Sufi Headquarters

We are standing, once again at the end of the rose-scented lane, near the entrance to the dargah.  Karen has decided to do something to help alleviate the misery of the beggars who are gathered at the gates, palms outstretched and beseeching. She buys about twenty nans from a baker in an open stall, in full view of the beggars.  Then with an air of great determination she begins handing out nans.

There seems to be a moment of awkward hesitation, as though no one can really believe what they are seeing.  Then, there is a sudden rush of bodies, the outstretching of thin, claw like fingers, pushing, shoving and shouts of protest.  In seconds Karen is stripped of all the nans and is being confronted by more angry faced beggars who felt they have been cheated out of their share.  Suddenly, she is shaking, not believing what she has just witnessed.

I am immediately reminded of our confrontation with the angry monkeys at Elephanta when Karen and the children had tried to feed them.  Poverty here is a real issue.

We beat a hasty, undignified retreat, walking several streets from the area of our confrontation with starving humanity before we begin to ask directions to the house of Ali Moosa.

He is eating his lunch alone in the courtyard, hunkered down with a plate of rice but stands to greet us warmly an asks us to please wait in the little bedroom off the courtyard while he finishes. Before we do this however we wash our hands and feet at the little hand pump.

Karen is now calming down and the ritual feels very good. We use her shawl to dry and then we go into the room.  When Ali Moosa joins us we present him with a bag of nuts which he immediately opens and gives to the children.  They begin squabbling over them while he lights a cigarette, coughing badly as he does so.

He begins discussing the Hindu-Moslem riots in the north, over a temple site both sides are claiming.  He seems to favor the Moslem position but states that he is not involved.

I have difficulty following his train of thought while he talks at machine-gun speed, punctuated by sharp coughing and alternating drags on his cigarette.  After about five minutes of nodding agreeably, trying to understand, I give up.

There follows a short discussion about his activities during a recent trip to Spain and I get the impression that he travels to teach in a Sufi environment there.  He says his activities consist of giving spiritual advice and healing.  I wonder about the healing part as he puffs steadily, his hand coming up to stifle coughs.

I mention that I have been reading Brunton's "Search In Secret India" and bring up the subject of our recent visit to Ganeshpuri, the ashram of Swami Muktananda.  He dismisses Muktananda as "a magician" and a "very clever man" but hastens to add that I could easily do the things Muktanada could do, that they were really no great attainment at all.

I am now rather confused, feeling both praised and slighted at the same time. As I am processing these conflicting emotions, Ali Moosa changes tack toward the subject of Islam and suggests that the Koran is the last of the great holy books, the Bhagavad Gita being the oldest and the Bible next to newest.  The Koran, he says, is the most spiritually powerful, for in it the laws of moral, spiritual and social discipline are clearly laid down.  This he says is where the earlier books have failed.

Then, for no apparent reason, "...but Muktanada is a nothing man!"  This dismissal of someone who I admire puzzles and annoys me.

In the next breath, Ali Moosa is telling me that he can easily teach me how to perform the feats that Muktanada demonstrates and I counter, somewhat disdainfully, that I have no desire to acquire magical powers.

To my quiet amazement, Ali Moosa then suggests that if I return to his house tomorrow night, he will teach me, not simply how to produce Muktanada's magical effects, but how to translate my energy into the ability to teach others.

My head tells me that this is a slapstick comedy but my emotions deny that vehemently.  My ability to teach others, he adds, is considerable and that what he is going to show me will enable me to return to North America and do my work in the world (the nature of which he also promises to clarify) while helping, teaching and healing others.

He takes another drag of his cigarette and reiterates, "After all, it is no accident that you find yourself 'by chance' at Sufi headquarters."

Trying to recover my composure, I admit that I do not feel ready to teach anybody when I know so little myself.  He follows this with the statement, "Well, first you have to fix your heart."

Something shifts in the pitch of his voice as he says this and it strikes a chord of empathy in me. Yes. I can't deny the truth of that. "Come tomorrow," he concludes.

There follows upon this encounter a night of soul-searching. I pull out all the stops and in the pages of my journal try to analyze everything that has just happened.  Part of me feels Ali Moosa is a charlatan but another part remembers the steady deep look in his eyes, so reminiscent of those pictures of Inayat that they seem certainly to have drank from the same cup.  Although much of the conversation seemed so ridiculous to me, there were those moments of undeniable clarity and truth in the way he spoke.

Even as I write my doubts, I know that I am going to be initiated as a Sufi and my head is battling it out with my heart because I can't really believe my good fortune.  If this was not the spoken reason why I have desired to come to India it was certainly something I had meditated long upon in the silence of my own heart.  For who were closer to me in spirit and who was I closer to, than the Sufis?

Also, there is the knowledge that this is a page right out of Brunton's book too and I can't deny that I have had a longing to make contact with a spiritual stream or living line of teaching that would help me to truly grow spiritually.  Reps was my first "real" teacher in the sense of someone who is a recognized traveler on the spiritual path but he discouraged any followers and I have an inner longing to belong, to validate my own understanding that I am on a true spiritual journey and not just an imaginary one.  Now high adventure is about to dovetail into my normal everyday life, for something I have only imagined is about to become a fact.  I am going to become a Sufi!

Yet, still the analysis goes on and in the pages of my journal I am sentimental and ruthless by turns.  I brace myself for the disappointment of being given "nothing more mysterious than a few well chosen books, some words of advice and a yoga exercise, perhaps."  I express my doubts about Ali Moosa's self-proclaimed knowledge, his cut and dry comments, and even his smoker's cough!  I admit my desire and need for a real teacher and express my hope that Ali Moosa might be such a teacher.  All the while, of course, wild horses could not keep me from our next meeting!

This evening, Karen sits on the floor of our apartment, drawing floral mandalas.  She started this activity a few days ago in the gardens of the Qutab Minar and I was immediately struck by the power and innocent beauty of her first efforts.  These mandalas are quickly evolving into more complex and striking creations.  She has this gift of developing things so quickly that they seem to have sprung out of nowhere.  She has purchased a set of colored pencils and is turning out these drawings one after the other at full speed.

I notice that when she is involved in this type of intense activity she is also very peaceful and unhurried.  I welcome the descent of her inspirations for seeing her at peace helps me relax and enjoy the journey.

Candle and incense burn at my desk as I write. "Perhaps the meeting will not be what I expect, or what I can conceive of, and indeed, why should it be so?  For what I need to learn is what I don't know. And this is the hardest part of being completely receptive, and yet without fear - for fear of the unknown is planted deeply in us. When I trust another human being, I also open  myself to harm if I trust naively, or if my trust is not true (i.e. if it is based on the need to gratify or inflate my sense of self).

This is where I should be doubly alert, for I know how deep my sense of having no strength or value as a human being sometimes goes.  There is a craving in me for understanding, yes but an equal craving to justify myself as a human being.  And this is the place, the bridge between self and not-self where all the confusion seems to lie.  After all, why should I be fascinated with the idea of being a teacher?  Is this not a big ego trip, looked at from the standpoint of 'I'? And it is just this ego trip that prevents any teacher from teaching, that blocks out the light of insight. That cuts off any true power to teach.  And what is teaching without that power?  It is just another rip-off, an energy drain, a big blank in the name of Life.

What is needed, and I feel this in my heart, is a true teacher and a true student.   I sincerely hope that Ali Moosa can be the teacher and that I can be the student, tomorrow night.  And if not, may I have the courage and conviction to seek on in the Path of Truth, until I do perceive that True Light that will lead me directly to my goal.