I completed a PhD in Performance Studies. I want to sit at a table and create collaborative scholarship and art.
I have written a lot about my cult experiences in an academic language.
I have some videos of myself doing lectures about it.
I am trying to write every week about cultic environments, recovering from them, and how I am experiencing this process in our current cultural and political moment.
I take inspiration from Yoko Ono’s generous spirit.
I want to share what I have learned with others.
When I Met Them
In the summer of 1997, an old friend from New York City (we’ll call him “Donny”) called to invite me to visit him and a “band of Sufis” in Carbondale, Illinois. He told me stories of their gentle inclusiveness, and the generosity of the “Sheikh,” as he called him. I was dubious; as a gay person, I was sensitive to homophobic environments, and my assumption – based on xenophobic understandings – was that a Sufi group wouldn’t be inclusive of queer people. Also, the revelation of my grandfather’s pedophilia led me to a deep, ingrained, sense of suspicion toward religious leaders. I was arguably not a good candidate for such a situation. But my friend relayed to me a moving story about how “Sheikh Din” took in his friend who was dying with AIDS – and his mother – providing care for them during his last weeks. Everyone was welcome in their little community, my friend assured me. This is why my friend had come back to Carbondale to visit again. I told him I would come, and he responded that he would have to ask Sheikh Din’s permission before I did so.
The Sheikh said “Okay,” so I got in my car and drove four hours for a visit.
What I found there met my high ideals: a group of spiritual seekers, all of whom had given up their “materialistic” dreams to commit themselves to “spiritual revolution.” This revolution had a social justice heart; they were growing organic food, making plans to collectively educate their kids, promoting gender equality, seeking alternative medicines and ways of healing. As a collective, they intended to search for the “heart” of what ails humanity, and to challenge it head on. Within the group I met scientists and artists and healers from all over the world; they comprised this small band and peppered it with joy, brilliance, and tenacity. Their spiritual practices were loosely Islamic, but also varied, mystical, infused with Yogic chanting. The Sheikh was a long-haired, guitar-playing hippie. In short, the whole thing was super cool, and I wanted to be part of it.
This Sheikh, whom we called “Murshid” (Arabic: “teacher” or “guide), was a native of Peoria, Illinois, and legally changed his name to the Arabic name given to him by his Master. Murshid was, according to his reports, the successor to a Sufi spiritual lineage whose cultural seat is in present-day Bangladesh. In 1995, due to his and his wife’s Illinois connection, they relocated to Carbondale in hopes of finding land for their community-based project. By 1996 they had purchased and moved to reside on some farmland 15 miles south of town. Soon after, in about 1999, he renamed the group Dayemi Tariqat.
Immediately upon joining the group, I dedicated my entire life to its growth, its health and vitality. I worked in community-owned businesses for two decades. I married a woman (after being an “out” gay man since adolescence) and had a child in the group, homeschooled her with other Sufi parents, and spent my free time in devoted service to the community’s projects. I attended every program and ritual that I could and practiced, to the best of my ability, a traditional Islamic way of life.