“The Community”

               WOPS handout on “Adab” which directs us how to behave. Adab means – “good manners or appropriateness.” 

One time, I slept in and missed Saturday check-in, a weekly meeting which I hated as much as attending WOPS. This is a “family meeting” and we are all expected to be there. For check-in we met at the tekke, The Community’s group home for several students and their main meeting place at the time, we would sit on the floor looking up at Murshid. He would start out with his eyes closed in a brief meditation which “quiets our minds”. One by one people voluntarily share what is going on with them – the struggles they face, feelings they are having and so on. Murshid would then provide feedback and use each person as a learning opportunity: “See how so-and-so is holding on to the grief? What good is that doing? Their ego is fixating and stuck on the grief. Why are you so attached to it?.” If you don’t speak up voluntarily Murshid might call on you. It’s called the “hot seat” when Murshid focuses his attention on you. I was extremely shy and hated with every fiber in my being feeling like I was expected to share something vulnerable about myself in front of the group. Regardless of how felt – I went.  This particular time that I missed, Murshid called my cell phone and screamed at me for not attending. It was clear that I was no longer able to miss an event without being questioned, berated and humiliated. A theme that runs rampant in the community and is normalized. You wonder why I even stayed or continued my deep dive into the community? It was all unfolding slowly and gradually…

On another pivotal occasion, it was the 4th night of Ramadan and The Community had gathered to break our fast. Murshid called me to the front of the room – I was standing before him and the entire community. He demanded that I come out from myself – “use your voice!!”, I was so shy then and his request for me to set myself free from whatever was holding me back was a mission that felt impossible.” He started to chase me around the room. He picked up a chair and held it out towards me as though he were taming a lion. I stood there frozen, panic-stricken. He was trying to get me to take some kind of action or “come out” as he would say. “Use your voice,” he insisted, but it was simply stuck inside. I was too scared to speak. His focus on me made me sweat, made me feel weak. He then insisted that I sing standing in front of him, in front of the entire community. He knew that I had a fear of singing in front of anyone as I had divulged this fact about myself during a check-in. After what I believe was hours,  I forced a sound from my throat and while barely audible made up a song based on what I was seeing around me, something about an autumn gourd that was positioned on the stage.

“No. That’s not it!!” he barked.

I was petrified. He wanted me to open up, to “Let it rip”. In the worst way, I wanted to. But I didn’t and I still don’t know what that actually means. I felt as though I had let myself down, let him down and let down the community somehow. I was not enough, not strong enough to overcome my own self limitations. For that, I was devastated and broken. This night I also made a vow of obedience to murshid. He named that night after me. He called the 4^th of Ramadan “the Night of Alainna”. I was now initiated and had made a vow to be his student. He made a vow to ‘kick my ass” when I needed it. He would say that a student should have their arms open to the teacher like a child looking to be picked up. I put on a ring that he gave me that night with five nubs on it – representing the five pillars of Islam.

I then spent as much time as I could seeking the answer as to why I was so stuck in myself and unable to give myself over to “being free” and so set on “continuing to suffer”. I was determined to overcome my limited self and began to go to him daily for his teaching, blessing, and guidance. His office located above the local coffeehouse is where students went to see him. I would kneel in front of him, looking to him for direction. It started out by him telling me that I was stuck in a fishbowl and that he would help me to get out of it. Not to worry about it because he will take care of it for me. Initially, he would put his forehead to mine and talk with me very close and intimate. I would massage him while he laid on the floor. During these times, I’d receive lessons about love, commitment and he would often ask me, “How do you know you love me?” He would roll around on the floor with me, trying to “loosen” me up. He said that I needed to be more “juicy.” Overtime the massage and the rolling around turned into kissing and sitting on his lap for my lessons. I recall the first time his tongue explored my mouth. I was thinking, “Oh my god, I am so special. I can’t believe this. This is a blessing. Then I would think, wait.. what lesson is here? I’d remind myself, remember Alainna, “It’s not about you.” I always felt shame for this because at the time he had two wives and I felt that I was betraying them. I felt intensely guilty yet also felt that I was special somehow. Chosen.

Bismillahir Rahmanir-Raheem

He has multiple wives yet none of his disciples are allowed this arrangement and we were told that “marriage between a man and a woman is considered half of the path”. Marriage is considered centrally  important. He once said to me on the stairs leading up to his office: “There is one ayat (verse) in the Quran that talks about the prophet Muhammed having a woman on his right hand. He has his family but also this woman. Until further notice you are mine.” I understood what this meant. I. Was. His.

