When I was a little girl, I used to sit in the playground and collect gravel pebbles, twigs and wingnuts.
There was something so alluring about collecting objects from nature- things that people wouldn’t even look at twice. But for me, finding a sparkling pink pebble was like discovering gold. I kept my pebbles in my pockets, forgetting they were there until I put my hands inside, rediscovering them.
A tiny pebble that reflected the light of the sun. What could be more prized than that?
* * *
After spending most of today working online/on the computer, I got so agitated that I needed to get out. Sometimes sitting in front computer feels like my life force is being slowly sucked out of me, the screen draining me of my spirit.
I opted for a walking meditation through the garden (barefoot-I avoid wearing shoes if I can). There’s something delightfully annoying about having a sharp stone jab into my foot when I least expect it. Not quite the equivalent of a Zen slap, but maybe a Zen pinch. The walking happened, but not so much the meditation. Too much clutter in my head, too much clutter. So I thought, why not sweep?
Go sweep out the chamber of your heart.
Make it ready to be the dwelling place of the Beloved.
When you depart out,
He will enter it.
In you,
void of yourself,
will He display His beauties.
– Shabistari
Sometimes the simplest acts have the most potency. Sweeping pebbles, dust, leaves, broken snail shells, I was also unloading the bullshit (there’s no better word for it) my mind has accumulated. And there’s still a lot left. I’ll need to sweep the garden constantly to lighten the load.
As I swept, I came across a scattering of wingnuts- as if they were hand painted with strokes of brilliant magenta and apple green. In that moment, I saw something in them that I hadn’t seen before- the Sufi symbol of a winged heart. Strewn on the cobblestone path were tiny winged reminders- from myself to myself. Work harder. Practice deeper. Stop making excuses. Everything is here. What on earth are you waiting for?
So, like a child, I collected the wingnuts and sat on a slab of stone in front of our little pond. And then this happened:
Whirling, whirling, whirling… reaching, reaching, reaching…letting go, letting go, letting go.
I hope the wind blows it in all directions.
A fana’ of sorts.
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