Two Zhikrs
©2020 R
Hodges
In
the early 70’s the “Whirling Dervishes” gave a performance at Zellerbach Hall, UC Berkeley. I found out about it
accidentally and bought a ticket. When I got there I
was surprised to see many senior people from the Gurdjieff Foundation,
including our teacher Lord Pentland. As a fairly recent
student of Gurdjieff, the leaders had not invited me.
There
was a short verbal introduction. The audience was told this was not a
“performance” but actually a serious religious ritual
of the Mevlevi Sufi order, commonly known as Whirling Dervishes because of the
whirling they do in their ritual dance, which is meant to help them receive and
transmit higher energies. The ritual was one form of “Zhikr”,
which means in Arabic “remembrance”, i.e. remembrance of God. The audience was
asked to express their respect by not applauding at the end of the ritual.
The
ritual started with some incantations. Then music started up—oriental rhythms
on frame drum accompanied by nay flute and singing. It went on quite some time.
Then the dervishes stood up and removed their outer brown garments revealing
flowing white robes. I don’t remember the exact sequence but eventually they
formed a circle and each began turning in place,
keeping the left foot more or less in place with the right foot stepping around
it, so that the body “whirled” counterclockwise. Then The individual whirling
dervishes processed counterclockwise like planets moving around a sun,
represented by a senior dervish, the “Sheikh”, who moved around in the interior
of the circle. Sometimes they would all stop turning and gathered in small
groups of two and three leaning against each other, as if for support. The
whole thing touched me immensely.
After
the ritual came to an end, I overheard some of the Gurdjieff people I knew
speaking quietly about getting together with the dervishes at the home of a
person I knew very well, a good friend and university colleague. I went to him
and asked if I could come to the get-together. He seemed horrified at the
suggestion and said very sharply “No!” I was mortified, but I understood that I
had exceeded my place by asking such a thing.
Two
days later the same dervishes were to give a similar performance in San
Francisco. Again, I bought a ticket. The hall was larger. There were no other
Gurdjieff people in the audience. The ritual did not have quite the spiritual
depth I had experienced at Zellerbach. Nevertheless it was very interesting.
I
decided to try on my own to make contact with the
dervishes. I went backstage but found myself too shy to actually
approach one of them. This shyness was quite unusual for me. After half
an hour I was just about to give up and leave when one of them approached me
and said in heavily accented English “come with me”. I followed him to a
waiting van filled with others. We drove to a nearby hotel. Encouraged by gestures
of invitation I followed them to a large hotel suite. There were probably 30 or
40 men in the room. One of them spoke fairly good
English. He engaged me in a conversation.
I
said I was interested in their music, especially the rhythmic drumming. I was
at the time practicing the piano music composed to accompany Gurdjieff’s Sacred
Dances. The dervish who spoke English handed me a drum and asked me to play. I
beat out a simple rhythm but was aware of how lacking it was in inner
sensation, compared to the way they had played. He laughed gently and shook his
head saying something like “your rhythm seems different from ours.”
I
asked questions and was told several things about the group. They were
performing the famous whirling Zhikr of the Mevlevi dervishes, the order
founded by Rumi. They had been given permission to do this on tour even though
they were not actually Mevlevi themselves but belonged to several different
orders. There were several men in their young teens—I asked if they were
dervishes too. I was told there was a custom that a child might sometimes be
given to a dervish order to raise, such children would eventually become full
members and stay within the order their whole live. A number of these dervishes
had been such children.
At
a certain moment the men cleared furniture from the center of the room. I had
no idea what was going on but tried to follow along. A little ritual of
pretending to wash one’s face and hands with imaginary water was performed,
which I imitated. Later I learned that washing is an important ritual before
entering a mosque for prayer; there is always a fountain in the mosque
courtyard for this purpose. Also there were some
simple bowing and prostrations and prayers. I did my best to mumble along.
Then
the men formed a circle and held hands I joined in. We began to sway
rhythmically, chanting “La ilaha il’alllah,”
which I happened to know is a Muslim confession of faith meaning “There is no
god other than Allah” (or perhaps “there are no gods, only the One”). A drummer
and a nay flutist played a most charming counterpoint accompaniment. The main
Sheikh moved around inside the circle, sometime stopping in front of a dervish
and looking at him very seriously, perhaps saying a word or two. When he did
this for me I felt something very strong, but of
course did not understand anything with my mind.
The
chant and the swaying became gradually faster and faster. At a certain point
the chant became simply “Allah…Allah…Allah”. Everyone’s breathing synchronized
with the quite rapid chant and movement. It took a very strong physical effort
to keep up, a joyful effort.
I
lost all sense of time. It became quite late, maybe 3 in the morning. On
some signal everything stopped. We remained standing in the circle with bowed
heads, in a sublime silence. This lasted several minutes. Finally
the spell was broken, men began talking quietly, embracing, smiling. I felt
something I never previously or since experienced—total brotherly love, a
communion those with whom I had shared something very special. A real Zhikr.
I
have to confess to later feeling that I had gotten
rather the better of the senior Gurdjieff people who gathered at my friend's
house. Discreet inquiries gave me the impression that in fact nothing very
special had happened there, it was just a friendly sort of party, with
questions and answers. No drinks of course, Muslims do not drink alcohol.
Years
later someone told me that he had met one of the dervishes who had been at the Zhikr. He remembered me and said
“we thought he was some kind of dervish”.