Here and there

My 20-some son, Zachary, was home for the holidays and wondered outloud whether this small place, albeit in the middle of paradise, has enough to offer the soul and the intellect to grow.

At times, I wonder that same thing.

But what is it about any place that offers the opportunity for the soul and the intellect to grow?

Does one have to be on pilgrimage to the center of spiritual existence, as in Konya, Turkey, as thousands of spiritual beings congregate to celebrate Rumi’s Sherb-i-rus, his death day, and wedding with the Beloved to experience a heart opening that is lasting?

Maybe. One would hope so, if you were on pilgrimage to Konya.

But what about your return? How does one utilize the experience to keep on living on the edge of spiritual and intellectual growth?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that we are adaptive beings. We change. Life changes us and when we see a pattern that somehow becomes meaningful it makes a difference. A lasting difference, I think.

My friend Suzanne thinks differently.

When I told her about my immersion experience for two weeks in Turkey and how it seemed that a variety of old stories became transformed with different endings, she told me that my experience of completion would not last.

“Sorry,” she said, “they will come back again. At least that is my experience,” she added as a caveat that maybe she could be mistaken.

“What are friends for,” I told her, “but to remind us that while we might think we have learned something once and for all, it might not really turn out that way."

Still, I like the idea that the group of 16, who traveled to Turkey on pilgrimage, are somehow different and transformed from our adventures and experiences there.

I certainly couldn’t have had the same experience if I had stayed at home in this piece of paradise. And it is heartening to know that I came and went from here. As I will do, again and again.

At trip's end

The palpable experience of love stays with me. Despite delays in airline flight, being totally unprepared for a Christmas holiday and dealing with a cough, sore throat and stuffed up ears, a sense of peace permeates my being.

Perhaps, it’s an understanding that there is always the opportunity to complexify any situation. Perhaps, I am taking comfort in what Professor Dr. Ibrahim Farajaje calls living in “flexadoxy." Whatever it is, I am hopeful that it stays with me long enough so that I long for it if a busyness returns to my life.

Or not.

Perhaps, I can live the life of the Sufi dervish for some time to come.

From what I gather, dervish life is one of service to the other. The dervish lives with a sense of expanding love and being a perpetual student. It is one that expects that the spirits of Shams and Rumi will continue to add mystery and fun to any situation. Meaning is found in the simple and the tendency to problemitize any situation is actively avoided.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that everything is easy and one is wise to remember that it was the murder of Shams that created a void so deep in Rumi that poetry of the Beloved emerged in its place.

But what does any of this have to do with ministerial formation and what did I learn about my own ministerial path?

I learned that I am a student of the heart. I learned that I, like many, have been walking this path for some time. I learned that intention is powerful and neutrality utmost in creating a situation with the most potential for negotiation.

I learned that people all over the world want nothing else but to live in peace and that an effective leader needs to be well aware of their own snares and binds. I learned that other people want to step up to the plate and have the opportunity to lead in our absence or in our giving them room.

I learned that opportunities are ours for the making and we either act on them or not.

I will either pursue the relationship with the master felter that I met in Konya, whose artistic partner lives within two hours of my home or I won't.

I will either pursue more information about a music healing hospital somewhere in Turkey or I won't.

I will heed the instructions from strangers to find my heart voice, to sing with assurance and to not let a day pass of not doing something that needs to be done or not.

And if it turns out that every choice is the not, I learned that I will be invited into my potential over and over again. "Even if you have broken your vow a thousand times, come, yet again, come."

All of this, including this feeling of floating, seems sharpenly directed toward building a just, peaceful and sustainable world where living from the heart is the lifeblood of the dervish or the minister, depending on what perspective one keeps.

Home again, ho

It was kind of okay when Delta 73 was three hours late in taking off due to a problem with air pressure in the cabin. The captain was very efficient at assuring us that the light that blinked on and off as he was powering for take off at the Istanbul airport would be fixed as we taxied to a side runway to wait for a mechanic and word from "Atlanta" as to what needed to be repaired.

No one was that concerned when he acknowledged several hours later that the temperature was rising and that the overhead air jets needed to be opened to cool the cabin down. And, undoubtedly, we were all a little bit tired, and many had taken their sleeping draughts, when he announced that we were landing at London's Gatwick Airport to take on more fuel. The news that we would be put up at the Hilton connected to the airport was accepted as well.

