(Chapter One) Meeting Sidi In Jerusalem - I Get A New Identity - Everything Happens So FAST!

 

In  1979, I sat on a bluff on the Mount of Olives, overlooking the Dome of the Rock.

This stunning mosque is the third holiest in Islam.

 Next to it is the Wailing  Wall--all that remained of the Temple, the center of Jewish life, which the Romans destroyed in 67 AD   The Wall is considered the holiest place in the World for Jews to pray.

I felt like I SHOULD be FILLED with SPIRITUAL FEELINGS, but I mostly felt sad and alone. What was even worse was my borderline alcoholism.  The last two to three weeks of traveling across Europe alone, I developed a fondness for wine. In my heart, I knew I was relying on it too much.

 

Jerusalem was the last city on the itenerary.  It is a city pivotal to the histories of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.
 

I had come across some interesting sites--like the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where Jesus was supposedly entombed.  

I appreciated seeing such wonderful places, but a vague hope for some exceptional, revelatory spiritual experience in Jerusalem apparently would not happen.  

I saw   myself as a lifelong spiritual seeker.  I came of age on the San Francisco Mid-Peninsula in the Sixties, which was a hotbed of the Counter-Culture of that time.  I had experimented often and, for the most part 'moderately', with psychedelics.

Some part of me expected Life to continue to deliver 'revelatory experiences' as easily as LSD had delivered 'altered states.

 

I also frequently attended concerts of the great bands of the era, including the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane.

Those carefree times are difficult to imagine today.  We young people thought we were going to change the world.  In the meantime, we'd get VERY HIGH on LIFE and other substances, including LSD, shared joints, and communal jugs of wine. Many years later, I came to marvel at the 'good luck' which had enabled me to experiment so whole-heartedly with drugs which time later proved often carried lifelong negative consequences for many.  Already, one heard rumors of kids 'freaking out' from 'bad trips', but I was somehow SURE that I could play Russian Roulette with drugs with safety.  How wrong I was!

We trusted every kid with long hair!  Once, somebody started throwing unknown pills into the audience at a rock concert.  I instantly grabbed and swallowed one.

The Carefree 1960s

It threw me into an unsettling, dissociative blackout for several hours.  But it never occurred to me that I was naive to trust a total stranger who had offered free drugs at a concert.  I thought maybe my own head wasn't in the right place.  (I later understood that I had taken Angel Dust or PCP ,  powerful and unpredictable animal tranquilizer.)

Ecstatic Chanting with the
'Hare Krishna' Movement

I approached spirituality with the same abandon. While this led me to at least ONE serious group—that of a branch of Chinese Zen Buddhism—it also led me down some blind alleys, like the three months I spent as a shaved-head, traveling monk in the Hare Krishna Movement.

I majored in Religious Studies in college, hoping to understand how to achieve a permanent spiritual state or understanding. 

I also took a year-long course in Arabic, which I reasoned might give me both insights into an ancient religion and also a kind of specialization in an up-and-coming part of the world.  (I had briefly visited Morroco in my teens and found Arabic script beautiful and fascinating.)

 

So, I had previously been attracted to join any spiritual group that came my way. At the time, I didn't see them as cults; I believed they were just non-traditional 'oases' where I could significantly change myself with minimal effort—just through sincerity or force of intention. 

Or maybe just good luck finding a 'Spiritual Master' who had already done most of the 'heavy lifting'. Someone whose sincerity towards God would rub off on me.

It didn't really occur to me that, like anything else, spiritual 'englightenment' could only be the result of personal committment, and probably over a long period of time.

I guess I was kind of looking for "God In A Pill." Or at least a spiritual experience I could wrest out of the Universe reasonably quickly.

  

I had not grasped the idea that spiritual growth requires long-term, focused effort on the part of the individual seeker.  

NOT from merely encountering and attaching myself to the most charismatic spiritual personalities!

Or, perhaps better, a convenient way of accessing the same bliss and wisdom that all the drugs and culture of the Sixties seemed to hint was available.  Only to do it on a permanent and relatively safe basis.

Little did I know that a gigantic, very personal spiritual drama was about to begin here in Jerusalem.  Once begun, it would prove almost impossible to escape from.

.

A friendly Palestinian youth approached me.  We chatted about this and that, and finally  about religion—which interested him a lot!

He invited me to meet a Sufi Sheikh who lived in the town. I had no other plans, and so  I readily agreed.  We were off.

At this time, before the first Intifada, a tall Western person walking into a Palestinian area faced little danger.  The only exception might have been from pebbles thrown by small, smiling children, mistaking me for an Israeli Settler.

So, following him, I took the majestic view of the distant desert.   And, beyond it, the Dead Sea.  Somewhere over there was Jericho, which claimed to be 'The Oldest City in the World.'

