It was Kasim. He wasn’t a human. Then, I recalled his words.

“Why did you stop?” His voice changed when he asked me again.

“It wasn’t the merchant”, I said. “It was you who made those travelers kill each other.” I spoke without looking back at him. If he was a shape shifter, he could’ve changed back into his real form. These things appearing in their true form before humans only meant their death.

“The young traveler with them were you”, I said to him. The young lad who had died first wasn’t human being, but Kasim. He’s a djinn.

“You have finally figured it out” He said. “However, it was not I who killed them. It’s the greed of the merchant who wanted to have their wealth. I merely accompanied their caravan and participated in his vicious game.”

“You’re a fiend.”

“Aren’t you being sanctimonious?” He mocked me. “Did you not also abandon Dylan for your own selfishness? He tried to warn you, yet you refused to listen to him.”

I shook my head, and told myself that I would no longer be deceived by Kasim. He had made the merchant kill himself in the end because of his resentment towards the humans for being unable to leave the desert himself.

“I’m going to find him.” I turned around and rushed to find Dylan.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me behind!” He shouted, and I dared not to look back.

“I promised to protect you, and I did. Besides, you are tied to this place and cannot leave the desert.” I increased my pace and before I realized, I was running. The light started appearing on the horizon, and I had to find Dylan before the sunrise.

In the distant, I saw his silhouette and called out his name. Dylan stopped and turned to look at me in surprise.

“Why did you return?”  He asked me in disbelief. “It’s almost sunrise.”

“Let’s get out of here!” I tugged at his arm, but he didn’t move.

“The sun is here.” He told me, but I pulled at his arm again to get him moving.

“We still have some time.” I pressed, but he smiled sadly at me.

“There’s no time. Only of us can leave.”

“What do you mean that only one of us can leave?”

He opened his hand, and there’s the red stone in his palm. “Destroying this stone will get you out of the desert and take you back to your home. You will never return to this place, nor will have a memory of it.”

“What are you—” I faltered back at his words.

“You shouldn’t have stepped into our world. Hachim was once a human but being exposed to our world and his greed for power turned him into evil. You will suffer the same fate as him if you keep coming here.” He explained, and I realized that him hunting down Hachim wasn’t only to kill him and the serpent, but to get the stone for me to help me return to my world.

It’s said when two people travel, they experience a mysterious third being that always guides them. In the desert, it was no god, no djinn, but Dylan who walked beside me and my shadow.

He’s the Third One.

“Dylan, please—” Guilt weighed down my heart, and I was too ashamed to even look him in eye. Before I could even apologize to him, Dylan had put the gemstone down and stabbed it with the dagger causing it release a blast of wind that threw us back.

A vortex of sand appeared in the ground, turning into a giant sphere of dust that engulfed us completely. I struggled to reach out for Dylan, but the dust blinded me, and the atmospheric pressure on the body was too strong for me to move.

‘Never come back here!’ Those were his last words before I slipped into complete darkness.

A hand shook me awake, and I turned my head to see a woman standing next to me.

“The station is here.” She told me.

I felt I had experienced the same scene before. I looked around the compartment and saw a young mother with her son and the man folding his newspaper. I looked down in my lap and saw the book that I had been reading before falling asleep on the train and read those lines again.

‘Those with unfulfilled desire return to a place called Hell.’

I couldn’t recall remember why I was reading such a book, so I closed it and put it back in the bag, enjoying the scenario outside the train’s window. However, the moment I got off the train and set my foot on the station, I felt constantly being watched by someone.

Whirling Dervish in Turkey 

The next few days in Romania were well-spent in peace. I visited Bran and Peleș Castle with our tour guide, Mihail and the experience was nothing short of extraordinary. In the garden of Peleș Castle, I saw the statue of Romanian Queen, Elisabeth of Wied and found it intriguing as how the sculptor had carved out a moment of plainness and simplicity.

I returned to the hotel at night and packed the luggage for my next day flight to Türkiye. I took a shower before bed, ordered food and checked my cellphone. I looked at the pictures that my elder sister, Darcie had sent me of her five months pregnancy with her husband. I scrolled through them and replied to some of her text messages before going to sleep.

