Another post on the Sema:

Here's a note from the hayatidede site:

-- "As planets and stars circle the sun, the dervishes turn counterclockwise, both around themselves and around the halka (circle). They turn first with crossed arms; then, taking flight, they open their arms, holding the right hand up and the left hand down, becoming transparent vessels for bringing divine blessings to earth. Pervading the space is 'Zikr', the holy name Allah, invoked by everyone. Turning becomes a travel through the universe before God, the spiritual sun of the worlds. The semazens first turn to dissolve their doubts into belief in God's unifying presence. Then, belief deepens, becoming faith, and the semazens scale the heights, to the abode of absolute existence, of Unity. With God's grace, it is here that everyone drinks deeply from the same source of life and love that united Mevlana and Shams hundreds of years ago. The eternal bridge they became, as teacher and student, lover and beloved, still beckons the spiritual traveler who is willing to risk all in its precarious course. Finally, the semazens return to stillness. Surah al Fatiha, the opening chapter of Quran, is recited. In unison, the dervishes kiss the floor, and invoke the blessings of God. "As-Salaamu aleikhum" ("God's Peace be with you") echoes through the space. The dervishes intone together the sacred name of God, "Hu", and bow together once again before leaving the sema hall." --

Our experience: Friends who attended (gratefully, there were several) said that the gravity of the ceremony did not hit them until the last semazens left the hall. Only then did the depth of the silence impact them. Other comments included who turned the most gracefully, who almost fell, etc. One friend, very graciously, described my turning as the opening and closing of a flower - that because as I wearied of having my arms above my head, I would relax them and turn in silence for some time - before blossoming again before the shaikh.

What actually happened on the 7th was an initiation ceremony to the sufi order. I was able to photograph the tenderest moments, when Jelaluddin worked with the semazens to ensure that their eliflamend/belt was secured properly and each skirt was pleated to allow for the smoothest turn. Standing with the other women semazens as Jelaluddin watched each of us turn and followed with slight changes was touching and I made sure each female semazen received a photo of themself with Jelaluddin. There was some sweetness in Jelaluddin's gesture that set the tone for the entire ceremony.

As we assembled for the initiation, the men joined us in our dressing room. There is a part of the ceremony that involves kissing the hand of each semazen, as they kiss yours. I fell into acres of calm as I looked into the eyes of each of the semazens as they welcomed me to their order.

Organizing ourselves for the ritual, just before we went into the hall, I felt filled with conflicting feelings. Jason and I, being among the new initiates, were standing next to each other. He was engulfed in the experience, had gone much deeper, it seemed to me, than I would go. I felt the solid ground of previous ritual, the commitment I am able to muster from familiarity, not of this particular form, but of form itself. I was nervous and proud.

We walked out onto the floor of the semahane hall and I was swallowed whole. The ceremony became an ocean. I was tossed and righted in equal measure. I felt relieved that I had practiced and unable to control my feet or arms. Semazens swirled by me in seemingly effortless grace as I expended all energy. I felt every bit of my ego rebel. And I kept going.

We walked together, bowed to each other, began and concluded the Sultan Valed walk. We began the first salaam and I rode the torrents. At the conclusion of the first salaam, we assembled ourselves at the perimeter of the room. I was joined by Hafiz, who turns with great beauty and who is perhaps the most solemnly graceful man I've met. Hafiz had been turning with Barucha in the center of the circle and leaned against me as we bowed and waited for permission to turn again. We trembled together with the effort of the turn. His trembling brought me back to myself. The effort of the turn is always evident within, always has an impact. I was utterly comforted by this small epiphany.

I turned in the center with Asha for the second salaam. Asha was leaving for Thailand, in the week following the ceremony, to visit her son and his family - to do workshops with women in the mountain villages.

The third salaam took me to the limit of my remaining energy. I wobbled and righted myself without cessation. In each salaam, we have the opportunity to excuse ourselves, to leave if we cannot continue. This was the salaam that brought me closest to that decision. I had it in my mind that I would surrender, when an urgent feeling rose within me. ONE MORE SALAAM TO GO!!! Just one, only one, the last salaam. As we made our way to the edge of the circle to wait for permission to turn the final salaam, I stayed right where I was.

