Out door events are one of the joys of living in a warm climate and unlike the washed out concerts and festivals all over the UK this summer we have had our usual clear and baking skies both day and night. The concert to be held in the Caunos ampitheatre celebrating eight hundred years of the Mevlana Rumi was thus never in danger of being washed out. The opportunity to watch whirling dervishes in this amazing setting was too good to miss and I set out with about five hundred other people along the recently paved village road and up the moonlit hill into the ruined city. Soft and snaking ground lights lit the way through the tumbled dusty rubble and into the theatre. The sense of anticipation was not difficult to pick up on, the crowd was obviously expecting a magical evening of mystical ceremony.

Myself, I was not so sure. Having attended a performance by dervishes in London’s Royal Festival Hall and having fallen asleep during it, I was aware of the possibility that my somnolence had not been caused just by the plush concert hall seats and warm central heating but also perhaps by the repetitive music and actions of the whirling ones. I am about as spiritual as a stick but am actively trying to open myself to the unknown and was interested in the spectacle and effects of an eight hundred year old ritual being carried out in a two thousand year old abandoned ampitheatre. What atmosphere would be evoked by the passage of the priests? Would we be uplifted by their spinning and music? How would the location amplify the intention of the dervishes to reach a oneness with Allah? Might I feel the essence of God amongst us?  

As I occupied myself with these higher thoughts snippets of more mundane concerns drifted to my ears from the people around me. The Turks were speculating as to whether scorpions would come out of the sun baked rocks, the Brits were pleased that sponge seats had been provided and the Germans were busy instructing their kids to sit down and be quiet. The stage or speaking area of the ancient semi-circular theatre had been covered by a large raised platform and a bank of lights had been hoisted up on an iron bridge accross the front of this. Other large floodlights had been given green filters and trained towards the audiene to illuminate the olive trees that have wedged themselves between rows of stones. These perpetual watchers were now a lively green, as were any unfortunate people caught in their shade.

Prior to the event starting the stage area milled with people, some trying out dervish type steps themselves, others testing microphones and cameras (as Kanal D was going to be broadcasting live) and some rebellious teutonic youngsters, having escaped their parents, were dancing in and out of the spotlights gleefully waving their bags of crisps at their mammas. Having been brought up with the stiff formality of British theatre and concert hall performances the laidback amosphere at events like this one is always a rather joyful reminder of the differences in the society I live in now. One day I hope my daughter will streak energetically across a stage at an inappropriate moment and still be regarded with fond adult indulgence rather than western repressed repugnance.

Once the stage cleared the TV broadcast began and we were subjected to the usual round of interminable speeches by local dignataries. İnescapable at every public event these minor mandarins never miss the chance to add their incoherent ramblings and mundane platitudes to the man who just mouthed the same identical pleasantries before them. While all espoused respect for and understanding of the Mevlana’s mission apparently none had read from Discourse 2 in his book of teachings Fihi ma Fihi (It is what it is) where he says to two followers who complain that he has not spoken; ‘The thought without words drew you here. If the reality of me draws you without words and transports you to another place, what is so wonderful with words?’

Finally the droning dullards left the stage and the musicians came forward. Taking their places in silence these men who are also part of the same religious order as the dervishes and showed none of the spotlight love that many performers do. They were quiet and serious and whether we observers chose to regard this as a ‘show’ or not it was clear from the behaviour of those involved that it was performance for edification not entertainment. Of course that raises issues for the audience who were there to be entertained, to witness a spectacle and to be awed or astonished. Had the dervishes been lit by moonlight and not artificial lighting, had the music not been amplified at the expense of the atmosphere, if ultimately what we were watching was more than a group of men praying (albeit by turning round and round) then perhaps this would of been a more intense experience.

The Mevlana urged his followers to recognise the reality of things while not being distracted from the inner truth by the outward senses or semblances. He warned against visiting places full of expectations of what you would see and counselled that we should leave behind this ‘shroud of thought’ otherwise we would suffer disappointment on arrival. Only when we journey with an open mind and see reality for what it really is and nothing more, are we free from unfulfilled anticipation. The truth about a dervish performance is that watching other people pray is not riveting and that perhaps, as Sezgin did, examining your motives for attending and finding them wanting and therefore staying home, reflects rather more of the Mevlana’s teachings about being true to oneself than being a passive observer of a staged performance does. Rumi said;  ‘All these pleasures and pursuits are like a ladder. The rungs of a ladder are not a place to make

one’s home; they are for passing by. Fortunate are those who learn this. The long road becomes

short for them, and they do not waste their lives upon the steps.’ So while the rest of us pointlessly sought spiritual enlightenment on the floodlit steps of the ampitheatre the truly wise stayed home and simply said ‘I’ve seen it on TV before.’