By Maboud Charles Swierkosz
Throughout the winter season I sit outside in the early morning hours under the portal and engage in practices of prayer, breath, elemental centering within the body and the world around me. Being outside in the backyard this way helps me to be grounded and present as the cold air holds me, as the wind whistles to me, as the snow glistens upon my eyes and as the rising sun touches my body.
It is February here in Santa Fe; the thaw of Spring begins. I can hear the first sounds of the hope of Spring in the songs of the backyard birds. It amazes me how they endure the sometimes frigid cold and wind chill. I contemplate the reality of the seeds and roots beneath the frozen surface of the earth that hold the potential of life force ready to express its true purpose. What a wonder of the alchemy of transformation! This body-being that I belong to remembers with a visceral intelligence, the redeeming way the green of Spring manifests. Deep in these bones of personhood there is a sense of summer garden possibilities. I am grateful to be in relationship with this dance of Creation where the spinning of the earth, its precise tilt and orbit around the sun nurtures my faith in the ‘unseen.’
But, it has not always been this way for me as I was born and raised in the city of Chicago. I did not experience the intimacy with nature that I do now. For instance, I didn’t know why cows gave milk; I had never heard of the word compost and didn’t know how manure was used to fertilize the soil for growing plants. But, nature has become my Murshid and has guided me for so long. Here is one story of my early relationship with gardening.
While in our 30s, Tara Andrea and I had found a home in the very rural Missouri Ozarks. It was more like a homestead with a valley bottom garden and house in the woods. This is where we referred to ourselves as being “earthed,” or in a sense being birthed by Gaia.
I remember our first garden there and planting seeds. It seemed like forever while waiting for the sprouts to emerge through the dark soil. I struggled with my thoughts and became more and more impatient. Finally, I could not endure the ‘not knowing’ and uncertainty any longer. I continued to think that I somehow messed up and planted the seeds wrong. So, I went down to the garden and fell to my knees and began gently digging around the area where I planted the seeds to see if there were any sprouts weaving their way through the soil granules.
At the time of writing I really do not have a clear memory if I found a sprouting seed or not. But as I reflect back on that experience I realize that my faith in the process of nature was so limited. Limited because of my lack of experience and relationship with nature, with gardening and with Creation. At this time, decades later, and now being companioned by the attributes of the wholeness of Creation that we traditionally refer to as the Beautiful Names, I understand that I lacked a patient love that in a Sufi tradition is referred to as Ya Halim. Now, I feel a sense of gratitude for being unfolded in this patient and tender love that allows for a receptivity to the healing wisdom from the earth to arise and inform me (Ya Hakim).
Below are links to a wazifah dance and that uses these qualities as well as the quality of Subhanallah. Early on I referred to this dance as the black sheep zikr. In the context of this story, I see from the eyes of my heart how this immature, yet hidden potential of my character awaited the touch of love and healing wisdom. I would often ‘get down and hard on myself’ for not knowing things or being uncertain. That part became a black sheep and was so in need of loving kindness.
https://taraandreamaboud.bandcamp.com/track/subhanallah-ya-halim-ya-hakim
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJXPZOHt80o