Winged Hearts

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:

Winged Heart

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.

Home

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Home.

A place I thought I could point to on a map. A place I thought I left my heart in. But the reality is, what is home? It’s a fiction.  When I was stuck for an extra week in Kenya, home was my temporary room in my aunt and uncle’s house. Now that I’m in Canada, home is my sun-filled room with more books than I have shelves for. But home is more than four walls. It’s a feeling. It’s a sense of belonging. And where is belonging? How can it be found? How can it be limited by  walls or separated by oceans?

The only reality of home is that it resides in us. It is not a location but a *residing* within.  An abandoning of a physical home. A hermitage  in the heart.

When I was in Nairobi for a few more days than planned, my aunt took me to the Buddhist Centre. We sat in silence inside the meditation hall, in front of the Buddha.  Seeing the Buddha statue and doing my prostrations brought me a sense of familiarity. Not because of the image of the Buddha, but the potential the Buddha represents. The recognition of the possibility of enlightenment- by anyone, anywhere, anytime.

The fact that I could sit in stillness, no matter where I was.

A few days ago, I attended a talk by the legendary Zen Master, Thich Nhat Hanh. He spoke of many things, many things that will stay with me.

One thing he said, however, was like a candle illuminating the path of my search:

“The way out is in… we have to come home to ourselves.”

Maybe it’ll take me an entire lifetime to come home. Maybe I’ll only get to the fence.  But in the words attributed to the Buddha, “There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth: 1 . Not going all the way. 2. Not starting.”

Uncertainty

Uncertainty: The lesson of fire

We all have expectations and things we believe to be are certain.  When we have a scheduled flight, we assume the airport will not be burnt to a crisp before we board the plane. But, like all things, impermanence is the only reality of our lives. The flight I was supposed to board never took off. The airport I was supposed to leave from was engulfed in smoke.

The lesson of fire is one of impermanence.

So what do we do now? We wait. We wait at home, we wait at a crowded airline office, we wait. There is nothing to do but wait.  No confirmation of a flight.  Grounded. And isn’t this life? The things we think are certain aren’t always certain? And yet, we always believe that things will not change, that we will come back unchanged.

Sleeping Warrior

A week ago, I was in Naivasha, facing  the Sleeping Warrior mountain. Surrounded by volcanic rock, leleshwa (African wild sage), and lavender, I found it  fascinating to see how something that spewed so much fire and ash created such an abundance of life.

When you light sage, it becomes smudge.  Through the process of destruction, there is also transformation- transmutation.  There is also an opportunity to transcend. To stay grounded on ever-shifting ground is a constant struggle.

 Nothing is built on stone; all is built on sand, but we must build as if the sand were stone. – Jorge Luis Borges

 And this is perhaps the unexplained beauty of delays- despite the inconvenience, uncertainty and anxiety of not getting home in time, there are memories that would’ve never existed had everything gone according to plan.  There are malas that would’ve never been given to us by our cousin, there are hugs we would’ve never received from our tiny nieces, there are stories we would’ve never heard from our aunt and uncle.

Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way. ~Native American Saying.

And so, while I struggle to accept this state of uncertainty, it will continue to exist and permeate my life regardless of how I feel about it. And perhaps if I watch my mind a little more carefully and keep my expectations in check, I’ll learn to call uncertainty an old friend- one I can embrace.

*Hoping that everyone delayed, inconvenienced, damaged, hurt, and saddened by the JKIA fire will find peace, flight, reunification with their families and friends. May all those involved in the clean-up find strength and patience.*

Kenya Diaries: Kerio View

The ravens with giant wing spans, the scent of pink honeysuckle (or what looks like honeysuckle), the line of ants curving up the pathway, the moss-speckled stones, a leaf with the word ‘sufi’ scratched into it. Sometimes signs are not glaringly obvious, but incredibly simple.

The higher the altitude, the more precious the air is.

The closer to the clouds I am, the more grounded I feel.

There are some places I’ve never been before that are more familiar to me than home.

Kerio Valley is one of them.