But when we had to stand in line for three hours to be rechecked onto the flight and some of us were still not processed when the flight was late by more than an hour the next morning, people started to get annoyed.

"This is London," they said, "not some small airport in the middle of nowhere."

Hand-written letters and petitions were passed through the line. People, assured that they had connections to other places, were told that they would probably be spending the night in New York City. And when one woman learned that we were boarding the same plane and it had been fixed with parts arriving from Atlanta, she was sure that the airline was making a decision to send a broken plane into the air to cross the Atlantic.

We were the last of the passengers that were in a holding room, waiting for a bus to be found to take us to the plane as it sat some ways from the gates, when she told us we were being sent to a watery death.

"You know they make decisions about what is the least expensive," she said.

I couldn't quite get the logic about how the loss of a plane and its 300 passengers would be cost effective and gently reminded those around me that when I take my car to the mechanic and he tells me that it's fixed, I believe that it is safe.

On the bus, I countered the woman's story to those newly on the plane that there was never really the fear that the plane would crash, that there had been a plan to fly over land so that we were never out of an one hour reach of a place to land, and that the reason we had landed in London, and that the flight had been canceled, is that airplane personnel are not allowed to be on duty for more than 10 hours.

Later, as we made our way across the ocean in a seemingly perfectly working aircraft, the woman was visibly relaxed and laughing in the aisles. She might have acknowledged to herself that the story that she was telling us all was simply a product of her fear and her desire to go home, I don't know.

What I do know is that the pilgrimage did not end when we boarded the plane in Istanbul. My West Coast classmates are travelling still, as there were no connecting flights available last night due to heavy holiday travel.

As I digest all that I have experienced these past two weeks, and experience the reemgergence into my life, I am thinking that I would like to remain on pilgrimage, being open to whatever comes my way for whatever reason it comes.

Back in Istanbul

We have left the coal filled air back in Konya, although it caught hold of us yesterday and delayed our 55 minute flight back to Istanbul for some five hours. The pull and the love that is palpable in the air there has been replaced by crisp sheets and a European comforter. There is a certain relief as we are able to sit at tables with chairs and eat, rather than sitting on the floor with a table positioned about 12 inches from the floor. Interestingly, with the low tables, the table cloth becomes your napkin, and one's legs are protected from any spills.

The journey continued today with a tour of the Jewish synagogues and the Jewish musuem in Istanbul. Mostly I learned that during the Holocaust Turkey rescued its Jewish citizens. In a documentary by Victoria Barrett called Desperate Hours that we viewed, we learned that Turkey's diplomats worked hard in European countries to get people released from camps and took them to safety. Several of them, notably Sclahattin Ulkumen and Necdet Kant, put their own lives in jeopardy to save people.

Necdet Kant, upon hearing that 70 Turkish Jews were put on a train to a death camp boarded the train and demanded their release. The SS soldiers gave him a choice: get off the train or go with them. He said he would go. They shut the door and the train traveled some three hours to the next stop where he was approached by other officers who realized that they had a problem because they had a Turkist diplomat on a death train, and they told him to get off and to take the 70 people with him.

One reason that the Turkish government was able to maneuver and save people is that they made no distiction between Jews, Muslims and Christians on passports and documents. They simply insisted that that their people were free to return to their native lands. Many of them had left Turkey years before and had given up their citizenship.

I am surprised by the power on the intention on neutrality.

Turkey, historically, has always been a multi-cultural multi-religious place where people have been able to recognize and connect with each other's humanity and not elevate or highlight the differences in their religious.

Our tour guide indicated that factions and division is beginning in Turkey, but he expressed confidence that people would figure out a way to continue to connect.


Istanbul is a city of 15 million and is both cosmopolitan and ancient.

Natural connection

Yavez told me at breakfast that the air pollution that we are experiencing is not actually caused by an inversion, which makes it more intense sometimes, but that it is a persistent state of air from mid-October to March. He said that it was worse this year because of the high price of natural gas has left residents of Konya no choice but to burn lignit or soft coal.