The semazens finished the final salaam in almost complete silence. We do not trun around the circle, as in each of the previous salaams. In the fourth salaam, we turn in place. For every other salaam, there is the moment when we pass the shaikh - at each passing, Jelaluddin is audibly praying - I felt that he was singing for me, singing for all of us as we worked this prayer. The feeling I got from this passing song was one of such generosity. In the fourth salaam, Jelaluddin joins us in the circle, opening his heart in this sacred space.

The turning continued, nothing else existed. Turning went on until we saw Jelaluddin return to his place, opposite the musicians. He gave one final prayer to us, the semazens and to the musicians, then strode out of the hall, our signal to follow him. In the backstage area, we formed two lines to embrace and kiss each other's hands. The male semazens followed each other to their dressing room and I walked with the women back to our dressing room.

A semazen from the caravan to San Francisco had asked, before the ceremony, if I would photograph her in her entire costume. As I made my way back to my camera, in front of Barucha (a Sheikha for our order) I giddily asked "Now! Who wants their picture taken?" Barucha grabbed my arm and motioned for me to be silent. I looked around and saw that no one in the room was on the surface - everyone was deep within themself. We retreated to the couches and complete silence descended.

In time, a few of the women began to change into their street clothes. I found the caravan semazen and we took turns photographing each other, all sweet red faces and smiles for days.

I walked out into the hall and talked for some time to our friends who travelled to Seattle from Portland to join us - looked for other of our friends who had left and tried talking to Dan, but felt a bit incoherent. Jason and I found each other and finished the small tasks we had remaining and went home. There was a reception for semazens that capped off the evening. It contrasted strongly with the bright lights and public nature of the Sema ceremony. The lights in the reception hall were dim, the musicians played for themselves, poetry was comical and filled with life - all of the things that made the night beautiful roamed and erupted in the bodies of the semazens and their friends. We stopped for a while, I got to hear my favorite poem - the one about the chickpea and the cook:

CHICKPEA TO COOK

A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it’s being boiled.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

The cook knocks him down with the ladle.

“Don’t you try to jump out.
You think I’m torturing you.
I’m giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.

Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this.”

Grace first. Sexual pleasure,
then a boiling new life begins,
and the Friend has something good to eat.

Eventually the chickpea
will say to the cook,
“Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can’t do this by myself.

I’m like an elephant that dreams of gardens
back in Hindustan and doesn’t pay attention
to his driver. You’re my cook, my driver,
my way into existence. I love your cooking.”

The cook says,
“ I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.

My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices.
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher.”

- then we went home.

Our friends from Portland were waiting for us. We brought another - visiting from Hawaii. The conversation was steady and beautiful, I think we stayed up 'til three.

It felt like everything was beautiful because we gave and kept giving. It felt like the structure of the thing was stable and secure. I felt the layers of my spiritual self sifting this new knowledge and knew that understanding would be a long time coming. I still believe that. I'm so grateful for the new-to-me dignity and calm, so enchanted with the lovers poetry and drunken humor. I'm mystified by the transmission via Islam. These are new roots for me, folks.

I'm also eternally grateful for my existing spiritual practice. Working with women to determine my connection to myself is a neverending process. The people who I share my spiritual practice with get me all teary eyed - they are so wonderful and human and full of all the things that I thirst for. Without the work I've done for the last 15 or so years, the work I'm doing now would not be possible.

I've wanted to write about this - haven't been sure where this tale should land. Here it is though.

Happy New Year

Jung's Memories, Dreams, Reflections biography has been a great read over the holidays. I've dog-eared pages where Jung refers to other books for future research. Previous discussions of Jung with friends have centered around his willingness to explore parapsychology, astrology and the like - in order to determine the nature of the psyche. When a friend mentioned that he was involved in the creation of Alcoholics Anonymous, I was honestly surprised. I found a letter he sent to Bill W. on the web - interesting stuff. click here to view the letter. click here for an editorial on reading Jung.

In one of the passages, Jung describes the house he built for himself in Bollingen, a stone tower without electricity, running water or heat. I wonder what it would take for me to live with less? Jung states that he came into his own in Bollingen, that the simplicity of life was part of that. As I review the commitments I'd like to make to myself this year, I'm looking at the material things I've carried with me, things once full of potential that I can now let go.

