Category Archives: Blog

Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you’re perfectly free.

–Rumi

Many thanks to Huffington Post for publishing my new piece “On Wheels and Whirling”–about wheelchairs and Sufi whirling.

Whirl on, world, whirl on!

I was happy to hear tonight from the founders of the Yeredon Centre pour les Arts Maliens–a creative oasis in Bamako–that despite all the turmoil over the past year, dance classes are still ongoing–and about 20 young Malians have been rehearsing for several weeks to stage Djamena Baba, a ballet set in the years around the death of the founder of the Ségou empire, Bitòn Coulibaly, whose grave can still be seen in Ségou today.

If you want to visit Mali, please think about staying at Yeredon, which has guest rooms for foreigners who want to learn about Malian culture, music and dance. Staying there will make your trip much more than just a vacation–it will be a true, artistic adventure.

Anubis always knows how to enjoy a week-end afternoon–by finding a sweet spot of shade under his favorite palm, and smiling (ok, panting) while watching the world go by…

On Friday, July 5th, 2013 my friend Oki (Antonius Wiriadjaja) was the random victim of a drive-by shooting near his home in New York City. When we all got the news–we could not believe it. And still can’t. Our dear friend–shot in cold blood–by a stranger on his way home.

Oki just barely survived, and he’s still in the hospital recovering. We’re all giving thanks that we still have him here with us–because a world without Oki would not be ok–he is truly one of the most kind, creative, talented and generous souls that we know.

Please check out this online fundraiser to help him and his family take care of the financial piece, as he focuses on putting back together the rest.

Thank you for helping if you can–and whether or not you are able make a donation, please help spread the word about this fundraiser so that we can all help Oki finally be ok…

“We come spinning out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust.” — Rumi

No, that’s not a flying carpet–though I tried taking flight from it last night, as I whirled on stage in Beirut. Even though it’s nearly impossible to whirl on a carpet–not to mention in the dark–I was honored to join talented singers and musicians for a lovely Ramadan concert in Beirut.

“Whirling is like the sun, moon, stars, galaxies and world all turning around themselves–everything in this universe is whirling–everything revolves,” a Turkish sheikh once said to me–on my 40-day whirling retreat in Istanbul.

He spoke of the motion of electrons, protons, and neutrons.

The revolution of particles, of blood through the veins, and the return of a soul to its source after death.

But the difference in the whirling of the dervishes, he explained, is that whirling is a conscious attempt to be in harmony with all things in nature.

Under his watchful gaze, I learned that whirling is much more than just dancing…and to be whirling here in Beirut–with a fantastic crew–is truly inspiring, and a dream come true…

Do not look at my outward shape, but take what is in my hand. — Rumi

In Beirut–and all over the world–each day of Ramadan is a chance to help the most needy. I’ve been truly touched and inspired by the hard work of all the volunteers with whom I’ve served Ramadan dinners this week–volunteers young and old, Christian and Muslim, from organizations such as the Lebanese Red Cross, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, and GAM3.

I was especially happy to learn about the work of GAM3. GAM3’s mission is to “make urban sports and cultural activities available to everyone in order to empower youth and prevent conflict and marginalization.” I was very grateful for the opportunity to serve meals with the young coaches of these inner-city basketball teams–which are composed of more than 3500 young people. Since Beirut is the capital of street basketball in the Middle East, GAM3 hosts regular events like the “Play In Her Shoes Street-Basketball Tournament”–which was created in order to empower girls and young women.

Below are some pictures from the iftars–along with a poem of Rumi’s about a chickpea…enjoy!

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.’

–Rumi (translation by Coleman Barks)

Just walked in the door from serving up hundreds of more Ramadan meals (it never ends!) with a dedicated team of Christians, Muslims, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts–you name it–to find that Huffington Post just published my new article “Treasure Hunting in Turkmenistan”–which is about my archaeological work in Turkmenistan this summer. Hope it transports you to the Silk Road–even if just for a moment!

That broken-open lowliness is the reality,
not the language! Forget phraseology.
I want burning, burning!
Be friends with your burning.
Burn up your thinking,
and your forms of expression!

–Rumi

Last night, after our team served hundreds of meals to the poor, we were treated to quite a show by two very talented Lebanese performers, who lit the night on fire–literally. Parents, children, volunteers–we all found ourselves skipping behind them, like an old time carnival, as they breathed fire like dragons in the parking lot, performed acrobatic feats on the stage, and danced back to the streets to call it a night–with the puppets! The giant puppets!

Because serving the poor doesn’t have to be a somber affair–it can be fun, for everyone.  So bring on the puppets!  And the fire-breathers, magicians, and whirling dervishes!  Why not light the night on fire every night–with love and compassion for the most needy among us?  Because that’s what Ramadan is all about–a month of cultivating compassion for the poor through fasting, and reaching out to the most vulnerable in the community by serving food.

This evening, when I returned home from serving dinner to hundreds of Syrian refugees (an incredible experience), I remembered this Rumi poem about burning…and felt like sharing it…

My Burning Heart

My heart is burning with love
All can see this flame
My heart is pulsing with passion
like waves on an ocean.
My friends have become strangers,
and I’m surrounded by enemies.
But I’m free as the wind–
no longer hurt by those who reproach me.
I’m at home wherever I am,
And in the room of lovers
I can see with closed eyes
the beauty that dances
behind the veils,
intoxicated with love.
I too dance the rhythm
of this moving world.
I have lost my senses
in my world of lovers.

