Hermit Style

I have yet to learn the whole Björk song. Presently I’m fixed (or stuck, rather) on a particular fragment: “I thrive best hermit style/With a beard and a pipe/And a parrot on each side …” Veiled meaning? I want to be alone. I want to be in a little cabin in the Oregonian woods with my books and computer, a sizable stash of coffee and tea, and access to a nutrient-rich garden and water well. I am aching for a spell of self-sufficiency. The hermit in me is having a temper tantrum. The hermit, who is always pushing solitude, is suffering from a lack thereof. “There is not enough space, not enough time!” he moans. “How am I ever going to record all this, how am I ever going to make sense of all this?”

 

My writing has devolved into bullet-pointed lists and notes scrawled on the back of ATM receipts. I feel overwhelmed and scattered. I feel out of touch with myself. I miss myself. We’ve experienced so much, and yet—due to the nature of CRC—I’ve only been able to capture a few aspects of it. While watching Baraka last night, which is highly suggestive of the CRC experience, I was startled to realize just how much we’ve seen in the last 7-8 months and how little of it I’ve sketched out for you. Before coming on CRC, I thought Baraka was an exaggeration of life on planet earth, but now I see it as an honest rendering of the beauty, pain, and poverty of the human project. If you’ve not already seen it, please do. When the silky robed Thai ladies come on the scene, when the family of five zips by on a bicycle, and when the barber is shown shaving a man’s head on the banks of the Ganga, you’ll be seeing what we’ve been seeing.

 

Of course, we’re no longer in Asia proper, but straddling Asia and Europe. Turkey is not at all reminiscent of India (phonetically, they have the same words for “cheese” and “tea,” but the similarities end there). At the moment we’re staying at the Dervish Brothers Center, an exceptionally cozy Sufi lodge in the center of Konya. The hub of the lodge, a large room draped in gorgeous Turkish rugs and kilims, is where we spend most of our time. When we are not listening to extemporaneous lectures on Sufism given by Uzeyir, our dervish brother and guide, we are working independently on our readings and writings—and, let’s be honest, email and Facebook upkeep. (Uzeyir shared two pieces of information with me this morning which I will expand upon later: first, on the subject of God’s breath, soul, and light; second, on the significance of the fact that Rumi and his son Sultan Walad are buried next to one another. He also told me to put away my notebook and start writing things on my heart—ha, he got me!)

 

 Before closing this piece (I need to put away my computer too), I wish to mention that Björk’s song, “Unison,” continues: “But now I can’t do/this without you …” I am working on honoring my inner-hermit and, at the same time, staying open to the influence—however distracting at times—and needs of the human beings, the soul friends, around me. “Quit acting like a wolf,” Rumi whispers in my ear. “Sit down in this circle.”