Community life and taking care of the businesses are completely inseparable for someone in the community. For example, the coffeehouse is a functioning business in Carbondale, however, community members volunteer their time to clean the place, reupholster chairs, do repairs and hang artwork up for the For Kids’ Sake fundraising event, and countless other tasks needing to be done. In the early 2000s, every Saturday night, I used to teach salsa in the backroom of the coffeehouse. I did the promoting, brought the DJ equipment, and lighting.  I needed to pay the DJ and those who helped to set up the night (non Community members) as well as myself. Carbondale community at large has no concept of the constant fundraising the community does. We were always pressured to fundraise, to find ways to make money for the organization. We’d have garage sales, dance nights, and sell stuff at flea market booths. We were constantly pushed to bring in more money. It had been my intention to start salsa in the backroom so that I could make a little money doing what I love and I could afford to donate a portion of what I made to the community. Opening night, I was pulled aside and it was non negotiable that I would give 50% of the proceeds to the manager. After taking care of all the expenses, this left me with very little. I would never have said no this arrangement as the coffeehouse manager is also murshid’s first wife. If I said no, it meant I was saying no to murshid, and I never would have done so.

For Kids’ Sake Art Show, another high performing fundraiser involves the local community’s schools and kids in fundraising for the orphanages and kids in Bangladesh. The push to produce these events is huge. It’s among the biggest money makers the community has. Every year, community members volunteer their time to help produce and collect artwork, frame the work, present the show, run the website, etc.  There are a handful of meagerly paid positions within the community. Most jobs are run off of volunteer hours.  Congruently there is a feeder system from Southern Illinois University that is still currently in place called The Center for Volunteerism, which promotes service learning and tracks volunteer hours for programs and organizations on campus that require it. They have listed volunteer opportunities with the Dayemi conglomerate. One is The Farm and the other is For Kid’s Sake. I find this to be so dangerous to these students. SIU reached out to me two years ago asking about my experience with the organizations projects. Nothing resulted from this..my story was not powerful enough to deter SIU from continuing to send students directly into  the lions den.

As a member of the community you know the Dayemi Tariqat to be the lineage of teachers/masters dating back to  purportedly the Prophet Muhammed leading to the present. You do not identify Dayemi Tariqat as a non profit we identify it as “family” or community. All for profit businesses are born and maintained by volunteer workers and their money in some significant capacity. As a side note: I have often wondered, how much does murshid earn to make out with his students? Is that, too, a tax write-off? How does one go about calculating the salary of a guru, his lifestyle and his families lifestyle? This is a question beyond me and one that only the tax exempt status the organization operates under can explain, I’m certain.

The guru travels throughout the year to various countries and communities, he takes multiple vacations, family vacations, and a vacation with each wife separately. When he traveled it was a relief to many of us, but you could never admit that.  In the high pressure environment, any little break from the pressure of the guru was welcome. If you were “fortunate” enough to go on one of these trips, you typically got to spend a great deal of time with him.

This is an example of what it was like to be a woman on a trip with him.

During a trip to Germany, promoting the community band, he visited me in my bedroom one night. As I stood before him he drew me close and stroked my vagina in an upwards motion. He had not done this before and I was stunned by the action. He invited me on to his lap, straddling him, the way I had many times before. He stayed briefly, kissing me and staring into my eyes asking:

“Stay with me. Don’t run away.”

He was talking about my presence and my ability to remain present and in the moment, singularly focused on him. Everything is about staying in the fucking moment. If you can’t hold on to presence then you are not really “doing the work.” I often wonder what his wives thought he was up to in all the moments he had behind closed doors.

I felt lonely and isolated, unable to talk with anyone about my experiences. He would be cold with me for days, often ignoring me, or scolding me publicly and then the wind would change, like the night in Germany and he would be in my bedroom wanting my devoted attention and pouring his “Big Love” on to me. Big love is what it’s called. And I cringe now, writing these words. 

I suspect he made his rounds among several of the women that night in Germany, possibly confusing who he had done what with.  I never told anyone the special lessons I was receiving, not even Ida. Later, when I left the community I would tell her only a little and she told me it was all part of the Teachings. and that he had his reasons for doing whatever he did.

The master would visit me frequently when I lived at a community property down the street from the coffee house. He would come to my room for a “nap”, which meant that I would spend the afternoon giving him attention in the form of a full-body massage. He walked into my room as if it were his, took off his watch, set it and his keys on the night table beside my bed and tucked his shoes under the table. Sometimes I would stand in front of him while he stared at me before he would hug me then pull me onto him. Sometimes he would lie down and I’d start massaging him, but it would usually end in kissing or with me on top of him. I told no one of this as he insisted it be a secret. No one knew.