–Rumi

Last night in Beirut, I joined a team of dedicated volunteers to serve 300 dinners for a Ramadan iftar. At this particular iftar, ninety-percent of the families served each night for the whole month of Ramadan come from poor neighborhoods–every night, everyone from millionaires to the most needy are invited to join in this generous and festive feast. Dinner was followed by–what else?–giant puppets and fire-breathers, oh my!

Instead of wearing a hair-net (it was a smooth operation), I brought along a hat I bought in Turkmenistan, when I was excavating Islamic archaeology earlier this summer on the Silk Road. This hat prompted one woman to ask if I was Indonesian (it does look like batik)!

I’m really looking forward to serving more meals each night–including at an iftar later this week just for orphans and refugees. Stay tuned for more details on all the generosity and charity being offered nightly here in Beirut…

Anubis’ favorite new place to hang out–is my backpack. Every day when I’m getting ready to head out, he jumps in my backpack to come along for the ride.

Luckily, a number of cafes in Beirut are welcoming to dogs–and at Da Prague Cafe, he even gets to cuddle up on the couch (below). Because of a recent slow down in business (due to a new smoking ban and a sharp decline in tourism), Da Prague was scheduled to close its doors last month. But after a sit-in and demonstration by the restaurant’s employees and loyal customers, they’ve decided to stay open and see how it goes. So if/when you come to Beirut, be sure to czech out Da Prague–and maybe you’ll even run into Anubis on the couch…

I can barely keep up with Anubis and his fans these days–even here in Beirut–where a new admirer enjoyed a snuggle with him when we were out on the town today.

“You know, until this year, I had a horrible fear of dogs and wouldn’t even touch them–but I’ve been working on it, and now I love them–and my dream is to one day be responsible enough to have my own dog,” he said.

From the looks of it, he already has all the love he’ll need to have a furry little critter of his own some day soon at home…

Tonight, Anubis and I went with a friend to a fundraiser for BETA: Beirut for the Ethical Treatment of Animals–a 3-day event to help raise funds for animals in need.

BETA is a Lebanese NGO dedicated to improving the lives of animals in the region by rescuing and rehabilitating abandoned and abused animals–and finding them loving and permanent homes. In addition, BETA uses the tools of education and direct action to prevent animal overpopulation and cultivate compassion for our furry friends in Lebanon.

At the Whiskey Bar tonight in Beirut, BETA was stocked with t-shirts, bracelets, pet beds, dog toys and beach bags to raise desperately needed funds. Anubis and I were happy to do our part by buying t-shirts for both of us. Anubis put his on right away to show his appreciation, and to spread the word about all of BETA’s good work.

To make a donation to BETA online, please click here–and stay tuned for future events of this important organization.

I’m happy to share my new Op-Ed on Afghanistan in the Huffington Post–which discusses my time living with a kind family in Afghanistan, while trying to do my small part in promoting peace. I have written a chapter about this extraordinary and unique experience in my upcoming memoir to give a glimpse into daily life in Afghanistan and Sufi shrine visitation–as well as my own personal feelings about being there during a time of war…

Below are some photographs I snapped along the way in Afghanistan–where I was extremely fortunate to be treated to the best of Afghan hospitality (it is legendary for a reason)–not only by my host family, but also by many people I encountered on the road and at Sufi shrines…

The picture above shows the simple but delicious breakfast we ate each morning, and below is a picture of one of our dinners–when the lights went out, as they do every night…

In the Huffington Post piece, I also mention visiting the home of Rumi’s father in Balkh. While Rumi may be one of the best-selling poets in America, he is not often put in his proper context as a war refugee, writing in exile from his home.

When he was just a child, Rumi’s family was forced to leave Afghanistan, due to the destructive onslaught of the Mongols. As a result, he spent his teen-age years wandering as a refugee with his family–until they settled in Konya, where he is buried today. Since Rumi himself knew first-hand the tragedy and terror of war, it was particularly poignant to see Rumi’s image posted all around Mazar-i Sharif and Balkh.

Lauded as a poet of peace, it is easy to forget that Rumi’s embrace of transcendence was shaped under the dark clouds of war–rolling in from both the east and the west.

If I die in this war, this combat with you,
I won’t so much as sigh, for fear of troubling you.
I’ll die with a smile, like a flower in your hand,
From the cruel charm with which you cut this wound.

— Rumi

In the HuffPo piece, I also mention Rabia Balkhi, who is considered the first recorded woman in history to write poetry in Persian. In Balkh, I had the opportunity to visit her shrine–where many young couples go for a blessing, and I was delighted and surprised to find her portrait etched right near Rumi’s (above) on the road leading into Mazar-i Sharif.

Her last poem, it is said, was written in her own blood, while she was imprisoned by her brothers because of her love for a Turkish slave–a love for which she would pay the ultimate price. The Rabia Balkhi Institute of Higher Education and Rabia Balkhi Women’s Hospital in Kabul pays tribute to her in their names.

Love

I am caught in Love’s web so deceitful
None of my endeavors turn fruitful.
I knew not when I rode the high-blooded stead
The harder I pulled its reins the less it would heed.
Love is an ocean with such a vast space
No wise man can swim it in any place.
A true lover should be faithful till the end
And face life’s reprobated trend.
When you see things hideous, fancy them neat,
Eat poison, but taste sugar sweet.

— Rabia Balkhi

I’m looking forward to sharing more photographs–particularly of some Afghan children I met along the way–in an upcoming post…

Anubis is feeling like a million bucks today because he was able to share the account of his meeting with the Dalai Lama on Huffington Post. He’s grateful for all the good vibes–and is currently begging for a Mediterranean stroll–so that’s all for now! Peace!