget to Be, to practice. What’s beautiful is that I feel this in a way that isn’t exactly critical— a blessing, because negative self talk isn’t the answer here— but as an invitation. Staying Near is a lifelong process. It’s work that in some ways will (maybe should?) take many lifetimes to “achieve,” given where we are in this world and where we’ve been in order to get us all where we need to go. It’s not thinking about it or theorizing about it that gets us there, though that can be a part. We get there through practice. It is often slow and takes time.

So.

How are you practicing Staying Near? How are you actually living the questions coming up in your life? How can we shorten the distance between the thinking brain (a runner, a track star into the future, pointing out all the ways who we are, right now, is different than what we want to be, (think we should be) and these sacred houses (our bodies)? Simultaneously, how can we maintain focus on the necessary work we need to do with ourselves and each other?

Practice is the general topic of this voice memo, which is more a quick check in…briefer than perhaps others…less specific…more rooted in curiosity…and just…honest to my present? I was alone on a summit and wanted to talk to you while I was still covered in nature. It’ll do that to you - remind you that in change, in practice, in the right now journey, there is also possibility. Let’s keep taking it moment by moment - that’s all we have. More soon, as always.

Practicing with you,

Kayara

PS: There’s potential for something new each week, rather than a voice memo. Let’s see what happens.

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Dedication: Prentis Hemphill. Thank you for your honesty, your questions, your vulnerability. You’ve inspired me to go deeper into the Practice, and deeper into myself. I’m grateful for your invitation to actually remain in the body throughout the lifelong process of Becoming, of Staying Near.

Reading Currently: Check the Library for an ever-evolving list of the books that challenge, hold, and nourish me. I hope they may do the same to you, and find you right on time. *I’d really recommend What it Takes to Heal, especially right now. I truly touched on it only briefly, considering all that’s offered.

Listening on Repeat: Stone after Stone, June McDoom

Another snowstorm for some of us, another voice memo for us all. Meditating on uncertainty, (that of self which is married to artistry) and what waits to be found in it. A book, A Concert of Tenses is added to the Library (formerly called, the Syllabus), and author/poet Tess Gallagher feeds us some words for thought (digestion):

🔖 If I had to give one word which serves my poetry more than any other, it might be “uncertainty.” Uncertainty which leads to exploration to the articulation of fears, to the loss of the kind of confidence that provides answers too quickly, too superficially. It is the poet’s uncertainty which leaves her continually in an openness to the possibilities of being and saying. The true materials of poetry are essentially invisible— a capacity for the constant emptying of the house of the word, turning it out hopeless and humbled to search its way toward meaning again. Maybe “poem” for me is the act of prolonged beginning, one without resolution except perhaps musically, rhythmically—the word “again” engraved on the fiery hammer. 🔖 (p. 13)

Wow.

Still metabolizing these words. Something in me used to hesitate at the label of a poet. Poetry felt like…a secret, somehow? Writing it felt (feels) like pawing around in the dark a bit, not knowing what I’m grasping until it chooses to reveal itself to me. If it chooses to reveal itself to me. I’ve always thought it beautiful, but too uncertain for me to claim. I almost thought I was doing it wrong. But now I wonder…maybe it’s the play in that uncertainty that is the poetry. Maybe that’s the whole point.

I don’t know how/if that presents itself to you - for me it is in the literal act of depraving, of going into the darkness, staying still there, should I wait long enough past the discomfort. That’s when my Poems walk into my head - but maybe it’s worth your investigation. Your exploration. But don’t be fooled: you can’t go looking for “it”. You must surrender to the exploration itself.

From Rainer Maria Rilke, in Letters to a Young Poet:

… try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given to you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live them. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer. (Letter 4, p. 27)

And when you’ve touched it, that unnameable, invisible thing, just by way of being curious… are you ready to listen, to let it guide you? (if you’re not entirely sure what I’m talking about, good. Go explore.)

One more quote, because I just love writers talking about writing. I love their words. I could just eat them, speak them, drink them up all day.

Michaela Coel, one of my favorite screenwriters, spoke to writers directly when accepting her Emmy for writing I May Destroy You (an absolute masterpiece). She said:

Write the tale that scares you, that makes you feel uncertain, that isn’t comfortable, I dare you. In a world that entices us to browse through the lives of others to help us better determine how we feel about ourselves, and to in turn feel the need to be constantly feel visible, for visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success, do not be afraid to disappear from it, from us, for awhile, and see what comes to you in the silence. (listen to her say it here)

Okay. As much as I want to keep feeding you words, we’ve got to hit pause. Stay warm, if you’re currently in a blizzard. Stay gentle, stay questioning even if you aren’t…and whatever you do, Stay Near to the questions themselves.

