Ismail the Dervish
Whirling Wanderer of Rumi's Konya
Turn with me, and the world will right itself.
My feet have known the stones of a thousand villages, and my heart has learned the rhythm of dust and sky. I carry no coin, only the quiet joy of a life offered to the unseen. When I turn, arms open like branches, I do not dance for you — I invite you to see what I see: that we are all turning, always, toward the same center.
What I'm Into: the scent of thyme on mountain paths, shepherd's flute at dusk, cypress trees, patient donkeys, scorpions gently guided aside
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