By David Ian Miller, "A Bay Area woman is drawn to Sufism and whirling like a dervish" - San Francisco Chronicle - CA, USAMonday, April 21, 2008
Many religious and spiritual traditions incorporate dance as a pathway to the divine. Native American tribes of the Great Plains celebrate the cycle of birth and death during the Sun Dance.
Some Jews dance to commemorate the end of the year's round of Torah readings. Even the Gods dance -- Hindu deities are often pictured dancing in joy, and voodoo gods arrive in person during ritual dances to become one with the celebrants.
Among the most intriguing of the world's sacred dances are those of the Whirling Dervishes, who spin around themselves and each other in a religious ceremony that dates to the 13th century. Whirling Dervishes are members of the Mevlevi Order of Sufis, founded by the followers of the poet Rumi.
The word dervish means "doorway," a reference to the belief that dervishes act as conduits, opening the way for the power of God to enter their bodies and pass into the earth.
Shakina Reinhertz, 62, author of "Women Called to the Path of Rumi," has been studying and teaching the whirling practice, also known as "turning," for 30 years. She will be demonstrating the ritual with a group of dancers on April 25 at Dominican University in San Rafael as part of a weekend-long Sufi Symposium that is open to the public.
I spoke with her last week about what led her to the Sufi path, why Whirling Dervishes whirl and whether they get dizzy when they dance.
When did you first learn about Whirling Dervishes?
I was in college at the University of Arkansas in the 1960s, and my dance teacher showed us a little bit of the practice. That made a deep impression on me, but it was pretty far removed from my reality at that point. The first time I actually encountered a Whirling Dervish was at Dominican College in 1981, where they had the first sema (whirling dervish ceremony) in the Bay Area, and I was just completely taken with it. By then there was no doubt that I wanted to do that practice.
What captivated you?
There was a profound sense of sacredness and devotion unlike anything I had seen before. I remember that I was particularly struck at the end when the music stopped and the dervishes turned in silence. All you could hear was the sound of their rustling skirts.
What happens when you are turning? I've read that the goal is to have a kind of out-of-body experience as a way of becoming one with the divine. Is that what it's like for you?
It's really a form of moving meditation. When we turn together, as we're completing each circular motion, we are all saying "Allah" in our hearts silently. So it's a kind of group prayer. And we're tuning in to the people around us ... If there's any goal, it's just opening up to what comes through you. Over time, God willing, it becomes no longer you doing the turning but rather something is turning you. So it's not an act of will but a practice of surrender.
Is turning something you do on certain days of the year or at specific times?
Well, Rumi turned in the streets, after going to the mosque on Friday nights -- it was a spontaneous thing for him and his community to do. He turned, and would go into states of ecstasy, and the poetry would pour out of him, and people wrote it down. Later it became a part of his practice. And when he died, his son created a ritual honoring his passing, which is called Shebi Arus, the wedding night. That takes place around the world on December 17. It's a formal ritual that includes bowing, walking and turning.
Our teacher asks us to turn a little bit every day. We do 18 chucks, or revolutions, to keep the practice. But usually anytime we gather together for a zikir (practice of remembrance that can be spoken or chanted with movements) there's turning.
Is your body supposed to move in a predictable way or is it more spontaneous?
It's predictable -- we train for a year in a very specific way in order to do it. The placement of the feet and the way you hold your arms, for example, are done in a very precise manner.
I have to ask, don't you get incredibly dizzy when you are turning?
No, not really. The dizziness, if it happens, occurs when you first start learning. But after you've been trained that generally goes away.
Some Whirling Dervishes "perform" in a public setting where people pay for tickets. How do you feel about that?
I'm in favor of it. In about 1925, when they were modernizing Turkey, they closed all of the tekkes (Sufi schools). At that point performing the dervish ceremony was made illegal, and Sufi traditions went underground.
