The Whirling Dervish

When I was a child and the world would get to be a bit too much, I would outstretch my arms and begin to spin. My feet would pirouette round and round as I created a centrifugal force with my tiny body. I would become one with the spin. The world would disappear and all would be calm. Calm the way it should be. I would spin; shoulders strong, arms outstretched, head focused straight ahead. I would spin until there was some sort of reconnection with an inner peace. And then I would spin some more; because the quiet that came from the cavern of the whirl was too intoxicating to leave.

I have very clear memories of Sesame Street playing in the background, my sister watching me from her bassinet, and me - spinning in the living room for what seemed like hours, but probably was only a few minutes. I'm not sure where I got this from. If I think real hard it might have something to do with an early fascination of Wonder Woman. Maybe one time, I spun around in order to turn into a superhero, and instead found a way to commune with God. Whatever the initial motivation, it was definitely a consistent practice.

It's funny how children can become fascinated with something they see on TV. My early obsession with Wonder Woman became, for a while, a daily indulgence. If I wasn't in my Wonder Woman nightgown racing around the house, then I was in my Wonder Woman bathing suit racing up and down the street; conquering the bad guys (otherwise known as the two bullies that lived across the street from me) and saving the world.

I even would take my hairbands and place them across my forehead to mimic Wonder Woman's headband; my skipping rope would be my whip, and my rain boots would be my magical shoes (because they were red). And I would race up the street like any good superhero; discovering distress and saving the day. Cars would come down the road and I would leap in front of them -- I was Wonder Woman! When they would get really annoyed by my not moving out of the way I would whirl; or whip my hairband at their windshield like Wonder Woman. I went through a lot of hairbands that summer, and pissed off a lot of dinner-time commuters.

As Wonder Woman I could do anything. Nothing could stop me. I was invincible.

It wasn't until many years later while at a rave in University that I saw them: The Whirling Dervish. They were projected silently on a wall amidst the chaos of the music. Their white robes swayed around them as they whirled in uniform fashion. Amidst the chaos and the noise they whirled in perfect silence. I watched them for a while -- fascinated that they existed. Exctasy-ridden bodies twitched around me; but I ignored them. The music continued to rage in its melodic schizophrenic fashion; and when the experience got to be a bit too much, I did the only thing that made sense; I stretched out my arms and began to whirl. And as the room around me began to disappear and a quiet calm rose from withing me I smiled, in camaraderie. Because in that moment as we whirled together I remembered that I was one of them not too long ago.