It Is Not Just About Whirling - breathe the Huu Part 2

Last Wednesday night gathered a conference of birds - men and women and children, young and old,
Muslims and a flock of non-Muslims, dressed ordinarily or clothed in the Naqshbandi Tariqa dress
and headgear, or adorning the Mehlevi  robes with its high headgear and turban... came to see and
listen to an exposition on whirling by Sheik Ahmad Dede Pattisahusiwa. At the end, we witnessed
the attestation of faith by seven seekers, as they embraced the Light of Islam and
 the Traditions of the Prophet (s.a.w.s.), yet I believe that everyone who came
that auspicious night left somehow changed.  Because it was
not merely about whirling... 

As the Sheik spoke, he explained, and sang and whirled. Oh,  he was not whirling all night long.
But at the metaphysical sense, at the place where we leave behind our physical senses and enter
into the Realm of the Lover and the Beloved, of Ahad and Ahmad, he was continuously whirling...
Casting beautiful words and examples like honey for the bears. And we were all honeybears there,
hungry for nectar of the whirling dervish. But (not surprisingly, I guess) his kind and loving words
fell from another place, beyond the conventional idea people have about the whirling Sufis and
even beyond the conventional idea many people have about the Religion of Islam.
Because the ideal is more than just about whirling... 

Before anything, the Sheik spoke of the Master of the Zawiya, almarhum Shaykh Raja
Ashman Shah ibn Sultan Azlan Shah. As how the Prince, in his lifetime, invited the
Sheik to come and visit Malaysia and the Zawiya. In this transaction, born in life and
consummated after the passing of the Prince, we felt a profound sense of gratitude...
Of benefiting from the love between two brothers in love,  Poor old Longhair choked
as he referred to the Prince as "...a friend." Love Lights were written in air with the
ink of faith, mercy and beauty. Such things adorned the Zawiya last night and many
tears were shed and many more hearts captivated.
Because it was not about whirling only...

Perhaps this picture best captures the spirit of relationship between a Shaykh (Master)
and the mureed (Student). Over the whirling steps and turning feet, and hands raised and lowered
of the mureed, the Sheik oversees his young ward whirling and seeking the Sought (God) but
in submission always to the life journey intended for each one of us. For above the Sheik
is his Sheik, and thereon his Sheik and his Sheik. Down through the ages for more than 1,300 years
to the Master of all masters, the Master of all Creation, Muhammad Abu Arwah (Father of Souls)
Habibullah (s.a.w.s.). For you see, on that night whirling was only the beginning...

The secret lies in the nyat (intention). From there the Guide that is God leads the one
inspired by his love for Him. Through the springs of life, through the valleys and
meadows of this world, away to His presence and His beauty and His love. The mureed
unlocks each petal of his own rose within the garden of His truth. Speaking the words of
love, "Oh, I am in love with Thee, and I am giving everything to Thee..." The mirror of creation
is broken, and the spirit is released from the confines of this world. Whether whirling or living,
intention is everything. Beyond that is submission, and surrender to the Will of Love,
at a place where all humanity is One, and there is only God.
So you see, it was not merely about whirling... it was also
about experiencing love with God.

I went with Mikhail. Whatever he gained from the talk, I do not know.
But sometimes, all we can do is arrange for a seed to be planted,
and how the tree will grow, only God may foretell.
For you see, it was not merely about whirling.
There is also a bit of soul gardening.

I persuaded him not to wear the Mehlevi tall hat. I said that he does not like attention from strangers,
and the high turban will attract people's eyes. He agreed with me and wore a simple Malay
songkok instead. I know that one day he will not agree with me,
and we shall cross that bridge when we get there.
But for now it is not merely about whirling.
It is also about the pure and untamed
spirit of children.

Lovers astride in a row.
It was not merely about whirling, you see...
It is also about the Art of Returning to Him
while breath still animates your body.