Walking Down 'Main Street'-- Mount
 of Olives 

 I suddenly heard a loud call to prayer broadcast from a nearby mosque. The recording was age-old, scratchy, and totally endearing in its humility. It broke into my train of thought, reminding me to remember God or Allah.

I was brought halfway down the steep street to a nondescript stone house.  We knocked, and a couple of Western ladies in Arabian attire answered and welcomed us in.  Their names were Maryam and Aisha.

I understood from them that they were students of the Sheikh, who lived upstairs on the top floor of the building. 

Little did I know that, within a few weeks, one of them would be my wife.

Shortly thereafter, the man who would largely determine the course of the rest of my life from then on came through the squeaky metal door. 

He was a stocky, middle-aged gentleman with a well-maintained beard.  His presence radiated wisdom, warmth, and authority, instantly winning my respect and curiosity.

Sidi Sheikh Muhammad Al-Jamal

He reminded me of an Old Testament prophet!

He shook my hand and politely asked me to sit down. 

I don't remember our first words,  but I remember feeling overwhelmed by the exotic unfamiliarity of the situation.  Here I was, a relative nobody, suddenly talking to a most-impressive Muslim holy man!

It seemed like a break in the continuity of my thus-far unsatisfying reality, and perhaps a doorway into a new Reality. 

This guy was the Real Deal!  An Old Testament Prophet SUDDENLY come to LIFE.  And right here in the Holiest City of the Western World! 

 I was within a mile or two from the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus reportedly prayed in the final hours of his life.

Five times a day, competing  Calls to Prayer from local mosques blared out over the landscape.

Exotic, it was indeed!  I suddenly began to feel myself being drawn into it--whatever 'It' was.

The Zawiya.  I took this photo around 1980 on a breezy afternoon.  Summer afternoons in the Zawiya were  often delightfully cool. At 2500 ft. elevation, the heatin Jerusalem wasn't often a problem.

After an inspiring talk, the Sheikh invited me to return the next day.  Walking back to the hotel, I felt embraced by a palpable sense of the Sacred being nearby--perhaps even walking alongside me!! 

The stones in the area were so white that they were luminous in the moonlight- particularly THAT night!

I wasn't all alone in an indifferent Universe as I had felt just hours before.  And, as I had often thought in the Sixties, amazing things were suddenly happening to me in an onrush! 

Suddenly, everybody in the world seemed kind and welcoming to me!  I was thrilled and looking forward to tomorrow!  The sky was the limit!

(As I was to learn much later, one can't expect any 'state of mind' to persist forever. 'Impermanence' is a core tenet of Buddhism, as well as an experiential fact of life that is confirmed by experience.  And many of our 'problems' consist of trying to make good times stick around and bad times go away--rather than just letting Impermance do the job for us on It's own schedule).

 

The next day, I returned to the house where I had met the Sheik.  The Western women called it the zawiya, or 'sufi center' in Arabic.  I was given a binder with typewritten copies of Shiekh's 'Subjects,' which earlier students had translated, typed, and left behind. 

This gave them the cachet of 'rare manuscripts' seen by only a select few. 

 

                       

In our spiral notebooks, we carefully copied each subject by hand until we finished the entire collection and then started again at the beginning.

These poetic, flowery utterances were of great beauty.  They brought to life a new dimension of spirituality for me.  Though I had studied Islam before, I had read little about Sufism.

They spoke of the relationship between Man and God in an entirely new way.  As a kind of spiritual romance--sometimes tragically yearning in separation, in other times, united in glorious union.

And I was pleased with this 'easy,' almost subliminal way of studying, which one could pick up or put down as needed.  The object was to imbibe the words rather than rationally dissect them.  I imagined I was growing wiser every time I completed one.  And my new 'sisters' were lovely and supportive.

After my first full day of studying in the zawiya, the Sheikh came down from his house above and offered another informal talk. 

(I'm not sure if it was that night or another, but I changed my hotel from the YMCA in the Old City to one on top of the Mount of Olives.  And after a few nights in that hotel on top of the Mountain, I moved directed down into the zawiya.)

 Frequently, these talks began with a quick r of his day at the Islamic Court or some other public place.

  

Clearly, he was a person of some weight in the local Islamic ulema or clergy. 

 Yet, rather than repeating spiritual truisms, Sidi seemed to truly feel he was walking next to God throughout the day.  

I think this palpable sense of God's proximity was something he carried throughout his life, and it made people notice and usually respect him.  He seemed to enjoy being with people all day long   He never 'retreated' to private quarters for a rest.  He was available 24/7 to any and all who came.