Istanbul, the once throne of Rome, has had its own unique charm and vibrancy compared to its Capital Ankara. Dolmabahçe Palace, Galata Tower, St. George Church, Topkapi Museum, Rumeli Fortress, Basilica Cistern under the bustling streets of Istanbul and The Grand Bazaar all are reminiscence of the Ottoman Empire’s splendor as well as the artistic legacy of the Byzantine Empire.

Hagia Sophia and The Blue Mosque are a remarkable blend of the Byzantium and Islamic Art, showcasing the historical and architectural brilliance. I took a tour of Haga Sophia, a former Byzantine Church and Sultan Ahmet’s Mosque. The latter is called The Blue Mosque because of its blue interior-design crafted with 20,000 hand-painted blue Iznik tiles and detailed glass work. The stained glass windows of this mosque reflect natural light as blue illuminating the hall and being inside it makes you feel like stepping into a world of peace and tranquility.

As I didn’t have much knowledge about the architecture, I couldn’t understand the meaning behind the floral designs and simply stared at the patterns on the walls. A man standing next to me who was also looking at the mosaic patterns said, “The floral designs on these mosaic tiles depict connection to eternity and single consciousness.”

“Are you a tour guide here?” I asked as I looked back at the pattern.

“I’m Yousef!” The man introduced himself. “Professor at Elif University of Art and History.”

“I’m Rhea Cordon”, I shook hand with him and asked him further about the mosaic art.

“How do these flowery designs depict eternity?”

“When you look at the pattern, it doesn’t break, neither it stops nor it ends at one particular point. Instead, it is a kaleidoscope; the ever-changing consciousness which is not fixed.” He explained to me, and I found his words quite interesting.

“We all are multiple consciousness, connected like these mosaic tiles in an intricate pattern of existence that lead us all to the greater design of the universe.”

“If you hadn’t said it yourself, I’d have rendered you a Doctorate of Philosophy.” I commented which made Yousef laugh.

“I am that too.” He chuckled. “Art and Philosophy aren’t much different.”

“I guess so.” I half agreed to him. Art is a philosophy of life, and life itself is a philosophy. One cannot understand the other, without understanding the essence of the one.

“I’m delivering the lecture tomorrow’s noon on Heterotopia of Illusion and Compensation at university.” He gave me his card, and an invitation to his lecture.

“If you are interested, you can come.” I took the card from him, and told him that I’d see to it. The man left, and I was again left alone to my own thoughts and contemplation.

I came out of the Blue Mosque and checked the notifications on my phone. There were some messages from my younger brother, Alec, who had me sent me a picture of himself with his fiancée.

‘I finally proposed to her, and she said yes.’ It read, and I congratulated him through text. Alec instantly read it and typed back, wish you were here. Among us siblings, I was the least one to be in contact and would rarely appear at the family dinners and gathering after moving out. I snapped a selfie of myself in front of the Blue mosque, and sent it to him.

‘Of course, won’t miss the rehearsal dinner.’

I sat on a bench nearby and sent the same picture to my therapist. Natasha asked me how I had been lately, and I told her I was feeling much better after taking a break.

The next day, I went to attend Yousef’s Lecture at his university. I was already 15 minutes late, and had missed the introduction. I looked for an empty seat and sat down immediately.

“Foucault describes Heterotopia as a space made of multiple spaces or counter-sites, and each has unique meaning and function in relation to the other. The university, the museum, the hospital, the prison, the cemetery, the bar and the garden, all are Heterotopias of crisis, time, deviation, emplacement, compensation and juxtaposition. The Heterotopia functions either to create a real space in relation to the another which is perfect, for compensation, or it exposes to all real spaces by creating an alternative or imaginary space that is illusion. I’m not concerned about what Foucault had actually meant, but rather what could Heterotopia of illusion and compensation possibly mean to us. I believe that these spaces are not only physical, but can be of mind and consciousness. Our mind can either create a new space or expose to all real spaces. The reality is what we make of it. However, the consciousness also creates an alternative space, a perfect place which we call escapism. In philosophy, we call it enlightenment and in the field of psychology, we label it as delusional personality disorder. However, if the Heterotrophic places are real, then the delusion of a certain group or people must also be regarded as real which act as their compensation against another world and space. Be it a field of Philosophy, Art, Psychology or Culture, revisiting Heterotopia can open further research in our field of work.”

