Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray,‘ Rumi

We hurry out of the velvet Anatolian night; winter in Pamukkale is a crisp affair. Into the ger-like structure, our small group of half a dozen discard hats, coats, gloves and settle into our seats. It is warm inside … and silent.

The lights are dimmed and an air of anticipation enters the darkness as fume.

Three musicians enter the room and take seats near the marble circle. They begin to chant, low and slow. At this point, they are the only creatures in light, the rest of the hall remains in darkness. The beat of a drum takes up the rhythm of their voices, and then the ‘ney’, the reed wind instrument that represents the first breath of creation, begins to sound its reedy note.


View original post 488 more words