Our home is quiet now, our guests left last night. Jason's parents and brother enjoyed their stay and we enjoyed having them. We took them to the Experience Music Project, the Seattle Art Museum, went to see The Rabbit Proof Fence, played pool and relaxed together. At home, piles of books and music kept everyone occupied when conversation lulled. I don't think they missed the tv. Well, I did hear comments about missed football games, but the pool hall had Sunday's games running, so that should've taken care of that.

One of the perks of having my Mother-in-law in town is that she provided moral support as I tried for the sixth or seventh time to remove stains from my Sema gown (tennure). My good friend Lee made Sema costumes for both Jason and myself. She did an amazing job in a very short amount of time. She volunteered at the ceremony and afterward recommended that I come over for an evening of alterations that would improve the look of the costumes for next year. So I washed our black capes (Hirkas) and the rest of the costumes together and discovered that the black belts (the elif-lam-end) had stained both my tennure and our short jackets (deste-guls). After several failed attempts, I let Lee know that the tennures were stained and I was out of ideas. She ended up testing the remaining scraps of fabric she had with bleach and discovered that they didn't yellow as she had feared. I loaded the costumes into the washer one last time and was pleased to see that only the faintest staining remained at the hem of the skirt.
click here to read about Sema ceremony, especially the music.
click here to see the Sema costumes in action.

New Years' Eve approaches and this looks like a quiet one. Dan called tonight with an invite to a party and I've heard of several others, including one in Virginia that looks promising - but I figure this is my only chance to chill, so I'm taking it.

click here for a bit of holiday interactive cheer.

There are untold quantities of cleaning to be done, pre-inlaw arrival. Although the quantity is on the shocking side, it's really not too much for the time we've got. Went over our schedule last night. I had to lay down to get through it. There is a part of me that wants only to be left to my own devices. We got through today and pieces of tomorrow, but there's lot's more that'll take shape as we move through the week. The highlights are that we are largely done with parties and that time at home is a feature for the week. Got to paint some last night. Would like that to figure prominently into this week.

This is the 1st day off. I'm at home and rested. I have overworked myself, I can tell because now that the pressure is off, I'm trying to get sick. I've taken vitamins and will drink lots of water. The recent trips to the dentist (and the bars) have left me feeling a bit raw.

On a friendish note: Dan wishes us a Merry Christmas (click on News in the Nav along the bottom of the page) and Pam's safe and sound in Austria.

Just got back from the bars in Ballard. I bailed on Dan and Jason when I had too much to drink. It's a habit, especially so after dental surgery. I wanted them to take a picture of me today - the dentists - they wouldn't of course, but I was a sight for sore eyes. All paralyzed on one side of my face and smiley on the other. I looked like I had a stroke, or tragic botox treatment - that's what novocaine will do to you in large quantities. Nevertheless, I could not convince them to document the experience, so no pic.

Brain... not functioning... must... finish... holiday obligations... or...

Fought this morning - don't want to keep shopping, finish getting addresses. There is no end in sight.

Do I feel like being with scads of folk? I believe I made that clear in previous posts... I do not. Don't get me wrong, my feelings of love for this here planet are still bubbling and popping as usual. The people on this planet, likewise receive dewy and tender feelings of love - admittedly from a distance, but I'm getting to the "Oops, I'm no fun" part of the holidays, so distance is not a negative factor in this case.

Regale you with stories of spiritual transflorescence, I'd love to. Recent events certainly warrant it. But my linguistic skills are subpar for such an endeavor. I cannot share. sigh.

Just finished putting away the last of the chaos from today's adventure. Our basement flooded last night, just before we headed out to Nick's surprise birthday party. The party was great. We got home relatively early and went to sleep. We decided to cancel all of Sunday's plans to spend time fixing the basement.

Which we did, we fixed the basement. Everything that was on the ground, but not soaked, is now in some kind of plastic container - the floors have been wetvac'd, then mopped. The whole downstairs smells like some very clean vacation paradise. an Arctic vacation paradise, I think. We were able to get some laundry done too. Mountains of laundry remain to be explored, but at least we've scoped out a map. Maybe weeks from now, all of our laundry will be done.