It took quite a long time, until 1956, before the dervishes persuaded the government that the heritage of Rumi was an important asset and a tourist attraction -- people come from all over to see his mausoleum -- and so it should be shared. After that they created a public ceremony that people paid to observe. I think that's helped to keep the tradition alive.
Our order does charge for performances, but basically all of the money goes for renting the hall and paying the musicians. It's not a profit-making enterprise.
What happens when you are turning? I've read that the goal is to have a kind of out-of-body experience as a way of becoming one with the divine. Is that what it's like for you?
It's really a form of moving meditation. When we turn together, as we're completing each circular motion, we are all saying "Allah" in our hearts silently. So it's a kind of group prayer. And we're tuning in to the people around us ... If there's any goal, it's just opening up to what comes through you. Over time, God willing, it becomes no longer you doing the turning but rather something is turning you. So it's not an act of will but a practice of surrender.
Is turning something you do on certain days of the year or at specific times?
Well, Rumi turned in the streets, after going to the mosque on Friday nights -- it was a spontaneous thing for him and his community to do. He turned, and would go into states of ecstasy, and the poetry would pour out of him, and people wrote it down. Later it became a part of his practice. And when he died, his son created a ritual honoring his passing, which is called Shebi Arus, the wedding night. That takes place around the world on December 17. It's a formal ritual that includes bowing, walking and turning.
Our teacher asks us to turn a little bit every day. We do 18 chucks, or revolutions, to keep the practice. But usually anytime we gather together for a zikir (practice of remembrance that can be spoken or chanted with movements) there's turning.
Is your body supposed to move in a predictable way or is it more spontaneous?
It's predictable -- we train for a year in a very specific way in order to do it. The placement of the feet and the way you hold your arms, for example, are done in a very precise manner.
I have to ask, don't you get incredibly dizzy when you are turning?
No, not really. The dizziness, if it happens, occurs when you first start learning. But after you've been trained that generally goes away.
Some Whirling Dervishes "perform" in a public setting where people pay for tickets. How do you feel about that?
I'm in favor of it. In about 1925, when they were modernizing Turkey, they closed all of the tekkes (Sufi schools). At that point performing the dervish ceremony was made illegal, and Sufi traditions went underground.
It took quite a long time, until 1956, before the dervishes persuaded the government that the heritage of Rumi was an important asset and a tourist attraction -- people come from all over to see his mausoleum -- and so it should be shared. After that they created a public ceremony that people paid to observe. I think that's helped to keep the tradition alive.
Our order does charge for performances, but basically all of the money goes for renting the hall and paying the musicians. It's not a profit-making enterprise.
Your order, the Mevlevis, was founded by Rumi in the 13th century. What are some of its main teachings?
Primary in the Mevlevi path is sohbet, spiritual discussion, and adab, the way of beautiful manners.
These are the two transmissions that the teacher brings to the student. Sohbet can be very formal in the manner of a lecture to a gathering of students or it can be in the moment, in the form of a question posed to the teacher by the student.
Adab is the unspoken transmission of the teacher. It is what draws us to become followers of the teacher, and it is the way the teacher illustrates for us the embodiment of the inner teachings.
In the outer world, it is the practice of whirling that identifies us as Mevlevis.
And finally it is the Mathnawi, the poetry of Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi that continues to speak to our hearts, even now 800 years after his passing.
Tell me a bit more about your background. How did you discover Sufism?
I was raised in a Christian family in the Midwest. We didn't know about Whirling Dervishes in Kansas City where I grew up. It was only after I moved to the Bay Area in the 1970s that it began to show up in my life in a major way.
At a certain point, it seemed like Sufis were popping up everywhere I went. I remember one day when I was teaching tai chi at the Women's Building in San Francisco, I walked in on a group of dancers who were doing the "Dances of Universal Peace," a Sufi dance, and I joined in. Then there was a modern dance class that I took in Marin, and the teacher turned out to be a Sufi. Later, I left a difficult relationship and moved into a house where my roommates were Sufis. I didn't know they were Sufis when I moved in.