With the weather in the 50s on Monday, the air seemed to clear some. But with the return of the cold yesterday, the smoke again became thick. It is unusual for it to be so warm and it is generally recognized that the temperate weather is due to global warming.

I told Yavez about the harvesting of natural gas in the Upper Delaware River valley and had a fleeting thought about whether bringing that gas to the surface would in any way help with the pollution here. But in thinking it through, I thought about how it was not the availability of gas but rather the price of it that was making the Turkish people turn to a cheaper fuel.

Today is Rumi’s death day or his “wedding night with Allah” and the city has been slowly filling with pilgrims from all over, although there is a high concentration of people from Iran.

I spoke with Chewin a sociologist from Iran. He said there are real problems with post-modernity and the values of consumption that came to the forefront in the modern era. He said that the mosques in Iran are not thriving and that people are generally dissatisfied with the state-imposed religious rules. He believes that the people will find a way to bring harmony to our world and that for his country, they have to take a look at the intellectual concepts from 500 years ago.

“In my country,” he said, “500 years is not a long time.”

The red sheik

Spiritual directors in the the Islamic tradition are called sheiks and every student in the Sufi community has a sheik who guides them. I am told that the process of becoming sheik and student is a mutual one. Last night, I met the red sheik and her bevy of women students.

She is a robust woman, although in poor health. A chain smoker, she said in the front of the gathering in the lobby of the Hotel Konya in a wheelchair and called out in a loud voice which songs she wanted to sing. At one point, she threw handfuls of chocolate from a large box of mixed chocolates into the crowd.

Workers from the hotel handed out plates of ground almonds with honey. At another point, bottles of water and then glasses of water were handed around. There is no mention of money. These spontaneous sharings seem free for all.

Often someone will get up and twirl, which is a physical form of prayer. It is said that Moses was the first person to twirl, a universal gesture of delight.

Many people from many countries are arriving now. In conversations over delightful dinners of savory Mediterranean food, olives, mild feta cheese, rose jelly, tomatoes, small cucumbers, eggplant, lamb, I speak with people from Iran and Lebanon. They tell me that although there is tension in their country, their households are peaceful. Especially in Lebanon, where the tension is political and dissension is wanting to be formed, it only lasts so long until the people realize that they can live with diversity and tolerance.

I can only hope that it is true.

On the bus

We are in the birthplace of civilization.

It is here that agriculture was born. It is here that the first towns were formed. It is here that people lived in right relation to their environment, their community, and their spiritual identities. Mostly.

We visited Catal Hoyuk and Sille, amazing sites outside of Konya.
Here is what the “Lonely Planet” guidebook of Turkey has to say.

Catal Hoyuk
One of the most famous archaeological sites is Catal Hoyuk, not because the remains are notedly spectacular but because for a long time this was the oldest“town.” That claim may not still hold true but the settlement remains one of the oldest ever discovered and archaeologists continue to work away (June to August) at unearthing its secrets.


The site of James Mealaart’s 1961-65 excavation crown the western mount, a short walk away and shows how the mound turned out to cover the remains of 13 layers of buildings, dating from 6800 to 5700.

There may once have been 150 mud brick dwellings on the site. Most seem to have been houses that were accessible via ladders from the roofs and which were filled in and built over when they started to wear out. Skeletons were found buried under the floors and most of the houses may be doubled as shrines.



Finds from the site include many layers of murals, bulls’ head plaster reliefs, mother-goddess figurines, tools and the earliest known pottery.



Sille: The pretty village of Sille is strung out like an oasis in the parched steppes northwest of Konya. The mud brick and cobblestone village houses, nestled in the rugged valley, are watched over by many forgotten rock-cut cave dwellings and chapels, the domed Byzantine St. Helen’s Church was reputedly founded by Empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great.


On the hill to the north stands a small ruined chapel, the Kucuk Kilese.

Halfway through

I didn't really have any expectations about my immersion trip to Turkey beyond the idea that it would be a Starr King educational experience. I did not truly understand that I would be immersed in a Muslim culture from a Cosmopolitan perspective and a rural historical one.

I did not understand that it would give me the most amazing opportunity to connect with my own heart and strip away veils of unnecessary perceptions and long-held negative beliefs.