Yousef concluded his lecture and the applause echoed through the auditorium. I got up from my seat and went to see him after the lecture.

“I must say your Lecture was an eye opening.” I told him.

“Would you mind joining me for coffee in my office?” Yousef offered, and I accepted it out of courtesy. I followed him to his office and he showed me in. I took a seat across his desk, and took a look at his office till coffee arrived.

“Did you find your answer?” His question caught me by surprise, but Yousef clarified himself. “When I met you last time, you were confused about the collective consciousness.”

“I’m more confused than before.” I answered taking a sip of my black coffee.

“You ought to be.” Yousef remarked. “One can only experience such things instead of being explained to.”

“You scare me more than my therapist.” I suddenly thought of Natasha.

“I dare not.” He sounded mock-offended. “A psychologist limits your imagination, whereas a philosopher will take you beyond your madness.”

“Am I mad if I question such things?” I asked him.

“One must start from something, and madness is prerequisite of all. Weren’t all saints and philosophers labelled mad for their enlightenment too?”

“Fair enough”. I commented.

“If you’re free tonight, I would like you to join my niece and me at Hodjapasha Culture Center to see the whirling dervish.”

Seeing my confusion, he elaborated, “It’s a Sufi dance embedded in the mysticism. You will know when you see it.”

Yousef had purchased a ticket for me, but did not let me pay for it. I departed from my hotel and arrived at Hodjapasha Cultural Center where Yousef had been waiting for me. He greeted me and introduced his niece to me. Irem was a 23 years old university student studying visual Arts and Photography who was excited to see a foreigner interested in Sufi culture and music.

Yousef led us inside a hall, and we sat in our chairs arranged in a semi-circle around a circular stage in the center.

The lights were turned off and the ceremony started with a customary prayer in the hall. Then, the instruments and music started playing as the semazens entered the stage matching their rhythm with the music. The dervishes or performers were wearing a black robe over their long white skirt, tennure with a white waistcoat and a brown conical hat, Sikke on their head.

Irem explained to me the spiritual significance and meaning of their clothing. The white skirt of a Dervish symbolizes his ego’s shroud and a tall camel hair hat on his head as a tombstone of his ego.

The dervishes first bowed to their Sema Master, second to each other, and finally, bowed on the ground as an act of dying. Then, they stood up and removed their black cloaks to indicate resurrection from their grave and spiritual freedom. They stepped forward with arms crossed over their chest and raised their hands up in the air followed by the whirling in anti-clockwise direction.

Irem told me that the right palm is stretched outward to receive the Divine blessing from God, and the left one is bent inward to pass this blessing to the world. There are total four selams in the whirling performance; each of ten minutes till Shaikh tells the dervishes to stop.

It was the fourth and last selam, and I was too immersed in the performance that I didn’t see another whirling dervish in the center. He wasn’t there before, but had been whirling with the other dervishes. His face carried peace; his head was tilted to side and his eyes were closed, lost in pure ecstasy, and I felt I had seen him somewhere before, from time I had not known.

I felt tug at heart upon seeing him dance to the Divine Call; the destruction of material body and ego. In the paradox of the transiency and unity, he looked as if he had achieved it all and asked me to find it as well. Nothing in this universe is separated from the other, it’s an illusion.

So, this is what the separation means in the Sufi Dance. The separation of body and soul, the high and low, the spirit and intellect, the mind and ego, the eternal and mortal, the life and death, but the singularity, Baqa is achieved through the annihilation of self, Funah.

Unable to control myself, I got up from the seat and walked up the stage to get to him, but he was fleeting, slipping through my fingers and I couldn’t stop him even if I had wanted to.

I stood in the center of stage seeing those dervishes whirl around me, but the one I had been looking for was nowhere to be seen.

Where did he go? The horror of that loss me made my eyes stung with tears in helplessness.

“Are you crying?” Irem’s voice broke me out of the reverie, and I touched my face to see that I was crying. I leapt from my chair and ran to the stage to see the Sema in the middle of dervishes, but the person I was looking for wasn’t there.

I quickly apologized and ran out of the hall ignoring the calls of Yousef and Irem behind me.