When I look back on that period of life, it seemed like I was being invited into the Sufi path. I could have turned it down, but there was something very compelling about it.
Teachers are important in the Sufi tradition. Who was yours, and how did you meet?
My teacher is Sheikh Jelaludin Loras, the head of the Mevlevi Order here in America. I met him when he came to teach at a Sufi household where I was staying in San Rafael. I studied with him for 15 years while he lived in the Bay Area. He's now based in Hawaii, but I see him whenever I can.
My other teacher is a woman named Taj Inayat, a person who has deeply steeped herself in Sufism; it is a very intimate relationship where I go and talk with her about my concerns. We sit in meditation, and she gives me practices. Basically, I go to get spiritually tuned.
Tuned to what?
To my heart, I guess. I think Sufism -- all of the flavors of Sufism would agree that this is the path of the heart. We are listening to that voice that comes from within, and we are learning to follow our inner guidance while at the same time following the teachings of the Order and being part of the community.
Most but not all Sufis consider themselves Muslims. What about you?
The way I would answer that is to look at the language. The root of the word Islam in Arabic is Ya Salaam, which means peace. And the word Islam itself means "to make or cause peace." Therefore, a Muslim is a peacemaker.
That's an unusual point of view, I know, but it's what I truly believe a Muslim to be. And based on that definition, yes, that's how I see myself and, God willing, what I am becoming.
I am just a student of this path, someone who tries to follow with the sincerity of my heart what I believe God asks of me, yet I am still a chickpea that needs more cooking.
It's interesting that you offer the definition of a Muslim as peacemaker because so often images of Muslims in popular culture today are tied to violence. At least that's what's making headlines. What do you think about that?
There was a time when the Ku Klux Klan was very strong in America, but we would never say that the Ku Klux Klan represented Christianity even though they were burning crosses. Similarly, the extremists who are taking Islam and deciding to practice this kind of violence to express their views in the world do not represent the mainstream. And anyone who studies the life of the prophets and looks at Mohammed's life knows it's far removed from that of terrorism or suicide bombing. The Koran specifically talks about not killing women and children in warfare or destroying property or the environment. The main prayer, Fatiha, in the first chapter of the Koran, essentially says, "Guide us to the balanced path, not on the path of anger." It makes me tremendously sad to see that kind of anger.
What gives you hope for change?
On a very primal level, I believe that all human beings want the same things. Most of us care about our children and the earth itself, and we would prefer to live a more peaceful life than one that's filled with war and terrible acts of violence.
On another note, I'm very hopeful when I see Oprah doing this show on the "New Earth" and sharing these writings of Eckart Tolle. What's he's offering are universal mystical teachings stripped of all garments of religion, even though he touches on some Christian ideas. They are Sufi ideas, too. I think it's very hopeful that millions of people are participating in this and meditating together, from all walks of life.
The International Sufism Symposium takes place on Friday through Sunday, April 25-27, at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel in San Rafael. A demonstration of the Whirling Dervish "Wedding Night" ceremony will occur on Friday, April 25, at Dominican University's Angelico Hall. Admission is $30. Information: (415) 472-6959 or http://www.sufismsymposium.org/
[Picture: Shakina Reinhertz. Photo by Hadi Reinhertz].
Primary in the Mevlevi path is sohbet, spiritual discussion, and adab, the way of beautiful manners.
These are the two transmissions that the teacher brings to the student. Sohbet can be very formal in the manner of a lecture to a gathering of students or it can be in the moment, in the form of a question posed to the teacher by the student.
Adab is the unspoken transmission of the teacher. It is what draws us to become followers of the teacher, and it is the way the teacher illustrates for us the embodiment of the inner teachings.
In the outer world, it is the practice of whirling that identifies us as Mevlevis.
And finally it is the Mathnawi, the poetry of Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi that continues to speak to our hearts, even now 800 years after his passing.
