When Frank Smoley meditates, he sits cross-legged and leans forward slightly. His hands intersect and gently clutch his ankles. He inhales through his nose—loudly and deliberately—and expels air with such force that sometimes the tiny hairs of his bushy salt-and-pepper colored mustache dance in the exhaust. Yet despite his breathing he makes no sound.

The Sufis prefer to meditate in silence.

In the aftermath of 9/11, anti-Islamic sentiments have swept across the nation since radical fundamentalists hijacked the religion.  But waves of a little known Islamic sect have surged through cities across America, hoping to reshape Islam’s perception in the Western world.

On a quiet residential street lined with brownstones in the South End, Boston’s chapter of Sufis worships in a humble apartment distinguished only by a large blue banner that reads “House of Sufism.”

“This is the religion of love,” says Smoley, a 45 year-old stay-at-home father currently training to join the Sufi order.

Smoley, a practicing Catholic who regularly attends Catholic services with his two children, started coming to the Sufi House because he says Sufism acts as a supplement to strengthen his relationship “between me and the beloved.”

“Other [religions] were pushed on me as a child, but this, this just grabbed my heart and hung on,” Smoley says while reaching forward and slowly clutching all ten of his fingers and making them into claws.
If the group of regulars at the Sufi House were a family, Smoley would be the kid brother.  He wears faded ankle high blue jeans, white tube socks and a white button-down Hawaiian-style shirt with pictures of different colored motorcycles on it. A set of blue headphones are lodged in his ears though he says he’s not listening to any music.

“Describe love to me,” Smoley says intently, maintaining an intense gaze with bottomless black eyes. “If you can explain what its like to be in love, then you can understand the feeling we get when we come here."

The mystical tradition of Sufi spirituality has been practiced among Muslims for centuries, drawing followers from every branch of Islam and even other religions. Yet Sufism today is under attack by Islamic fundamentalists for its liberal views, and some believe its influence is declining in the Muslim world. But as Islam extends into the United States, Sufism has trickled through throngs believers of all faiths in cities across America.

Although Sufism originated from Islam, the Sufi House welcomes practitioners of all faiths, and the center’s website proclaims it is “open to spiritual seekers of all traditions and backgrounds.”

“If rank and file Americans knew what Sufism stood for they’d have a very different perspective of Islam,” says Merlin Swartz, a Boston University religion professor. “My guess is that a majority of Muslims would consider themselves Sufis. But Sufis are in the process of transcending [religious] boundaries without losing a sense of who they are.

Twice a week, on Thursday and Sunday evenings, anywhere from two to 20 regular members gather to worship with the Sufis. Some are Muslim. Others are Christian, Jewish and Buddhist. All seek a spiritual connection with a higher power.

Currently there are just under two dozen varieties of Sufi orders throughout the world. Boston’s order is part of the Nimatullahi sect, which existed in Iran until the 20 th century when its founder, Dr. Javad Nurbakhsh, began expanding the Sufi order internationally to over 30 countries and on five continents.

A common method for the Nimatullahi Sufis members to show devotion to God is to remove their shoes and sandals and gather in a sitting room for silent reflection.

“Sufis are mystical beings Meditation is a common part of the Sufi ritual,” says Swartz. “Recitation of short Quranic verses or recitations of one of the many names of God help them spiritually connect with God.”

The Sufi sitting room is abundantly decorated with Persian rugs, pillows and tapestries printed with the Nimatullahi seal of a beggars bowl hanging from two intersecting axes. Framed quotes from the Quran and poetry verses from the great Sufi mystic Rumi cover the walls.

The room has a distinct clean, inviting smell, like fresh laundry out of the dryer. Except for a Bose stereo system with blue box speakers, the room could easily be mistaken as three hundred years old.

There are no chairs at the Sufi House, and all members pray on the floor. At dusk the regulars fill the room and assemble for an hour of silent contemplation. Some arrive and immediately kneel in silent reflection, while others shuffle through prayers and poems to guide their meditation.

There is Frank Smoley with the motorcycle shirt and youthful enthusiasm who offers the members tea and refreshments.

There is Ida, the young looking Middle Eastern woman dressed in a woman’s suit who leafs through a book of poetry. She boasts striking features—flowing jet-black hair, dark, wet eyes and delicately crafted lips—and could easily be mistaken for a model.

There is Mary, the middle-aged Irish woman with a green blouse and black skirt that touches the ground when she stands.

And then there is Mohammad Nooraee, who leads the meditation.

A student of the Nimatullahi founder, Javad Nurbakhsh, Nooraee was born in Iran and came to the US in 1979. He is the spiritual leader at the Sufi House where he mentors longtime practicing Sufis and newcomers along the “Sufi path.”

“Sufism is the core of all religions,” Nooraee says with a quiet but deep voice that resonates within his chest. “If you understand what Sufism is and what Sufis say, then you will have an appreciation for the path.”

“One tree is not a forest,” Nooraee says. He raises two thick, black eyebrows like furry caterpillars as he contemplates his thoughts. “But sometimes the trees forget that they are only a part of the jungle. That is ego. To remove ego is to find the Sufi way.”

“In traditional Sufism there is an attempt to transcend the self, particularly the egocentric tendencies of being occupied by oneself,” says Swartz. “So the sense of God and self dissolves and one becomes part of God.”

The Sufi path to higher spiritual begins through silent meditation. When the meditation begins, all sound in the room disappears. The silence creates a sense of isolation like being submerged under water. Silence, Smoley says, helps “refrain from the chaos.”

The Sufis form a semi-circle along the narrow room, some choosing to sit cross legged or kneel, occasionally bowing their heads or pulling their knees to their chests and slowly rocking back and forth.

After several minutes, Smoley stops his meditation and plays a CD of gentle Persian music on the Bose stereo that despite being just barely audible, shatters the silence. The sounds of a gentle harp accented by haunting Persian vocals create an ethereal mix of music that fills the room.

When an hour has passed, Nooraee suddenly stands up, walks over to the stereo and stops the music, inviting the deafening silence back into the room.

“Ya Haq,” Nooraee booms, a Persian saying that means “Oh Truth.”

And with Nooraee’s words, the Sufis uncross their legs and rise out of their meditation and exit the room—instantly and without a sound. Some return to home to their families or to their jobs. Some remain at the Sufi House for extended periods of study and devotion.

Smoley remains, offering to wash the used teacups and saucers.

“What my heart years for is for God to look at me,” Smoley says. “That would be awesome.”