I did not know that I would come to know the color of my own heart and intention in the world. And I did not know that I would be touched with so much love.

I did not think that I would find myself to be the emerging spiritual being whose birth I had hoped for in going to seminary.

I only knew that I was coming to Turkey.

And in my ignorance, or in my innocence, or in that which is innately my way of going through the world, I have found that it is enough.

Spiritual energy

It wasn't that I did not believe Ibrahim when he said that while the spiritual energy in Istanbul, with its huge national mosques filled with beautiful icons and mosaics, was strong, the energy in Konya was "much more intense, much more intense."

It was just that I didn't understand.

I didn't know that I when I entered the tomb of Shams, a stone building approximately 40 feet by 40 feet, I would be immediately overcome with a quiet sobbing that is both sorrow and extreme joy. I did not know that while I stood in front of the draped coffin of Rumi that I would peacefully start to sway in an easy circle without initiating the movement.

With each encounter, I feel a deepening connection to the love that I know underlies our existence.

The air is filled with coal smoke from home heating fires and many of us suffer with headaches. There is a barometric phenomenon happening, an inversion, which is keeping the coal smoke close to the ground. The air is filled with this fog and the airport has been closed for the last few days.

People who wish to come here to be a part of the 10-day international festival which culminates on December 17, the day of Rumi's death, are stranded in airports waiting for the fog to lift.

From this place where spiritual energy is intense, I can't help but wonder if we are all, figuratively stranded in an airport waiting for the fog to lift. Standing firmly in a place where there is huge potential to soar, to love and connect deeply but that something prevents us from doing so.

And in that exact moment, there is nothing to do but hope that the news that a wind will come is true and will move the pollution out. And while we will be relieved, it will become someone else's headache.

We are all connected in our deteriorating environment and in the human condition.

Sorrow and extreme joy.


The air in Konya is grey as coal fire heat the homes and a barometric phenomenom keeps it close to the earth's surface.

Finding our fit

Elana asks me about my plans for the ministry as we sit waiting for dinner. We have named each other “kindred spirits of an older generation” and "kindred spirits of the younger generation.” In case you are wondering, I am the older.

The title comes from Elana who tells a story of walking her young golden retriever every day and meeting an older woman, in her ‘50s or '60s with an older golden retriever. The woman always says they are “kindred spirits of a younger generation” and Elena is unsure whether the woman means herself or the dog.

I received this title when I told her how throughout my life I had desired to find someone who was my size and shape in the world. Somehow it was very important to me, especially in my late teens and early twenties that I know how I “fit” in the world. Quite literally.

I have vivid memories of being an art student at the University of Wisconsin in Madison and trying to catch a glimpse of myself in store windows. It wasn’t enough to just see a reflection, I needed to see my reflection as I appeared in the world.

I have been searching since then.

And when I saw Elana, I remembered that younger version of myself and felt a certain satisfaction that the question of physical fit had been answered. Beneath the high domed ceilings of Aya Sofia, I told her of my quest and its conclusion with her. She said that she had often wondered about her strength in the world.

Later, when we were asked to line up according to size for a group shot in front of the Cathedral at St. Gregory’s, she stepped up next to me and squared her shoulders with mine.

Funny, we should find this physical similarity in Sufi world of the dervish where "fit" is measured by the love that you find in your heart.

By that standard, there have been many kindred spirits in every generation.

From the Tomb of Shams

I am a journal writer.

I have a regular journal. I have a dream journal, although I don't write in it much because I hardly ever remember my dreams. And I have a journal that I have been keeping since I went off to Starr King School for the Ministry in the fall of 2006 that is entitled “From the Universe.”

All of my journals have titles, things like “Onward," "The Next Chapter," "A New Beginning.” But what is different about “From the Universe” is that I write in it from the perspective that the universe is speaking to me.

My consistent prayer while on this pilgrimage is to receive guidance to find a way to break beyond distractions and doubt, and simply be joyous and alive. I had asked to be free of my physical interpretation of myself and to be of spirit in the world.

So as I sat on the rugged floor in the simple building that perhaps houses the body of Sham, (They really don't know if it is his body that they found beheaded in the bottom of a well) I took out my "From the Universe" journal and wrote down the following words.

