Fwd: [Ruminations] A Meeting with Dervishes (excerpt)

[Guest guest]

> " Antolak " <antolak

>A Meeting with Dervishes (excerpt)

>

>

> " We started back [the monk and I]. The terribly hot and dusty road made

>the abbé tired. We stopped at a little monastery occupied by dervishes who

>danced every Friday. The arched doorway was green and had an open hand of

>bronze - Mohammed's sacred symbol - on the lintel. We entered the

>immaculate courtyard. It was paved with large white pebbles; there were

>flowerpots and creepers all around the edges, and in the centre a huge

>fruit-laden laurel. We stopped beneath its shade to catch our breath. One

>of the dervishes saw us from his cell. Approaching, he greeted us by

>placing his hand over his breast, lips and forehead. He was wearing a long

>blue robe and a tall kulah of white wool. His beard was pitch black and

>pointed; a silver earring hung from his right ear. He clapped his hands, A

>chubby barefoot boy came and brought us some stools. We sat down. The

>dervish chatted about the flowers we saw around us, then about the sea,

>which we observed sparkling between the laurel's lanceolate leaves.

>Finally he began to speak about dancing.

> " If a man cannot dance, he cannot pray. Angels have mouths but lack the

>power of speech. They speak to God by dancing " .

> " Father, what name do you give God? " asked the abbé.

> " God does not have a name " , the dervish replied. " He is too big to fit

>inside names. A name is a prison, God is free " .

> " But in case you should want to call him, " the abbé persisted, " when there

>is need, what name will you use? "

>The dervish lowered his head and thought. Finally he parted his lips:

> " Ah! - that is what I shall call Him. Not Allah, but 'Ah!' "

>This troubled the abbé. " He's right, " he murmured..

>The chubby little dervish boy appeared again, this time with a tray

>containing coffee, cold water, and two large bunches of grapes. A pair of

>doves flirted and cooed on the roof above us...When we fell silent for a

>moment, the monasterial air filled with amorous sighs. I turned to the

>abbé. He was gazing upwards at the doves and the sky beyond them, his eyes

>brimming with tears.

>He felt that I was watching him.

> " The world is beautiful. " he said with a smile. " yes, it is beautiful in

>the lands of the sun - wherever you find blue skies, and doves, and

>grapes. And a laurel above you. "

>He was eating his grapes one by one in perfect contentment. You could

>sense that he hoped this moment would never end.

> " Even if I was certain I was going to heaven, " he said, " I would pray to

>God to let me go by the longest possible route. "

>So happy did we feel in the courtyard of the Mohammedan monastery, that we

>could not bear to leave.

>Other dervishes emerged from the surrounding cells. The younger ones had

>pale faces and fiery eyes; they seemed in desperate pursuit of God. The

>old ones, who must have found God, were red-cheeked, their eyes filled

>with light. They squatted around us. Some unhooked chaplets from their

>leather belts and started to tell their beads tranquilly, gazing in

>curiosity at the Christian monk. Others brought out their long chibouks,

>half-closed their eyes, and began contentedly, silently, to smoke.

> " What joy this is, " whispered the abbé. " How brightly the Lord's face

>shines here too, behind all these faces! "

>He touched my shoulder in an imploring way.

> " Please, the dervishes are a religious order. Ask them what their rule is. "

>The oldest of the group, a man with a long white beard, laid his chibouk

>on his knee.

> " Poverty, " he answered. " Poverty. To own nothing, be weighted down by

>nothing, to journey to God along a flowering pathway. Laughter, the dance,

>and joy are the three archangels who take us by the hand and lead us. "

>The abbé turned to me again. " Ask them how they make themselves ready to

>appear before God. Is it by fasting? "

> " No. No. " answered the young dervish with a laugh. " We eat, drink, and

>bless the Lord for giving food and drink to man. "

> " Well then, how? " insisted the abbé.

> " By dancing, " replied the oldest dervish, the one with the long white beard.

> " Dancing? " said the abbé. " Why? "

> " Because dancing kills the ego, and once the ego has been killed, there is

>no further obstacle to prevent you from joining with God. "

>The abbe's eyes sparkled.

> " The order of Saint Francis! " he exclaimed, squeezing the old dervish's

>hand. " That's just what Saint Francis did: he danced his way across the

>earth and mounted to heaven. He used to say, 'What are we but God's

>buffoons, born to soothe and delight the hearts of men.' So, my young

>friend, once more you see - always, the same never-changing God. "

> " But in that case, " I dared to object, " why do missionaries go to the four

>corners of the world and try to make the natives renounce the mask of God

>which suits them, in order to put on a foreign mask - ours - in its place? "

>The abbé rose.

> " I find it very difficult to answer that question, " he said. " If, God

>willing, you should come to Paris to complete your studies, call at my house. "

>He smiled cunningly.

> " Perhaps by then I shall have found the answer. "

>We said goodbye to the dervishes. They escorted us to the outer door with

>smiles and bows, once again touching their hands to breast, mouth, and

>forehead.

>On the threshold the abbé said to me, " Tell them, please, that we all

>worship the same God. Tell them I am a dervish in a black robe. " "

> (Nikos Kazantzakis. Report to Greco. Faber and

> Faber. 1965)

 

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With Love,

Cyber Dervish

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