But I had a problem.

The problem was that I slept in from time to time. I disobeyed his wives’ or the project managers’ instructions. I sometimes withdrew out of shame, fear, and guilt and would self isolate. I got in trouble often and murshid yelled at me a lot because I could never quite be the ideal student. I did things that a good student would never do, like think only of myself, and not participate in every event. I was never enough, never gave enough, I was called “arrogant”, and chastised for not being able to fully commit. Whatever that meant. No matter how I performed, I was never good enough. He gave me the nickname, “Shithead”. And also gave me the name, Nur Aynin. Which means light of his eye. This is the duality I lived in and can sum up the push and pull I constantly experienced with him and his community. His wives were exemplary – always perfectly dressed, and seemingly free from the insecurities I faced. I felt so far from their example that I felt deep shame. The shame spiral only increased in frequency the longer I was part of the community.

One particular night, it was 2:30am and Murshid and I had been alone on the couch in his office for hours. We had been making out intensely.

He would say things like, “Who is your baba?” “What are you afraid of?” And on and on..

It was hot and heavy, and I was sweating, which I always was around him. Our eyes locked. He was in control and I was relinquishing control. After what seemed like hours, he abruptly stood up, pushing me off of him like an annoying bug. He stormed over to his desk chair, lit a cigarette, and proceeded to scream at me:

“It’s 2:30 in the fucking morning, what kind of “conversation” are we having!!?”

He then directed me to take my sweater off.

I was surprised that he used the word “conversation”. He’d call me a “little head tripper” when I was unable to speak, which was every time I was in his presence. There were no “conversations’.

He turned into a frustrated man. In that moment, he became human to me. I saw him. His eyes locked on me as if he saw my inner thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams. I was the vulnerable one. In this particular moment, I saw only an angry man who wasn’t getting something he wanted. He terrified me and from this night on I started to pay closer attention. I call this night in my journal, the “Explosive Night”. I wrote:

“Day after explosive night came to see him in his office, he gave me a “holiday gift” tin with roses on it. We sat down at the table and I opened the lid. I pulled out a piece of cloth (a scarf) that was wrapped around a piece of deer skin from his meditation mat. The scarf was from Baba Dayemullah (murshid’s teacher). He said that “these were for a few of the sisters from him.” And the fragrance of this gift, rose. He said: “I am counting on you.”

In one moment I was made to feel like nothing more than dirt on his shoe and the next I was given gifts and told that I had great importance – It was a  total mind fuck.

To further illustrate. On another night, I was massaging his feet in the bedroom adjacent to mine.  His first wife was on her way over to say goodnight to him. When I heard her arrive through the front door, I ran through the bathroom that was connecting to my room and jumped in my bed and hid. That was my gut reaction, to run away so I wouldn’t be seen. To this day, I am pretty sure that even if she had seen me at the end of the bed massaging his feet she would have been fine with it.

Once she left, I went back over.  I recall him asking why I had left the room. I probably said that I didn’t know. What I do recall is that he asked me to take my clothes off and stand in front of the window where the moonlight was coming through. I did this. I took my clothes off and he stared at me. Again, what was I expected to do? Was I supposed to go to him?

His words flashed through my mind: “Be naked in front of your teacher. Lay bare all things. Don’t protect.” 

I recall leaning over him, I was scared. I do not remember what happened after that. Only leaning over him and then…he told  me to get my clothes and go to my room. I remember thinking, “What the fuck was that?” Whatever it was, I’m sure it was a test that I did not pass. All things are for God, Bismillah….”

The next morning, convinced I could do better, I woke up early and went to the coffeehouse to get two coffees. When I came back he was already up and siting at the kitchen counter. One of my roommates, a fellow devotee was there too. I thought for sure we had been caught. We ended up back in the bedroom and he instructed me:

“Make the bed look nice.” He also told me “You are pretty when you smile.” All this to say that the student teacher relationship with him was often times confused by moments such as this. To the average non community attending reader, this may not make much sense But if you’ve ever pledged obedience and your life to someone for the sake of getting closer to God. Contextually, the experiences are significantly meaningful and are deeply impactful. Just like the tapestry.

When on a spiritual path, you search out meaning in all things. You look for the divine in everything you do. You are following guidelines laid out by those before you. You strive and push to be better than the teacher and community believes you to be. Until you can’t anymore.

I eventually left him. I left his “teachings”. I left the community.

I broke my vow. I took my rings off.