It is not so much that you need to shed or crack open your body. It is more that you need to shed your mind and your attachment to the worldliness and your sense of self importance.

Imagine a vessel that is filled with love that pours forth its honey into the world. Imagine that you are a fountain that all those around you can drink from. Imagine that you are a mirror that reflects back the love in another’s eyes.

If you are empty you can be filled. If you work hard to fill yourself up with knowledge and deliberate skill, there is no room for the divine to dance.

Clear the floor and watch the dance whirl, with your own heart in the center.

Living from the heart

Uzair, rıght, talks about Turkish culture in the garden room that serves as our dining room, classroom, and place where people from all over the world gather for zıkr, Islamic devotional chanting ın the evenıngs.

Uzair was our tour guide today. A Sufi scholar, shop owner and the owner of the Dervish Brothers Center where we are staying, he imparted knowledge about what we were about to experience when visiting the tombs of Shams and Rumi by telling the story of their meeting in Konya.

Rumi was a seminary dean, a job he inherited from this father. Shams, which means light of the sun, was a wandering holy man. In their initial meeting, in one version of the story, Shams asked Rumi which had more power, the truth or Allah. Rumi first answered that Allah had more power but then fashioned the argument to come to the conclusion that the truth had more power.

That idea, that everything is always everything and that the world is a space where there are many truths, seems to be at the heart of Sufi practice. The two became fast friends and some six months later a jealous son or student beheaded Shams. There were some that warned him that he would be kiılled, but he merely answered that “it was his time.” For Rumi, the loss of his Beloved, birthed his poetry and the whirling dervishes. Rumi's son is credited for creating the Sufi practice.

Earlier Baba (the endearing term for father) Ismael, an Islamic Cantor from New York City and Istanbul, told us a story about when a king wanted to choose a prime minister. The way the story goes, he picked three men that he thought could do the job. One was a mathematician, one a philosopher and one a religious singer. He told them that they needed to study for 40 days after which he would give them a test. The mathematician and the philosopher studied hard, day and night. The religious singer decided that he had gotten this far in life and that he either would know the answer or he wouldn't. He rested and would sing his songs all day. The noise very much bothered the two scholars. They insisted that he cease.

Finally the 40 days passed and the king brought the three men to the palace for the test. He put them into a room and told them that he was going to lock the door and that they had to puzzle their way out. The mathematician and the philosopher quickly went to work with pencil and paper. A bit later, the king came and asked them what they were doing there.

“The door is open,” he said, “and the religious singer is my prime minister.” The two men were stunned. They had not even noticed that man had left.

As it turned out, the religious singer had sat down and thought about the door and how the king might have simply been trying to fool them. He turned the knob and walked out of the room.

The moral of the story, and the crux of our learning is that not everything is meant to be puzzled out and sometimes when we are deep in our machinations, we can not see that we can simply walk through the open door.

Sufi wisdom is simple and clear. “The secret of the light is hidden in simplicity.”

In Koyna

We have come to Konya, the place where Rumi resided and where he and his beloved teacher, Shams, are buried. While our accommodation in Istanbul was in a world-class hotel in a world-class city where well trained wait staff knew which of the three forks and knives they should leave on the table, here we are staying in a guest house which is simple and warm. When members of our group surveyed as to who was hungry and interested in eating last night after the zikr has ended, the host went into the kitchen and began to pull bread and cheese out of the refrigerator.

The flight was 55 minutes and for our dinner meal we had the choice between a salad or a sandwich. I was delighted by the salad of fresh greens, tomato, boiled egg, green pepper and a bit of tuna. The small dressing packet was olive oil with lemon.

After gathering in circle this morning when our professor Ibrahim will set the day in context and give us some instruction, we will begin our pilgrimage in earnest, with a visit to the tomb of Shams to receive invitation to go to the tomb of Rumi.

The guesthouse has gifted us each a pair of fleece booties and given us the instruction to have them with us at all times, as sometimes the mosques are a bit chilly.

