Dear lovers,

I was an audience member. I respectfully took my seat and waited. The high ceiling event hall within the train station was typically cold for a December evening and the wooden windows were unfortunately open.

I am telling you now, a year later, that I was a sceptic. In one of my pockets was a folded pamphlet with detailed information, but I kept it for later study.

We all waited. Some chatted to their neighbours and others tested their camera lighting. We were all tourists with different reasons for coming here. We all had bought a ticket and for us it was a show. A different kind of show perhaps, but a performance nonetheless. There was no stage. The seating arrangement was in a circular fashion with a velvet curtain separating them from the audience.

We all turned when he entered with measured steps. Right, left, right, left. His eyes were looking down and he carried a folded burgundy mat on his right arm. He circled and revelled in our awestruck silence. As he stopped in the centre, the Ney streamed in from the far right of the room. It breathed life.

I was enraptured by the sound and by the dark robed man who was now prostrating down in front of us. Our eyes were fixed on him as his head touched the mat. He got up to bring together his hands in prayer, and while he silently prayed a procession of black-robed dervishes streamed in from behind the curtain.

They faced the dark robbed semazen and bowed three times in respect. The greeting symbolised the meeting between the secret depths of the soul. As the harmonious music picked pace, they spread out and filled up the entire circle.

They dropped the cloaks to reveal the whiteness of their tunics. And then after seeking permission from the spiritual teacher, they began to spin. First, they turned with their arms crossed and slowly in synchronisation, their arms blossomed open. The right hand unfurled to face up and the left hand down.

Faster they spun, wider their skirts twirled. With eyes closed, their faces were completely blank. I felt like their souls were dancing above them and the mysticism was washing over us all. Slowly, the sound of clicking cameras died and we all became participants. I am not sure when my scepticism dissolved but with each whirl it did. I stared at each one of the semazen in order to understand, but it was beyond my comprehension. I wanted to join them solely so I could achieve the calm and peace they exuded.

Each dervish was spinning with a purpose. He was taking a journey each time he spun. He was praying. With his right palm, he prayed for Divine Love and with his left palm he gave it away to the earth – to us. I was deeply grateful and humbled for such selflessness. Even though, it might be a performance for some, the entire ritual was extremely spiritual in its essence.

Without saying anything, they showed me that we had something in common. Each of us is like an atom. We circle in our allocated space until vaporised into fanaa. We are and then one day, we aren’t. We all spin in tune to our own symphony but what doesn’t change is the presence of Love. The temporality lies in the vessel.

Finally when the semazens stood still again, they all kissed the ground and invoked the blessings of God through the recitation of the Quran. With little pomp or ceremony, they filed out of the room. Even though they had left, little white dots were still whirling in front of my eyes. The lady next to me was quietly sobbing on her partner’s shoulder. 

I do not claim to be an expert on Sufism or poetry. I simply write to share a special experience that changed my outlook on life. I do believe that we should make a mark in this world. Yet, your ever-changing dot should be filled with such exuberance and life that it lights up whoever gazes at it. Fill it with so much love that the ego of the dot evaporates. When the divisions are dissolved, then can we truly love.

It has been a year. That evening the presence of love had deep healing powers.

You might read this letter and be a sceptic like I was. You are absolutely entitled to it. It might not be your form of prayer. But please I do ask that if you are ever in that part of the world, do experience it with your heart and mind open.

Love,

Sania

Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof – Khalil Gibran.