As I have mentioned in my other posts, there has been a great deal of spiritual exploration in my life but it has always been the type of exploration that required genuine immersion and not just intellectual curiosity.
During 1973-1974 in NYC, there was a growing interest in Sufism in my circle of friends/seekers. Idries Shah, the Grand Shiek of the Sufis and the eldest son of the Nawab (the Mohammed equivalent to a maharaja) had been making appearances in the city and had just published a beautiful book explaining some of the teachings of this very esoteric school. This man, although born in the Himalayas, lived in London so they was no language barrier. I was lucky enough to attend some of his charismatic lectures and was impressed. I was intrigued by one comment in particular, “The problem of the would-be Sufi is in recognizing his teacher, because he is not yet sufficiently refined to know who he may be”.
A friend had mentioned there was a private Sufi group in Greenwich Village that occasionally would allow outsiders to join in their activities one night per week. Luckily, I was able to connect with someone that got me in.
Around 7pm, I entered the reception area. There were beautiful Persian rugs everywhere people drinking small volatile cups of coffee. Most of the men seemed to be of Turkish descent and were nonstop smoking these handmade filter-less cigarettes. The air was thick with this smoke. The women were covered in middle eastern garb and kept themselves separate from the men. There were 4 other outsiders with me, all in their early twenties like me. There was no discernible leader of the group that I could tell.
At 8pm, we entered into the adjoining room which was even more ornate. All of the men gathered in the room sitting in a wide circle with the women staying to one side of the circle. Their participation felt as if on felt a bit like a cheerleading section. I was asked to join the circle. Since I had no idea what I was in for, it was a bit intimidating but the voice inside of me said, “just go with it!”.
There some men with drums that started the steady beat soon followed by chanting in Arabic. First softly then this gradual crescendo. Everyone and everything seemed to be immersed in this hypnotic rhythm. It continued to grow and grow in intensity. Then we came to our feet and the men wrapped our arms around one another and we started to sway as if we were one being. The group was the embodiment in that moment of no separation. It evolved into a beautiful dance that one just gets lost in.
There was no longer any practitioner/outsider conflict. It reminded me of being in the rhythmic trance that Rumi’s whirling dervishes seemed to embody.
I’ll never forget their willingness to share all of this with me and how it has stayed with me all these years. It would be a few years more before I could recognize who my teacher would be.
Robert
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