An answer to a prayer

She was a slight woman and had a pre-teenaged daughter with her. Her eyes were bright and when she approached us following the noonday prayers at the Eyup Sultan Mosque in Eyup, one of the most sacred places in the Islamic world, her joy was palpable. She hugged each one of us, brushing her cheeks against our cheeks three times. And as if that wasn’t enough, she brushed her hand against each one of our faces, gave us another blessing and a kiss on the head.

Her wordless joy pierced my own heart’s longing for peace between peoples and in the world. A river of tears poured forth. As I stood there, aching with sorrow my traveling companions responded with expressions of care and concern. And as it is when one is fragile and open, their concern and love made the tears flow more quickly.

I am thankful for the release. Yesterday at the Patriarchal Cathedral Church of St. George, I had beseeched the mosaic icon of Mary, known for its healing and magical qualities to help me find a way to joy and peace, and an uncluttered path to a real connection to love and joy in the world.

As İ touch the memory of the woman at the mosque, İ know that she lives in the same world that I do and is choosing to celebrate connection and revel in the joy that is found there.

Dancing with the divine

murmurs
whispers
ageless form
pinacle of human endeaver
creating
sacred space for
power and homage.
Cavernous opportunity to dance
with the divine.


Aya Sofya in Istanbul

In time for lunch

As I sat in the window booth of the Grand Vezir, where we have been taking our meals, I examined the stone wall that borders the courtyard. And as I was noting the notched construction from the first century and the fluted brickwork fromt the tenth , a man led a cow past the window. Two girls, age six and ten, accompanied him. My first thought, especially with the presence of the children, was that because today was Eid, the official holiday of Turkey, that the animal was part of some celebrative occasion.

When I put that together with the man that I had seen wearing green plastic overalls and a knife strapped to his leg, I knew in an instant that the steer was indeed part of the celebration. What I did not know is that on Eid, every family sacrifically kills a lamb or a cow and shares the meat in a festive dinner and distributes the rest to the extended family. In the Islamic tradition, these animals have been raised humananely and their death is a sacred ceremony.

The next question in my mind was, do I watch? I asked my table mates who were coming to the same conclusion, as to the fate of the cow, as I was.

We talked about whether witnessing the event would be voyarism and questioned why we would wish to see people kill an animal. And while it seemed strange, especially after some of us had ordered meat dishes, it seemed right that we witness a religious tradition in action, since that is what our trip is about. We approached the owner for permission and, of course, he was hospitable to our request . (The Turkish custom is to accommodate any request from a guest, so whether he had feelings about the group of six of us standing around watching I don't know at this point.

It was, as per ceremony, a quick and humane death. Religious chants filled the air as the steer was brought to the ground. His face was covered with a cloth and someone stroked him as the man with the knife slit his neck. Someone commented that it was a much better death than the factory farming traditions in the United States.

After the death, where there were no children present, several of us, feeling a bit spent, went back inside. Others stayed and photographed the team of men who made quick work to butcher the animal. The children appeared again for this process.

We had lunch and by the time the meal was over, a pile of meat lay on a plastic sheet in the back part of the courtyard. The men were hosing down the tile and cleaning up.

Early in the morning before breakfast, we attended prayers as the Blue Mosque. The prime minister was in attendance, and international media cameras were lined up at the gate. As we made our way in, we were patted down by security guards and our bags were examined. The team of officers were quick and efficient. Plastic bags for our shoes were available as we reached the steps into the mosque. Shelves in the back of the large domed hall held literally thousands of pairs of shoes. Thousands of people shuffled in bare or stockinged feet as a voice explained the meaning of Eid in Turkey.

As soon as the formal prayers were made, people filed out almost as quickly as they filed in. Retrieving our shoes was much more efficient that I thought it would be. As I exited the mosque, a man stood holding a large flat box filled with Turkish delights, jelled fruit and walnut squares coated with powdered sugar. He offered me one of the last ones, and I took it gratefully.

In the courtyard, there were two kiosks where cups of a delicious lentil soup were made available free of charge. The white uniformed chefs wore aprons, plastic gloves and mouth coverings. The giving of small gifts is another tradition of Eid.

Thousands of people stood greeting each other in the mosque courtyard, drinking soup and smoking cigarettes. (Public smoking is still permitted here.) A loud speaker broadcast the end of the service inside. When the final prayer began, everyone turned to face the mosque and stod in reverence. When it ended, conversations started and more people streamed out of the mosque to the thousands of cups of soup that stood waiting for them.