On the other hand, he seemed incapable of admitting any errors.  Perhaps he was never held accountable for any. People defer to him in person but then go ahead and do whatever they wanted behind his back.

On Fridays, he sometimes preached at the Dome of the Rock Mosque and was a judge in the Islamic court.  This gave me a lot of faith in his integrity.  I could hardly imagine him being a fake or a phony and still managing to deliver THE weekly sermon at the Third Holiest Mosque in Islam!

I also learned something about being an Islamic Sufi,  including the ablutions before the five daily prayers and the Qur'anic verses necessary to complete them.

(With a few, minor, 'New Age' exceptions, ALL Sufi orders also practice the standard 5 pillars of Islam:1. Profession of the Faith 2. Prayers 5x a day, 3. Zakat/Tax , 4. Pilgrimmage to Mecca, if finances and health allow,  4. Profession of Faith, and 5. Fasting during the month of Ramadan).

I enjoyed taking a break during the day to pray with other people—in my case, just the other two women.

I wasn't that impressed with the language of the prayers themselves. They were mostly about blessing Ibrahim, Mohammed, and other prophets. 

I wasn't sure why I needed to seek so many blessings for the departed  Prophets, who were mostly the same ones as in Judaism and Christianity.  Weren't they ALREADY in Heaven with Allah?

 I liked the parts of the prayer where there were prostrations—they were similar to those I performed in my earlier Buddhist context as well. They always made me feel more humble.

I especially enjoyed learning how to perform the Dhikr, or 'Remembrance' services, once or twice weekly.  These services were an opportunity to build social bonds, worship God, and experience primordial ecstasy.

The process was simple.  We  stood in a circle and chanted rhythmically for perhaps 30-60 minutes, usually nodding the end left-right-left in unison.

 We used familiar Arabic phrases such as  the name "Allah", or "There's no God but God", or "Please forgive me, God."

A typical Sufi Dhikr

Another 'Zikr', as practiced in Egypt

   A Chechen Women's Dhikr

Beautiful Introduction to Sufi Practices In Pakistan

This one describes how South Asian Sufi Shrines allow women to participate in religious life.

An Ensemble of Western Qawalli Musicians explain their music and motivations.  Lovely!

This devotional practice is not found in 'regular Islam'; it was particular to Sufism. It can be rigid orloose, depending on the country and the Order.

Sufism is more widespread than one would think.  300 million identify as Sufis out of 1.6 billion Muslims worldwide.

Depending on the order, people often experienced an ecstatic transport to another realm after a given Dhikr had been on for a while.

 

Usually, in larger groups, someone was appointed to keep the chanting and swaying of bodies within social norms and gently restrain anyone who seemed to be spinning out into "too much ecstasy."

In virtually all traditional groups, worshippers were separated by sex.

In Palestine, where I was, I had never heard of a woman's Dhikr.  However, Western women and men participated freely in Sidi's zawiya (meeting place).

Congregational singing induces a trance-like state almost in itself.  Nothing inspires a sense of unity and togetherness like it.

For some reason, we human animals love to get into a circle, sing, and dance.  You find it everywhere, from remote jungle tribes to Turkish Sufi 'Turners'.

In the aftermath of a vigorous Dhikr, which can and often does go on for hours, there is a sudden inner quiet—a feeling of great peace and reverence.

-

Another group of practices was called 'Halwa' or 'Retreat'.  These involved hours of quietly spoken, sung, or internally vocalized recitation of "Allah," "La Illa Il-Allah," or "Astafir Allah."

Nobody could beat Aisha in completing the set of recitations once she began. She never quit early. I could stay up for the Dhikr, but I didn't experience the needed results to stay up much of the night with the longer seated recitations.

After a few days of spending all day in the zawiya and doing these practices, Sidi called me up one evening and, with a serious look, offered me the opportunity to take the bayat or promise to join the Sufi Order with him as my Sheikh.

He promised that if I did this, I would experience God's proximity in a way that nothing in my prior experience could have prepared me for.

 (((Had I been given time to think about it, I might have thought back to that concert where I readily accepted 'free' drugs and what the strange and unexpected consequences had been.

Instead, I readily agreed without really knowing how to perform the daily prayers, the ablutions beforehand, or much else, and I was given the name Yunus.

I forgot the old adage, "If it seems too good to be true, it probably IS!"

I was hooked. 

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Tony Kent, one of Sidi's Western disciples, created a pertinent documentary about Sidi. It's a bit fawning (D'ya THINK?), but I love the segments featuring my friend, Maryam Tyrell. She was Sidi's longest-term English student and one of the two women living in the zawiya when I arrived.  She 'got' Sidi's 'message' or perhaps found her own 'Truth of a Sufi' alongside it.

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