I’m at a cafe that I previously frequented in Arab street Singapore, the ‘Whirling Dervish’. Actually the next alley is Haji lane.
I visited the body, casquet, of Rumi once when I was in Konya, Turkey. The father of the Whirling Dervishes. On the way here I thought about belief. Looking at people I imagined their lives, their beliefs.
Belief. We all have histories, I’m becoming much more aware of the uniqueness of peoples lives. The Whirling Dervish belief was inspiring, to whirl and find stillness. I tried it for a while, to whirl, and became mentally still.