Right palm up, left palm down
When the semazen turns, the right palm faces up to receive from heaven and the left faces down to pass it on to the earth. Nothing is kept. The whole teaching, in two hands.
I don't whirl much anymore; my knees vote no. But after the evening prayer I sit with my hands like that on my knees and breathe with a phrase a Naqshbandi friend gave me: hush dar dam, awareness in the breath. Every breath in, received. Every breath out, given away.
Ten minutes. Then the tea goes on, as always.
Watching the divo
We Zoroastrians don't really have 'meditation' the way my yoga friends mean it. But we do have fire, and we do have quiet.
In the evenings I light the divo: a little glass of water with a layer of oil floating on top and a cotton wick in a tin float. It sits on a steel thali on the kitchen shelf, nowhere near the curtains, and I never leave the room while it's lit. The cat has been informed.
Then I simply sit and look at it while my tea cools. For us, fire is a symbol of Ahura Mazda's light and of asha, truth and right order. Ten minutes with the flame and I remember which side I'm trying to be on.