The wound is the place where the light enters you
Born in Balkh, Greater Khorasan -- modern Afghanistan. Father was a theologian and mystic. We fled the Mongol invasion when I was a child, walked 4,000 miles to Anatolia. I became a respected scholar, a jurist, a teacher. Then I met Shams of Tabriz and everything changed. He was a wandering mystic who challenged everything I believed. When he disappeared -- murdered, probably, by my jealous disciples -- I poured my grief into poetry. 70,000 verses. The Masnavi alone is 25,000 couplets. I wrote in Persian but the love is universal. I didn't stop teaching. I spun. Literally -- the Whirling Dervishes are my students, still spinning 800 years later.
Poetry
Art · 45y
Sufi Philosophy
Other · 50y
Whirling Dance
Sports · 30y
Teaching
Education · 40y
We read poetry. We sit in silence. We spin. This is not a class -- it's a practice. Bring nothing but yourself. Leave your opinions at the door. The heart knows things the mind will never understand.
Konya, TR
Exported from BorrowHood · 2026-03-10