With equal parts wonder and love,

Kayara

Dedication: All the poets daring to poet and keep poet-ing so that we may be inspired to get quiet enough to hear the poets in ourselves.

**And by the way, you should listen to the September podcast, hosted by writer/facilitator Alexis Pauline Gumbs and artist/entrepreneur Sangodare Wallace. It’s a beautiful podcast on love and loving, and each episode, they make a detailed dedication and invite you to do the same. It’s this practice that inspired this section on this project. Find it here, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Currently Reading: Check the Library for an ever-evolving list of the books that challenge, hold, and nourish me. I hope they may do the same to you, and find you right on time.

Listening on Repeat to: Road, Nick Drake

Our impatience is not coincidental.

We are better consumers and weaker resisters when convenience, comfort, and ease are the priority. Those who profit from our restlessness profit too from the starving of our creative works. Art moves people into themselves, into their bodies. When we are in our bodies, we feel our individuality and the depth of our unity simultaneously; a level of embodiment that paves the way for global liberation. Which is to say: we really need to think and feel to make. It takes the time it takes.

AND YET. in saying all this—knowing it, believing it—I find myself applying the same impatient attitude when it comes to creativity! Getting so focused on the outcome instead of savoring the experience of the craftsmanship. Freedom is the creative practice itself. The consistency. Even the parts that are hard. It is not a product to complete. You Stay Near throughout the whole process. Near to your craft which is to your self which is to your community - and you (we) make each of those places beautiful.

So. I’m zooming in on the frustration of this different way of considering the process of making, in your ears this time from my car to acknowledge how frustrating creative practice can be. Specifically the part when the initial excitement and newness wanes and the scale tips towards more hard work than play. A few days after recording I wonder - can we find play in the hard work? Joy in it, at parts? (yes!) the revolutionaries and liberators always have. I want us to keep going, to make the things that cry in us to be made.

I’ll ask: what stories do you/we/I tell ourselves about our art and creative practices? If they need to change, can you/we/I invite them to evolve? (yes!)

Okay. I hope you’re taking care. I hope you had a day of Love and Loving this past weekend so full. With yourself, your beloveds, your ancestors.

With love and care,

Kayara

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Dedication: My dear friend Camille Asia. Poet, Maker of spaces, Raja Yoga guide, wonderful human. Forever grateful to witness you and be witnessed by you in all the time it takes for us to evolve and swing for the stars (forever). Find links to their amazing work here. If you’re local QBIPOC or co-conspirator, follow Not a No Place on instagram and get on the mailing list. If you’re QBIPOC, join their Embodied Writing Circle, starting next Sunday, February 22nd!

Currently Reading: Find my Syllabus here. Think medicine, nourishment, wisdom, healing — a different, sacred sort of school.

Listening on Repeat: Short and Sweet - Brittany Howard

I say this in the voice memo, but it truly is astonishing how quickly things can change, moment to moment—I recorded this last Tuesday, in a moment where the fullness of possibility felt so near, the waking and dreaming life seemed a lot less distinct, and the concept of diving into my Selfhood felt just ✨magical✨. I talk about a really inspiring and exciting instagram reel I saw from PhD student Isaac Sanders (@alltimeisaac) encouraging us to put on our inherent researcher hats and be the auto-ethnographers we’ve always been. Meditating on how Isaac’s call for that research feels directly tied to the concept of staying near, and what if (almost) everything we need to know about planning visions for our future was actually in our everyday, waiting for us to notice?

Here’s the reel below. It’s embedded, which seemed to be the only way I could share it - not sure if it will show up on all platforms you view this on (apologies!)

*As a brief aside, it’s a little shocking how hard it was for me to be able to link to this specific reel. Hmmm….

Annnnyway. Moments, as they are meant to, pass. They change. Evolve. It wouldn’t be a true digital archive of Selfhood if I didn’t mention that since this recording the other side of things got loud, almost as if in rebuttal. As though the pain, grief, frustration, and I-DON’T-WANT-TO-KEEP-SITTING-IN-THESE FEELINGS-AND-LOOKING-AT-MYSELF-IT’S-HARD-AND-DOES-IT-EVEN-MATTER-REALLY which were previously at a lower frequency turned the volume allll the way up. The inner-critic paid me a visit, too. What are you trying to do here, this is dumb, who do you think you are, what right do you have to say anything, anyway! Who are you to think you deserve to be here?

My answer, though I am still shaky and tender: a human. An artist. A trier, doer, yearner, liver. And that’s enough. That’s everything.

