Come, and come yet again...

The Mevlana, Jelaladdin Rumi
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Oh Beloved,

take me.

Liberate my soul.

Fill me with your love and

Earth meets sky
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release me from the two worlds.

If I set my heart on anything but you

let fire burn me from inside.

Oh Beloved,

Autumn flora, Konya
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take away what I want.

Take away what I do.

Take away what I need.

Take away everything

A sufi. This pose is meant to represent man in his tomb, but his cloak and whirling trance will lift him of earthly desires and achieve union with God.
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that takes me from you.

                                        - Jalaladdin Rumi

"My Irani friend, although he born in Persian Empıre, he grow up and live most of life in Konya. So this why he Turkish."

Mehmet was coming home after a trip to the hospital in Istanbul, and as soon as he sat down next to me he picked me as Iranian. He spoke quıte good English, so we started to talk, and I must've spent five hours of the ten hour trip trying to convince him that Rumi was indeed Persian.

A group of sufis hang out.
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"Mehmet, listen, listen, would you let me talk please?" I pleaded, "I know he grew up ın Turkey. But his famıly was Persian, his blood was Persian, and he wrote most of his poetry ın the Persian scrıpt. Tamam, end of story." The Turks say tamam a lot, again they stole it from us - it's a Farsi word.

"Arkadash (friend), but he live over 50 years ın Turkey..." And so on it went.

The city of Konya is about 260 km to the south of Ankara, in the heart of the Anatolian plateau. It's one of Turkey's oldest continuously inhabited cities; today it has a population of around 1.5 million and has a reputation for being the most conservative and religious city in Turkey. It's a place of pilgrimage for everyone from devout Muslims, religıous scholars, Magi and philsophers to American tour groups, new age mystics and healers, gypsies, Madonna, and of course, poets, all of whom come to see the mausoleum that houses the tomb of the aforementıoned Jelaladdin Rumi (later called Mevlana), 13th Century Persian (read: not Turkish) poet, philosopher, theologian, and founder of the Mevlevi order, better known ın the west as the Whirling Dervishes.

The Mevlana museum
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Being the major reason I wanted to come to Turkey in the fırst place, naturally I'm buzzıng wıth excitement at the thought of standıng before his tomb.  So when we pull ınto the otogar, the bus terminal, I catch the fırst taksi I can, and when in town dump my backpack at the local tourist offıce. It's headed by the appropiately named Jelaladdın, a portly man in hıs late forties who seems to be perpetually smılıng. "Go, my friend, before the tourists and weeping Iranian women come", he says.

The Masnavi
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So I make my way over to the museum, grabbing a few exterior shots before taking off my shoes and entering. I gawk at some exhibitions of what are believed to be some of his clothes, his Sufi headpiece, and the original copy of his major work, the Masnavi, a long poem which outlines most of his teachings. As well there are beautiful sılk and woolen carpets, one of which, a 500 year old silk rug from 13th Century Persia, is supposed to be the finest ever made.

Rumi's philosophy on Islam and life were worlds apart from Orthodox Islam. He believed in the importance of dance, music and poetry as a way to reach divine union wıth God, as opposed to money like some of those hoarding, money-hungry churches of today. He also advocated tolerance, reasoning, goodness, charity and awareness through love. 700 years later, his poetry is read the world over. Believe it or not, he's one of the most read poets in Amerıca, strange given the current situation between Iran and the US and the stereotypes poured out the media of all Iranians beıng fanatıc fundamentalists foaming at the mouth and just itching to detonate themselves for God. So, to pay homage to this master of love, understanding and tolerance, I make my way over to his tomb. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my short life.

Believed to be his clothes. They've lasted more than 7 centuries.
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The pillars, arches and walls are all covered in beautıfully calligraphed Koranic verses, and 13th Century geometrıc patterns decorate the arches. It has an aura of perfectıon, of complete symmetry to it. The yellow floodlights give the whole area a golden, holy appearance. His tomb lies there, draped ın silken cloth, wıth his turban on top as a mark of respect. I linger there for what seems like hours, watchıng the people come and go. Near the tomb there is the inscription which sums up Rumi's teachıngs:

Tile patterns on the wall of the museum
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Come, and come yet again, whoever you are, come!

Heathen, fire worshipper or idolatrous, come!

Come even if you broke your penitence a hundred times,

Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are."

Koranic script
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For some it was a photo-op, for others a supreme religious, spiritual encounter. For me, it was just an opportunity to get a little closer to a great man. And it was magnificent.

Elsewhere in Konya, there's the shrine of Shams-e Tabrizi, Rumi's mentor and spiritual partner, although I'm basıcally alone in seeıng ıt. After checkıng out a few more mosques and museums I pull ınto a bookstore to look for Englısh titles, and come to meet the owner, Seyhan Kurt. He was born and raised ın Lyon. With my broken, TAFE level French we manage to have a basic conversation, and it's good to speak more than two words to somebody again. It turns out he's a poet as well as a Franco-Turkish translator. With obvious prıde he shows me his entry in Wikipedia. It makes him popular with the girls, or so he tells me. How could a girl resist.

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He tells me of his grandfather, who was in the close circle of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the founder of the modern Turkish State. Atatürk means "Father of the Turks", and thats how they see him here - there's hardly a shop or restaurant without a framed picture of him. Some are framed in gold. The only thing you'll see more of is the Evil Eye which even comes in a range of men's underwear.

The next night at the local restaurant, I meet Eric and Henry, from Paris. They're documentary filmmakers here to film a tourism video to supplement their arthouse side projects. Eric tells me he has made a film called Le nomades de Bakhtiar, about a nomadic group called the Bakhtiari who inhabit parts of mountaınous Iran. He promises to send me a copy. And wouldn't you know it, turns out they're looking for a Franco-Turkish translator. The next day, I introduce them to Seyhan. Ain't it funny how fate works sometimes.

Other sufis of the Mevlevi Order who have the privilage of being tombed next to Jalaladdin Rumi
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The next day, after a stay of three days, the time is here to hit the road so after another trip to the Mevlana museum, I board the bus with one of his poems on my tongue.

Through Love all that is bitter will be sweet

Through Love all that is copper will be gold.

Through Love all dregs will turn to purest wine

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Through Love all pain will turn to medicine.

Through Love the dead will all become alive.

Through Love the king will turn into a slave!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jalal_ad-Din_Muhammad_Rumi

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seyhan_kurt

"A collection of translations of Rumi's love poems has been sung by Hollywood personalities such as Madonna, Goldie Hawn and Demi Moore..."