This is what I came home with, perhaps others will feel differently... Give everything to the Sought (God), the only One worthy of your spirit's yearning. Breathe the Huu... follow the Prophet (s.a.w.s.).

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Rumi, Soul Teasers and a Deck of Cards...

These are called Rumi-spectacles. Wear them to change your perspective of the world,
which of course, changes the world itself....

Ah. Jelaluddin Rumi. Poet Extraordinaire, best-selling poet in the Western Hemisphere since sliced white bread was invented. Inventor of the dustbin hat. The man who spouted tolerance and inclusiveness before the advent of Hippy-ism, One Love, Flower Power and the Ungrateful Dead. A Game Changer, a Muslim Sufi Saint of unparalleled reach who popularized the whirling ritual and founded the Mehlevi Order.

I don't read Rumi. I don't go looking for him, but every now and then someone would quote him on Facebook and there we would meet... two brick on the wall of a friend. 

To change the topic entirely, as a habit, I do go looking for clouds. Especially when I am driving, which is of course appallingly dangerous. I would be driving up the road and be looking up to the sky. I cannot help myself, you see, drawn as I am to the clouds. They are such shameless flirts... The little soul teasers.

There they are. Teasing me with their God-given beauty.

Getting back to Rumi, about a month ago a stranger named Sean popped up out of the etherness  of the Internet and asked if I wouldn't mind too badly if he could reproduce one of my Rumi-esque Sufi-esque sketches. They are going to produce a 40-deck card set entitled 'Rules of Love of Shams of Tabriz'. Shams of Tabriz is Rumi's famous muse, a wandering dervish who wandered (as wandering dervishes have a habit of doing) into Rumi's hometown and sparked his passionate love and fealty. Shams was the Master of the Master then. This is the picture that Sean wants to use...

...which coincidentally contains the two phrases by which I normally close a posting. I guess this means that I should probably stop here now and leave you to your day, your love, your work and play.

God blesses you always, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

The Gravestone & the Death Shroud, The Dustbin & the Garbage

A small furry dustbin from Turkey

The Semazens.

I visited Ihsan the Turk recently and he gave me what appears to be a small furry dustbin. Very chic, very post-Modern. Of course, I am kidding with you. It is in fact a gift from Istanbul, a headgear (It sounds weird to just call it a 'hat') worn by the Mehlevi Sufis in their Sema, that famous whirling form of worship. It is more than one foot tall in a beige velvet-like material. The original headgear used by the Mehlevi Order would traditionally be made of camel felt, an excellent material for cold climates but a sauna-on-your-head in the tropics. It appears that the its high profile is analogous to your gravestone and their wide white skirt is symbolic of the death shroud. All sufis are big about spiritual death, not just the Mehlevi devotees of Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi. They are so enamoured by the transformation of death that they would all like to spiritually die before physically dying. "Only then..." they would tell me, "...would you truly understand and appreciate God, love and life." Some people also call this 'dying' as fana or annihilation in the Oneness of God, the fanafillah.

I recall a grand old shaykh of another Sufi order once advised, "You must all be like dustbins. You must accept the refuse and garbage of this world!" Hmm. So maybe the tall headgear is actually a dustbin. Does that make me the garbage? I guess it does. Wonderful!

After receiving the gift, I felt compelled to visit a Sufi dergah nearby. A big Shaykh was in attendance last Thursday night. I brought my new headgear, but I did not wear it. I kinda just lugged it around under my arm, feeling terribly self-conscious. It was absolutely the biggest thing to put on your head, you know. But minutes before the end, I put it on anyway, feeling safe as I was, alone and outside in the dergah's garden. Later Heche texted whether I was wearing that godawful 'hat'. I replied, "You misunderstand, I am not wearing the hat. The hat is wearing me."

When the 'hat' is this big, you are never wearing the hat.
The hat is wearing you.

Life is beautiful. Have a salutary Sabbath, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way