Emily O'Dell whirling on her roof in Harlem
Today I was invited to whirl for a Ramadan dhikr/zikr (meditation) in Beirut at a lovely and intimate gathering of open hearts. Having received other Ramadan requests to whirl here in Beirut, the time has come to dust off my whirling shoes and re-build my tolerance for dizziness (thankfully there are tricks to help with that)…
As I was whirling today–to the accompaniment of spirited Sufi singing and the ecstatic beats of the daff–I remembered a poem of Rumi’s on fasting (which seems perfect for this month of Ramadan):
Emily O'Dell
Let nothing be inside of you.
Be empty: give your lips to the lips of the reed.
When like a reed you fill with His breath,
then you’ll taste sweetness.
Sweetness is hidden in the Breath
that fills the reed.
Be like Mary, by that sweet breath
A child grew within her.
There’s a hidden sweetness
in the stomach’s emptiness.
We are all lutes, no more, no less.
If the soundbox is stuffed full of anything–
no music.
If the brain and the belly burn from fasting,
every moment a new song rises out of the fire.
The fog clears, and a new vitality overtakes you.
Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.
Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.
When you fast,
good habits gather like friends who want to help.
Fasting is Soloman’s ring–don’t give it
to some illusion and lose your power.
But even if you’ve lost all will and control,
they come back when you fast–
like soldiers appearing out of the ground,
pennants flying above them.
A table descends to your tents,
Jesus’ table.
Expect to see it, when you fast,
this table spread with other food
better than the broth of cabbages.
Emily O'Dell
