She performs ablutions, prays, and mends shoes for years, only to don her death shroud upon her back and place a symbolic tombstone upon her head. With death cloaking her compassionate body, she begins to twirl, invoking the name of the Beloved within her heart. She is a whirling dervish and her name is Fatima. The daughter-in-law of the esteemed Sufi poet, Rumi, joins with the myriad other Holy Women Icons with a folk feminist twist that I write about each month: Virginia Woolf , the Shulamite, Mary Daly, Baby Suggs, Pachamama and Gaia, Frida Kahlo, Salome, Guadalupe and Mary.
Fatima is best understood when placed in an historical context. So, I begin with a very brief history of the whirling dervishes, while also offering glimpses into women’s roles in the Mevlevi Order. The primary Islamic sect that proclaims that dancing is a way of connecting with the divine—for both men and women—is the Sufi Order. Over eight hundred years ago, Mevlâna Jalâluddîn Rumi inspired faithful Muslims to whirl in harmony with all things in nature. The whirling dervishes of Turkey unite the mind, heart, and body, and help to usher peace into the world through their dance by dedicating their lives to service and compassion. After Rumi’s death on December 17, 1273, his followers responded by whirling. These followers of Rumi are known as the Mevlevi Order, or more popularly, the whirling dervishes. Until around the fourteenth century women were included in the practice and leadership of turning. As Muslims in Turkey became more and more conservative, however, women were forced to the sidelines and not allowed to whirl. And even with the secularization of the country with the reign of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, women were still denied access to the turning path because Ataturk essentially made whirling illegal in an attempt to take away as much religion from Turkish life as possible. Ataturk banned tekkes, or dervish homes, in 1925 as he secularized the state. By the 1970s the Turkish government allowed turning once again, but only if it was a performance and not a prayer. There were even reports of an old dervish being arrested because they saw his lips mouthing “Allah” as he turned in a theatre performance for tourists. Continue reading “Painting Fatima by Angela Yarber”










Hildegard, who lived from 1092 to 1179, was the tenth child of a family of minor nobility in the Holy Roman Empire. She’s a sturdy child who loves the outdoors and enjoys running through the forest with her brother. But early in the novel, she learns that she is to be her family’s tithe to the church. Her mother has already arranged for this bright and curious eight-year-old child to be the companion to Jutta von Sponheim, a “holy virgin” who yearns to be bricked up as an anchorite in the Abby of Disibodenberg. Being an anchorite means that, like Julian of Norwich (about 250 years later), this girl and her magistra are bricked in. There is a screened opening in the wall through which their meager meals are passed and through which they can witness mass and speak to Abbott Cuno, the other monks, and visiting pilgrims, but they can never go out. Never. In the Afterword, Sharratt writes that “Disibodenberg Abbey is now in ruins and it’s impossible to precisely pinpoint where the anchorage was, but the suggested location is two suffocatingly narrow rooms and a narrow courtyard built on to the back of the church” (p. 272). As Sharratt vividly shows us, Hildegard survived in that awful place for thirty years. 