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Discarded & Found

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The beauty of my grandmother’s garden, or any garden, for that matter, is that what a tree discards is just as beautiful as what it grows. Walking is an art of discovering and uncovering. I love making ‘mandalas’ in nature because it’s not about creating perfection- it’s about participating in nature, allowing it to speak to you, and then letting it go. The next day, I visited my mandala to see if it was still intact. The dogs had trampled it, flowers were missing,  but it was just as ‘complete’ as it was the day before.

Kenya Diaries: Impermanence

Yesterday we went to visit my grandfather’s grave. We had to convince fruit & veggie sellers to move their carts aside so we could gain access to the cemetery’s gate. Once inside, we couldn’t locate our grandfather’s grave- large dead leaves and weeds covered most of the graves, including his. His tombstone was caked in dust and dirt, and we used water and shrubs to scrub it clean (or as clean as it could be). It struck me as bittersweet- tending to a grave of a man who is no longer there. Perhaps it was more for us than for him. We lit Tibetan incense and showered his grave with colourful flowers and water from a tap nearby. Later that evening, a thunderstorm shook our town, cutting out power and spitting heavy rain. I thought of my grandfather’s grave, and how drenched the flowers must be, how the incense must’ve been snuffed out by rain. Impermanence.
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The Poetry of Nature

It’s funny how mosquitos, a cobwebbed cabin ceiling, heavy rain and soaked shoes can remind me of what I really love to do. Working with youth in nature was an incredibly grounding experience for me. Observing, listening, collecting and documenting. These are things we take for granted. When we’re surrounded by tall, leafy trees, it’s hard to forget how simple things are and how complicated we make them out to be. One of my students shared, after our poetry walk, his observation after not being able to find a walking stick, “Sometimes we don’t need something outside of us to give us support (it’s in us all along).” So simple. So complicated. Teachings are in acorns, rocks, shells, broken bark…and walking sticks.

I’ve  worked through the exercises I developed with my students and am now offering a new spoken word/creative writing workshop program that focuses on “The Nature of Poetry”…and of course, the poetry of nature. Check it out: The Nature of Poetry Workshops- Sheniz Janmohamed

Spread the word.

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Sheniz Janmohamed invited to the Jaipur Literature Festival

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Finding Her Roots: Local Poet Invited to Jaipur Literature Festival 

Toronto-based spoken word artist and author, Sheniz Janmohamed, has been invited to the prestigious Jaipur Literature Festival which will take place in Jaipur, India, from January 24th to 28th, 2013. Janmohamed will be participating in a panel and/or a performance at the festival, which will be held at the stunning Diggi Palace over the course of 5 days. She joins a list of accomplished Canadian authors including Anosh Irani, Shauna Singh Baldwin and Wade Davis and as well as Indian luminaries like Shabana Azmi and Gulzar.

About Sheniz Janmohamed:  With over 100 performances under her belt, Sheniz Janmohamed has performed at a variety of events including the TedXYouth Conference in Toronto (2010) and the Indian Summer Festival in Vancouver (2012)  to name a few.  Her book, Bleeding Light, has received international praise and has been taught in numerous Canadian academic institutions including York University and the University of Toronto.  Her experience in the art of spoken word spans over 8 years and she teaches spoken word in schools across Toronto. Her initiative, Ignite Poets, has traveled as far as Kenya to develop the international spoken word scene and to give a voice to new young talent.

About the Jaipur Literature Festival:   DSC Jaipur Literature Festival is the largest literary festival in Asia-Pacific, and the most prestigious celebration of national and international literature to be held in India. It encompasses a range of readings, talks, debates, performances, children’s workshops and interactive activities held in the beautiful heritage property, Diggi Palace in the Rajasthani capital of Jaipur. Entering its sixth year, JLF is now regarded as the Kumbh Mela of Indian and international writing, drawing in writers and readers from across India and the wider world.

For more information on Sheniz, visit: 

www.shenizjanmohamed.com

For more information on the Jaipur Literature Festival, visit:

http://www.jaipurliteraturefestival.org/speakers-2013#s

For media interviews and inquiries, contact: 

Divya Sabharwal

e: divya2465@gmail.com