Tales from Turkey 2
It was dawn and my hotel room overlooked the Topkapi Palace Walls and the oldest mosque in Istanbul. In front of the walls was a small grassy tree grove, and the mosque was small and unadorned, similar to the one-room Greek churches you see on the islands, but made of unpainted and unadorned ancient-looking stone. Walking among the trees was a man I first mistook for a gardener or groundsman. However, something was off. Though I couldn't hear him, my view was close enough to see that he was mumbling to himself and making incriminating gestures with his hands. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I sensed that he was not crazy or drugged, despite his behavior reminding me of the crazy people and drug addicts I had seen on Hollywood Blvd in Los Angeles.
That afternoon, I took a break and visited the famous Blue Mosque, the most beautiful monument I had ever seen, both inside and out. I was familiar with it from my art history studies a decade before. There were steps leading up to the mosque, and a sign in English asked visitors to refrain from sitting on the steps, which was odd as in Europe, people and tourists would sit anywhere they were comfortable. Before entering the mosque, everyone had to take off their shoes and wash their feet. I wondered if there was a religious reason for the "No sitting on the steps" sign, due to the juxtaposition of the sign and the shoe rack.
The Blue Mosque was breathtaking, with its soothing proportions and elegant details. If I were to think of heaven in building form, the Blue Mosque would be it. There were guides giving tours to groups and individuals, and I could overhear informative details about the building in English. A middle-aged Turkish man approached me and offered to guide me through the interior for a fee of around five or ten dollars. I agreed, and the man was a pleasant fellow with superb English and easy manner. During the tour, I asked him about the "Do Not Sit on the Steps" sign and if it was for religious reasons. He gave me a charming smile and said, "No, it is not for religious reasons. Rather, it is to keep shorts-wearing female tourists from sitting on the steps and unintentionally giving arriving religious men provocative views."
As my private tour was wrapping up, I asked the guide one more question. I asked him about the man in the grove next to the old mosque. He looked momentarily confused and then, with a light bulb of recognition, he knew what I was asking. The guide kindly explained that every Muslim entering the mosque must be pure of mind and harbor no thoughts or feelings of rage, angst, or eroticism. The man in the grove was trying to enter the old mosque but couldn't until his mind was clear.
When I arrived home that afternoon, the man was still pacing the grove, trying his best to shake away his impure thoughts. I came away with so much empathy and respect for him, and I realized that integrity is personal and comes from within. It is up to each individual to be the judge of their own integrity. It is not without some irony that my art celebrates sensual-erotic works, and I feel that instead of being impure, it can lead us to our greatest moments of Eudaemonia. But the great lesson I learned that day was that integrity is personal, it comes from the inside out, and we as individuals are the judge of it.