Tell me a bit more about your background. How did you discover Sufism?
I was raised in a Christian family in the Midwest. We didn't know about Whirling Dervishes in Kansas City where I grew up. It was only after I moved to the Bay Area in the 1970s that it began to show up in my life in a major way.
At a certain point, it seemed like Sufis were popping up everywhere I went. I remember one day when I was teaching tai chi at the Women's Building in San Francisco, I walked in on a group of dancers who were doing the "Dances of Universal Peace," a Sufi dance, and I joined in. Then there was a modern dance class that I took in Marin, and the teacher turned out to be a Sufi. Later, I left a difficult relationship and moved into a house where my roommates were Sufis. I didn't know they were Sufis when I moved in.
When I look back on that period of life, it seemed like I was being invited into the Sufi path. I could have turned it down, but there was something very compelling about it.
Teachers are important in the Sufi tradition. Who was yours, and how did you meet?
My teacher is Sheikh Jelaludin Loras, the head of the Mevlevi Order here in America. I met him when he came to teach at a Sufi household where I was staying in San Rafael. I studied with him for 15 years while he lived in the Bay Area. He's now based in Hawaii, but I see him whenever I can.
My other teacher is a woman named Taj Inayat, a person who has deeply steeped herself in Sufism; it is a very intimate relationship where I go and talk with her about my concerns. We sit in meditation, and she gives me practices. Basically, I go to get spiritually tuned.
Tuned to what?
To my heart, I guess. I think Sufism -- all of the flavors of Sufism would agree that this is the path of the heart. We are listening to that voice that comes from within, and we are learning to follow our inner guidance while at the same time following the teachings of the Order and being part of the community.
Most but not all Sufis consider themselves Muslims. What about you?
The way I would answer that is to look at the language. The root of the word Islam in Arabic is Ya Salaam, which means peace. And the word Islam itself means "to make or cause peace." Therefore, a Muslim is a peacemaker.
That's an unusual point of view, I know, but it's what I truly believe a Muslim to be. And based on that definition, yes, that's how I see myself and, God willing, what I am becoming.
I am just a student of this path, someone who tries to follow with the sincerity of my heart what I believe God asks of me, yet I am still a chickpea that needs more cooking.
It's interesting that you offer the definition of a Muslim as peacemaker because so often images of Muslims in popular culture today are tied to violence. At least that's what's making headlines. What do you think about that?
There was a time when the Ku Klux Klan was very strong in America, but we would never say that the Ku Klux Klan represented Christianity even though they were burning crosses. Similarly, the extremists who are taking Islam and deciding to practice this kind of violence to express their views in the world do not represent the mainstream. And anyone who studies the life of the prophets and looks at Mohammed's life knows it's far removed from that of terrorism or suicide bombing. The Koran specifically talks about not killing women and children in warfare or destroying property or the environment. The main prayer, Fatiha, in the first chapter of the Koran, essentially says, "Guide us to the balanced path, not on the path of anger." It makes me tremendously sad to see that kind of anger.
What gives you hope for change?
On a very primal level, I believe that all human beings want the same things. Most of us care about our children and the earth itself, and we would prefer to live a more peaceful life than one that's filled with war and terrible acts of violence.
On another note, I'm very hopeful when I see Oprah doing this show on the "New Earth" and sharing these writings of Eckart Tolle. What's he's offering are universal mystical teachings stripped of all garments of religion, even though he touches on some Christian ideas. They are Sufi ideas, too. I think it's very hopeful that millions of people are participating in this and meditating together, from all walks of life.
The International Sufism Symposium takes place on Friday through Sunday, April 25-27, at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel in San Rafael. A demonstration of the Whirling Dervish "Wedding Night" ceremony will occur on Friday, April 25, at Dominican University's Angelico Hall. Admission is $30. Information: (415) 472-6959 or http://www.sufismsymposium.org/
[Picture: Shakina Reinhertz. Photo by Hadi Reinhertz].
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