Jason's parents are coming out for a visit after Christmas. As bad as the flooded basement was (keep in mind that it's still raining - threat of flooding isn't over) that's the happy face I'm putting on - that we've managed to totally clean out the basement well before their arrival.

Halloween flick update: Miraculously, many children have phoned in their pumpkin stories, as we had asked. We recorded them all onto cassette and have .wav versions to boot. Very fancy, indeed. We will be forever grateful to the extremely helpful adults who encouraged the children who made it all possible. All of these messages. Possible. They're very good.

Also, we shot another pumpkin scene, with maybe one or two more scenes left to go. And Dan video'd the sema ceremony, which was really a big deal. So that's all good.

Managed to fish around on storage cd's last night, resulting in the recovery of the "origami at night" image below (1/28/01) and some others from early last year. There are more, but with stories attached, so I'll wait for time to provide context.

We're in full on holiday mode. Cards today, gifts too. Every moment of this weekend sketched out. I'd rather be silent. I'd rather not be around tons of other people. So it's all about the strategy, y'all. Some of it will be fun, copying photos for Jason's Uncle & family - looking at cards we're sending, figuring out what I want to say to these card folks. But, no matter how modest we are in our decisions to share gifts, our consumer experience is harrowing - sometimes involving malls. Me, I go in like a lion and come out on a stretcher.

origami at night

weird:

We've had a homeless, young, Armenian man living in our backyard and our neighbor's basement for some days now. Discovered that this Sunday. Last night, our neighbor moved the homeless youth's suitcases and bike out of our backyard shrubbery. This with much rustling of property and several police officers' assistance.

-------------------------------------------------

Coincidentally: I answered a 30 minute survey on how safe I feel in my neighborhood - including details like how much I make, whether or not my home has special locks or a burglar alarm, how often the house was left unattended on a daily/weekly basis, etc. After the call ended, It took a while for the slow heat of alarm to race from my toes upwards. I realized that I'd just been cased and figured that soon enough, I'd come home to a violently emptied and disheveled home. The following email exchange is with the professor who is listed as the principal investigator for the study questions I answered last night:

----------------------------------------
On Tue, 10 Dec 2002, Lillian wrote:

> Dear Dr. Matsueda,
>
> Last night I received a call from the Social and Behavioral Research
> Institute, following a letter signed by you, asking me to participate
> in a research survey about violence in Seattle neighborhoods. Because
> the questions I answered provided details about how I maintain the
> safety of my home, I wanted to make sure (granted, it's after the
> fact) that this survey is legitmate.
>
> Could you please respond and let me know if the survey is one that you
> are involved in as a principal investigator?
>
> Regards,
>
> Lillian

----------

From: R. Matsueda
Sent: Tuesday, December 10, 2002 9:53 AM
To: Lillian
Dear Lillian,

Thank you very much for your email and for participating in our study.
Yes, I am the P.I. on the project, which is funded by the National Science Foundation and the National Consortium for Violence Research.
The project is entirely legitimate, and your responses will be kept entirely confidential.

Your views and the views of other Seattle residents are very important for the scientific goals of the project. Thank you again for helping us out.

If you have any other questions, please feel free to contact me.

Best Regards,
Ross

*********************************************************************
R. L. Matsueda
Professor of Sociology
University of Washington
*********************************************************************


*I'll finish here by writing that I've never lived in a safer neighborhood than I do now. It's quiet, there's a playfield across the street that, when one sits on the floor in front of our living room window, makes it look as though we live in a meadow surrounded by evergreens. Our neighbors are mostly retired and very calm. I've relaxed in this home moreso than in most, marvelling at that all the while. The incidents above feel like a reminder of why I chose, for decades, to live in racially diverse, low-income neighborhoods. I have felt that losing touch with the problems that other people put up with every day would be a mistake. Maybe the above incidents are better characterized as a "wake up call". Either way, it's lots to think about.

Answer please: What would you do if a homeless person moved into your yard...?

description: Silence rolls in like fog, like waves in a tsunami.
heard frequently: if it all ends tomorrow, I've had a good run