from the caravan of lovers
Hafiz Michael Bielas
The men's dressing area for the sema in Konya is in a small cubical roomnext to the kitchen in the tekke across the courtyard from the Mevlanatomb/semahane/mosque. Not knowing if we would receive permission, I had notyet settled into the idea of turning inside the semahane, inside the Rumimuseum. We were ready to do the sema wherever we would be allowed. Ten minutesbefore the sema is to begin, Jelaluddin comes into the dressing room to getdressed, and gives a brief explanation of how to proceed into the semahane,my first realization that permission to turn inside had indeed finally beengranted. Until then, turning in the courtyard was still a likely option.In our hirkas, we leave the dressing room, stepping under a very low doorway.Even though crouching down low, I bump my Sikke on the doorway.
{Postneshin Jelaluddin Loras and Sheikh Etem Karadag of Konya}
We enter the courtyard in the fading light of a beautiful, warm late summerevening to join together with the women. More instructions from Jelaluddin.The semahane isn't large enough for all of us to turn at the same time. Wewould alternate salaams - half of us turning the first and third salaams,half the second and fourth. This sounds easy enough, and many of the detailsof how this would take place aren't discussed. Indeed, the need to be alertand observant and at the same time to be aware of the moment is the ideaof the sema itself. In our Hirkas, in pairs, we cross the courtyard towardsthe entrance, the Gate of Dervishes. I feel the spotlight of history andthe turn of fate that presented the wonderful opportunity for me to be inthis place at this time. Would everything turn out well? On the way inside,word gets passed down the line that we would form a single line after enteringthe semahane. There are several more "in the moment" adjustments to resolveduring the sema, some of them needing more time to comprehend than is available.At the entrance, over the doorway in Persian, is a couplet: This place isthe shrine of divine lovers. Those coming incomplete, are completed here.We walk past the tombs of Husameddin Chelibi, Mevlana, Sultan Veled, Mevlana'sfather, and into the semahane.
After sitting on the new shining wood floor, the ney player begins the longnostalgic, soulful call to the heavens. This is when I feel that I'm reallyhere. At peace. The efforts taken to get here forgotten, Rumi a few stepsaway to the left, the post a few steps to the right. A line of semazens whohad come halfway around the world, itching to get as close to the sourceas possible. I feel part of a bouquet of dervishes, like reeds, welcomedto the heart of a warm family of mystics. The ney reaching inside me, insideeveryone, carrying its music and our presence into every corner of the halland out into the clear night air. The ney could have played all night, Iloved every moment of it.
While turning in the salaams there are moments of grace, when all the movementsare flowing well, and I can feel the connection to the moment, the sema,Rumi, the friends watching from the adjoining rooms. There are also momentsof tension and awkwardness. We had never practiced in this semahane, andthe desire to do a beautiful sema in an unfamiliar space is also an insistentthought, often nudging its way to the front. The procedural mistakes we makeare easily put behind us, and we carry on turning and opening up our heartsto the turning of the heavens, and the love of our friends all around us.
Leaving the semahane and museum, we walk through the courtyard, and are surprisedas a brightly glowing full moon pops out from behind the fluted green domeover Rumi's tomb. It's like a lantern that was lit especially for this night.We want to bask in that light and share our feelings about the sema, butare reminded to get our clothes changed quickly. We wish to show our respectfor the director of the museum and the officials who granted their permission,and welcomed us to turn in this special place. Reluctantly, we don't linger,get changed and depart. On the way out the moon is much higher and not asclose. Later in the evening, I'm told how beautifully we had turned, andhow well the sema went. Uzeyir from the carpet shop was filled with glowingpraise. This is nice to hear, and allays my doubts and reservations.
Turning in Konya and Istanbul were special moments in my life. Somethinghas also turned inside me. I'm still assimilating the experiences that tookplace and the connections that were made. Priorities and values seem moredifficult to determine, they aren't settling into a predictable unnoticeableorder. I remember a bit of a Rumi poem from a zikr, about how sufis lovechange, if they didn't want changes in their lives, they wouldn't be turning.Turning seems a bit like stirring, stirring the pot so the little chickpeaon the surface can get turned under and cooked too.
 | After my death, do not look for - Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi |
Photos: Sema, Konya October 15, 1997
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