I mention this to say the research is hard. Finding what feels good is hard. There is a mourning that goes with it. A tension and a struggle. It can feel frivolous, in light of all the suffering. But it isn’t. I touch on this only briefly in this voice memo, but I do mean it.

The Salt Eaters is one of several books by Toni Cade Bambara that’s on my syllabus, and though I haven’t gotten to it yet, this quote has found me three times now, in the past few months. I’ve never heard words that got at this experience quite like this. I guess we all ought to ask ourselves this question:

“Are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to be well?… Just so’s you’re sure, sweetheart, and ready to be healed, cause wholeness is no trifling matter. A lot of weight when you’re well.”

We need each other as close to whole as possible in these (all) times. You simply don’t get anywhere near there without doing your self-research. May we hold each other and our Selves tightly in the weight and spaciousness of that process, because in it blooms possibility. Paddles, too, for wading through the fear and lies to find the courage it takes to dream up new visions. New ways of living. Then, we push together to co-create that reality for all beings. Everyday.

May it be so.

With love,

Kayara

Dedication: My Mother. Because when I think about it Mom, you’re first self-researcher I ever knew.

Currently Reading: The Black Woman Anthology, Toni Cade Bambara + Eloquent Rage, Brittany Cooper.

Listening on Repeat: Sweet Blue - Cleo Sol

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A voice memo to you about what it means to be stressed in all the ways—both the exciting and the devastating kind—and the conscious effort we must make at this time to attempt to soothe our nervous system. With the newness and deep familiarity of the current moment we occupy in the United States…I’m in some ways the most hopeful and simultaneously the most devastated. Both can be true.

In addition to the angst about the nation, the globe, and all that comes with the friends 🐭 in my apartment building, I’ve been meditating this past week on what it means close your eyes for awhile, how to do it, and why it might be an essential ingredient in the recipes we cook up for our relationships, communities, and selves. How they feed into and out of each other. How the myth that there can’t be work done on all fronts simultaneously is just that: a myth. Here is a snapshot of those considerations, and an inquiry into scheduled deprivation as a methodology.

I wrote once in a spoken word piece about the urge to hide and stay hidden, knowing all that is outside. I said in it that you should go— just don’t stay gone too long. Since I writing this (almost a year ago exactly, wow. Maybe I’ll post that piece at some point this week, in honor of it) I would replace hiding with resting. Recharging. Not just something done out of exhaustion, but done in power. In fact, getting quiet with yourself might just give way to some of the most powerful ammunition there is. That’s something to be proud of.

Send a voice memo back or message me your thoughts, if you’d like:

Wishing you warmth, care, and the courage to take a deprivation break when you need it.

With love,

Kayara 🫶🏿

**NOTES:

* Dr. Manas Kshirsagar was the guest speaker at the Ayurveda workshop. I thought when recording this that he might have a website or something of the like I could link to, but all I could find was some bios of his for other places he’s guest spoken at/written for, like this one.

* If you are local and looking for ways to get involved with community organizing surrounding 🧊 message me! There are some people and orgs I can connect you with / ask for resources to pass along.

Dedication: Toni Cade Bambara, who is teaching me the interconnectedness of the self and the collective. I speak your words everyday and I am grateful.

Currently Reading: Sister Outsider - Audre Lorde + The Black Woman Anthology - Edited by Toni Cade Bambara

Listening on repeat to: Meanwhile - Cornelia Murr

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A bit of a longer voice memo (oops! lol) for you on this chilly day in these tender, troubling times. Zooming in on the internal for a moment here: meditating in this voice memo on what it means to be visible. The illusion of protection from rejection, judgement, and abandonment that remaining silent or performing according to the ideals of others might provide.

“Who is it you are trying so hard to prove you are ____ to?” how might this question keep you sacrificing your humanity, your selfhood, the important stories we need you to tell, and keep you lonely? What does it mean to discern when and where it might actually be necessary to stay silent and conceal parts of yourself?

Sharing how these questions are showing up in my life, in my creation/use of this Substack, too. It’s opened up now, by the way—thank you to those of you who had difficulty accessing the Stack but still voiced a desire to listen and encouragement! Now it should be easy-peasy to listen, I hope. Send a voice memo back, if you’d like.

Wishing you warmth (the storm was across many states!), care, and the courage to do the thing that might frighten you.

With love...stay near!

Kayara 🫶🏿

P.S, here is the link to the essay, “The Transformation of Silence Into Action”, by Audre Lorde.

Dedication🌻: To the lovely friends who have shared the gift of conversation and warm meals this past week. I am grateful for you!

Currently Reading📖: Sister Outsider, Audre Lorde

Listening on repeat to🎵: Sunday, Annahstasia

With care and love,

Stay near!

Kayara