Before breakfast, I pondered a holiday that was not based on the money. At lunch, I experienced a culture that paid homage to the source of food and sustainance. As I prepare for sleep, I think about how real life can be -- whether you are living it or bearing witness to its complexities.

Here now

It seems like it has already been a day since I sat on this wall outside the rooftop restaurant atop the Hotel Arcadia where we are staying in the historic section of Istanbul. But actually it has only been an afternoon and an evening, with a three hour lap in the middle.

We eat lunch and dinner in a nearby restaurant, which is owned by one of the professor's friends. Lunch was in the restaurant's courtyard, bordered by a three section stone wall. One section, the proprietor tells us as he is escorting us back to our hotel following dinner, was built in the first century; the second, which is finely fluted section was built in the 10th century; and the third is a rough fieldstone wall from the 17 century.

The turrets of the blue mosque are lit and sea gulls glide around the high cylindrical columns, soaring across the dark night sky, their bodies illuminated from below. It is the eve of Eid ul-Adha/Kurban Kayram, which is an official holiday in Turkey, and the day when the angels and the ancients are said to be more available to assist those who ask. As I watch the majestic birds soar with invisible energy, I am aware of the everpresent beauty all around and the great potential that it holds for those who pause in the moment to recognize it.

I am ready for a good night's rest and have plans to attend morning prayers at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.

Recharge at Kennedy

I sit in the recharge kiosk at Kennedy Airport, which is a four-sided booth with a shelf, an electric outlet, and a circular bench. I check the long corridor to my right, half expecting at any moment for Starr King students to arrive from California. There are at least four students who left San Francisco airport this morning at 6:30 a.m. and they will have an hour or so layover here. Then we will board Delta flight 72 and tbegin the nearly 10-hour flight east to Istanbul. We will lose or gain, depending on your perspective, seven hours and arrive at 9:55 a.m. tomorrow.

The Rev. Linda Anderson, minister of the Kingston UU church, and I met in Newburgh and drove down together. While we didn’t have to be at the gate but an hour before the flight, our luggage needed to be here three and a quarter hours before.

The baggage attendant didn’t shed any light why luggage on flights to Istanbul require so much extra time than flying to any other overseas city, but we can only surmise it’s because it will be searched thoroughly.

The Upper Delaware and my activities there are starting to move into the background as I settle into the routine of travel--keeping my bags close, being conscious of where my stuff is. I enjoy this deliberate way of keeping track; it seems real and in the present. It is contrary to my normal distractions.

Getting outside of ourselves and being present in the moment is the gift of being, which is often disguised in the busyness of our everyday lives. It is a gift that emerges with each breath, available wherever we are – and ever present as I make my way to Turkey.

My friends arrive. It is hugs and kisses at Gate 8. Kennedy Airport has suddenly become very warm, literally and figuratively. We peel off layers of clothing and wait for our seat zone to be called.

The journey begins

When my father called today to wish me a good trip, he told me that he hoped the two week trip Starr King School for the Ministry Rumi Immersion in Turkey, which I will embark on tomorrow morning, will be all that I thought it would be. I thanked him, and wondered what exactly I thought it would be.

I knew that it was an opportunity to study in a concentrated way, something that I yearn for as I go through my seminary education experience so far from the schoolhouse in Berkeley. But I had come to the realization, while I was at the school last August and lamenting that I couldn't be there all of the time, that I that I had to take advantage of concentrated learning -- that I had the opportunity to be absorbed for short periods in learning and that I could, actually, live at home.

And when the trip to Turkey was announced and I immediately dismissed it as not possible for me, I had to think again. So here I am going off to Turkey with 15 or so seminarians, including some of my dear friends, with the idea that I am about to embark on a time of concentrated study, in a totally different environment. I have no expectations other than I will have the opportunity to experience myself in a place that is unfamiliar.

And it's just that chance, that I will experience myself as new, that seems transformative in the moment and fills me with a sense of gratitude and adventure.

Traveling with my mother's little Sony Vaio and a mini-mouse, I will blog my way through the time -- connecting that which is new with that which is sustaining.

It begins.