Istanbul, Turkey, 1993

"On the city walls, a word shows the way to whoever knows how to see. Like a relentless invitation, the walls deliver the mysterious message: 'Come.'

At every step, I read and seem to hear the murmured echo of the one that guides me. 'Come. Come. Come.' I follow that unexpected trail. In spite of the hurrying passersby, the daily obligations, and the hubbub, I let myself drift to the poetry of the word. I look for it, wait for it at every street corner. Suddenly, nothing. A door opens onto an old style garden filled with mortuary stelae as witnesses of time past. The Dervish school of Mowlana, a Sufi philosopher is there and I can make out the music and low-pitched voices. I sneak behind a door. He is there, turning towards the infinity, to the rhythm of divine incantations in a mystic dance, one hand reaching up to the sky, the other down to the earth, like a message to God, 'We are a knot on a circular line of energy between earth and sky.'"