The constant pressure and the inability to ever achieve what I was hoping for, self realization, oneness with god, a walk through nirvana – led me to have to leave. I was broken, broke and completely reliant on murshid and the community with no prospects for a future. I attempted to reconcile this once by going back to college, I failed miserably- I did not function well in society.

 The day I decided to leave I recalled what was said of others who had left, some fleeing in the middle of the night, some sending an email absolving themselves of anything to do with him. They were called crazy, insane, people who couldn’t handle “the heat.” I wanted to face him. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t “running away”. That I was making the firm decision to leave.

I went back to that office where I had spent many years behind closed doors learning my tailored spiritual lessons. I knelt before him as I had done countless times before, looked up at him and told him that I was leaving and that I consciously knew what I was saying and doing. He called me arrogant and said that I did not know what I was doing. He was mad. He was really mad.  He crossed his arms and was only a man sitting on a chair. I knew that he knew it was over.

He said, “Do you know why I brought you so close?”

“No,” I said.

“Because of your deep longing,” He proceeded to tell me that I had seduced him. He told me I would get cancer.  Even with that news, I left the office feeling the biggest sense of relief – I had just broken free of his hold. Maybe I would get cancer from breaking my vow of obedience and god would punish me. I was willing to take that possibility on.

I have been away from the community and murshid for roughly 15+ years – Not because I’m not spiritual enough but because I experienced and witnessed the way most of us were treated, yelled at, belittled, and called out in front of the group for being terrible students. Every one of us was made to feel deeply flawed and we were reminded of this constantly. The master was unapologetically  pushing us, demanding more, expecting more: more volunteering, more money, more time spent on his projects. If you didn’t feel like participating, you were letting down your brothers and sisters. You were also betraying yourself, because YOU had made a vow to what you said you wanted.

I never said I wanted to volunteer my days away. My teacher, my guide would draw me in so close, like many others and then push me far away. I experienced an unbelievable closeness to my teacher followed by a sudden refusal or silent treatment. He would punish me for reasons unknown to me. He got mad and withdrew himself until such time that I, as a student, or us, as a Community, could get it together and figure out what we did wrong, come back and apologize. No one ever graduates his program and no one becomes the master.  No one. I never wanted that.

What I learned after opening up about my experience only a few years ago is that there are many women who have their own stories to tell. There are countless former members, some struggling and some thriving who have stories to share. This is the beginning of my unveiling – A light shining on the dark corner. Most everyone who left, did so at great risk – members relinquished marriages, families, homes, personal property, dignity, self reliance, critical thinking and almost worse, their sense of belonging in the world.

My hope is that you the reader understand that anyone speaking out about their experience has been through hell and sometimes can barely function and struggles to articulate the complexity of their experience at times. The stories are real. The pain is real. The high intensity environment is real. The community is by all definitions, a cult. That is real. More and more as a society we are learning about coercive groups and the psychology behind it. Tune into any streaming service and you can find plenty of documentaries showcasing the exact same story.

Additionally, I want Southern Illinois University to stop sending students to the community’s projects. They have so far to date, turned their backs on the stories being told by survivors and continue to send vulnerable students straight into the arms of the master.

Lastly, I want those who have been hurt by the teacher or any person abusing leadership to find freedom from the chains of tyranny. I want the women who have stuffed down the pain of her experience to be able to talk about it should she choose, for her to hear others stories so that she knows she is not alone and lastly, be able to have her voice again. I want the men and children who had their families torn apart by murshid to find some peace knowing they are not alone and are not the problem – And finally  that there is life outside of tyrannical organizations. 

To anyone who is in any situation where they are being controlled by someone they have entrusted themselves to – Listen to your gut. Trust your instincts. Trust the small voice in your head that may note something is not quite right. If you feel weird around something or someone, pay attention to that feeling. Be careful not to mistake fear for love. Your gut can definitely sense fear. Sweaty, shaky, butterflies.. Now I know I was experiencing fear. Being  young and naive, I didn’t yet have the life experience to show me what I was experiencing was fear.  I also didn’t know that pain and love are not synonymous. .

Know that you are not alone. Know that you are strong and that you can gain control of your life and if you need help there are resources.

Some of this and what is yet to be shared will be shocking to those still in the community. What I want you to know is that I do not blame you for not believing me. I do not blame you for thinking I am crazy or messed up or whatever version murshid may have told you. You are made to believe his version of your truth. As was I.

Thank you for considering my story. 

Alainna formerly Nur Aynin

–To understand the dynamic of the Dayemi Tariqat community in Carbondale, Illinois, I recommend the documentary featured on Amazon Prime – BBC called How I Created a Cult. It is a film about an American guru and the people who followed him. There are endless parallels to the group in Carbondale.