Whirling Dervish

The stairs curled up steeply into the dark and stunk of cat pee. Only the area close to the outside wall seemed safe to tread. Any form of support was on the inside where there was no room to put your feet. These were the stairs to the Sufi Whirling Dervish experience I had booked for my last night in Istanbul. Walking up the stairs I half expected to find nothing but a dead end but the locked door was opened when I rang the bell and I entered into the warmth of the Les Arts Turks office / gallery. I didn’t want the dinner and show, I wanted the real deal and this group offered ‘off the beaten path’ experiences in small groups.

We were transported to the Mosque on a bus with a running commentary by a very old gentlemen telling us the history of Sufism, that the place we were visiting was 300 years old and that we could feel completely safe in the area as Muslins lived there (this was tinged with connotations that put me off side) and unfortunately we were not allowed to take any photos. I don’t know what I expected but the building looked like a basement in the dark and with shoes removed and scarfs over all female heads, we were hustled into a back waiting room. We sat on the floor for over one hour while another older man tried to sell us leather slippers - it looked as if it was how he made his money and some people purchased them. I was really beginning to think that we were being taken for a ride and discussed this with the Spanish lady next to me. My concerns were raised further as more tourist groups entered the room until it overflowed out into the area the call to pray was being held. So much for the personal experience! Finally we were moved into the main rooms.

The men had to sit on one side and the women on the other. There was a large television screen that displayed static while a man who seemed to be in charge tried to tune it. The wooden floor in the centre of the room had seven small cow skins lying on one side. An adjacent room held around a hundred men with white scull caps sitting on the floor. We could see inside the room as the walls were made of glass and there was an large open double door. There would have also been one hundred people in our room, squashed up like sardines on the floor packed hard against the walls to leave space for the dancing. I was lucky enough to get a wall to lean against. Women who were wives of the Mosque men sat upstairs behind screens with another static broadcasting TV screen.

The traditional instruments started to quietly play accompanied by what sounded like normal hymns - Muslim style. The TV screen finally worked and we saw close ups of the men singing. One man had a cold and he cough, wheeze and blew his nose in six foot high definition. I thought he might have a heart attack from the coughing at one point, but he came good. The music was not special so frustrated, I looked around. What looked like a furry bladder was hanging from a gaudy glass chandelier in the shrine to Mecca on our side of the room. The walls held faded pictures of men in dusty frames and gold writing I cold not read. A male in a wheel chair - deformed from some sort of birth defect - was on our side even though there was room on the male side. This just made me angry. Angry that he was not seen as a male - that his deformed state ‘lowered’ him to the status of women, angry that the ladies sat upstairs covered from head to toe, their inquisitive eyes peaking through the lattice that separated them from us. Angry that perhaps this was not the spiritual experience that I had wanted - the private peak into an ancient ceremony. I pulled on my scarf so that it sat well back on my head showing my hair in my own silent protest.

Finally the Sufi’s entered the room, wrapped in black cloaks with tan coloured felt cone hat on their heads. They slowly circled the room three times, bowing to each other in a precise pattern. They seemed to be just ordinary people, looking around a little and smiling occasionally at each other. The Dervishes lined up on the cow skins and removed their cloaks to reveal white skirt outfits with a think black sash. I hadn’t really been paying attention to the music or what was happening in the other room during this but it was then that I noticed the music had picked up in tempo and was starting to develop energy.

This is not my picture and not the venue but it
shows the bowing ceremony and black cloaks

With the black cloaks removed the Dervishes then waiting in line to kiss the hand of the senior Sufi and receive permission to dance. There were two of them who did not participate in twirling. One seemed to be mediating and another a ‘controller’ who observed the Dervishes. As each received the blessing they began to move, their voluminous white skirts swinging wider and wider as they twirled faster. As soon as they started they went into a trance and gracefully raised their arms above their heads, one hand pointing up to receive the blessings from heaven and the other faced down to pass the blessings to earth. Each Dervish had a different facial expression, one younger one (could not have been more than 17 years old) had what could only be described as ‘peace’ across his face, his eyes closed he looked angelic. Another older man was deep in a trance, his head titled to the side and back and his mouth slightly open, while another had a fiery glaze that echoed strength and perfection. They swung around the room without faltering and keeping perfect distance from each other even with eyes closed.


Everything in the adjacent room was pulsing. There was a sea of bobbing white scull caps as the men leant forward and back with their whole upper body in a figure eight, their right hand held over their heart. The sounds coming from the room were almost primeval. Gutteral musical grunts in harmony with the songs. The men would have been hyperventilating as the pace was so fast. I know that hyperventilating is a way for someone to enter into a trance so not only where the Dervishes connected, the men signing where was well. I could feel the energy in the room pulsing in my legs. The sound and sights were amazing.

After some time the observing Sufi stamped the floor and immediately the Dervishes stopped and organised themselves into groups of two. They were panting now and used this break to catch their breath. The controller went around to each person, bowing and then the process to start whirling happened again. There was three whirling sessions and throughout this time the men next door bobbed and chanted with the music. Finally the music slowed down and the dervishes stopped. They lined up again on the cow skins as the master helped them back into their black cloaks. The leader in the other room read a section of the Koran and it was over.

Again, not my picture but this does show the Dervish
at our session who was in a deep trance

Not my picture - but shows what it looked like - just plan lighting and whirling Dervishes
hands facing up and down to receive and send the blessings

The guide on the way out explained that it was the week of Mohammed’s birthday and that it was unusually crowded. There were many local people in the mosque tonight. I reflected on the way I had felt and realised that I received what I wanted - an authentic experience. The timetable was not set by what we the visitors wanted. If I looked at the men who seemed to be organising the foreigner groups, in hindsight, perhaps their expressions were more of concern....how do we make this work with so many people??...rather than the arrogance I was reading. The man in the wheel chair was probably in the best spot in the rooms so he could see everything. My perceptions and expectations were quick to jump to the negative and that was wrong. There were local ladies in our section - they did not have to be upstairs (I think) and the heat, sweat and physical nature of the chanting would not have been suitable to have ladies participating in this culture. While I completely disagree with the segregation and stratification of males and females in this religion, without that thought running in my head, I would have enjoyed the experience more. I resolved to seek out some strong female rites in my travels to balance the equation.

Sufism is similar to Buddism, love and peace the key expectations - maybe I need to read more and judge less.
　
Lessons learnt: Expectations can damage the experience...it is what it is.

Walking back at midnight to the hotel after the
Sufi experience. Grabbing shots of the icons in the rain