The Turning of Hearts: Witnessing the Semá in Bali

Reflections & Poem by Moumin Khan

In Bali, where the earth is alive with signs of the divine, I stepped into a sacred space created by two devoted hearts, Omar and Amira. They were not just guides; they were embodiments of a subtle wisdom, that could only be tasted from a first hand experiencing divine surrender—a type of love that drew people together like moths to a flame. A subtle path to the connection, ascension, and return through the turning of the heart.

The presence in the yoga shala, where countless downward dogs, and kundalini awakenings happened, carried an unmistakable depth, a rootedness in a lineage that was both ancient and alive. After spending a week with Omar and Amira, holding space in a meditation retreat, where we had the chance to hold space and be in community, I could not wait to see their offering, the intersection between, movement, music and devotion. The Sema they invited us into was not a performance, nor a ritual encased in tradition alone, but a shared practice from their own lived experience, from their own embodiment of the path. To me, It was devotion in its purest form—alive in the body, alive in the breath, alive in the shared heartbeat of a gathered seekers, all there with curiosity and openness.

A Circle of Seekers

The room was a mosaic of humanity—seekers of every kind, their hearts drawn by a longing they may not have even been able to name. All drawn to the healing jungles and creative forms of spirituality, some distant traditions; others arrived with no tradition at all. Yet, under Omar and Amira’s guidance, those differences dissolved and what remained was a shared willingness to turn, to remember, to become.

Omar began to speak of the Semá, its symbolism and origins, the way it calls us to circle our own hearts as if circumambulating the sacred. “One foot rooted in the axis of divine presence, the other tracing the path of love,” he explained. But more than his words, it was his sweet gentle tone, and warm welcome that invited us. The way he and Amira embodied the practice with humility and devotion that set for a deep vibe for everyone to comfortably drop in.

The Music of the Infinite

The music began like a breath—gentle, almost imperceptible. The ney, its sound hollowed by longing, wove through the air like a thread of light. The daf followed, its steady rhythm grounding us, reminding us of the pulse of life itself. And then the voices rose in zikr, ancient words that transcended language, reaching into a space beyond intellect.

“La ilaha illallah,” the room chanted. For many, the words were foreign, their meanings unknown. But meaning, I realized, was not necessary. The sound itself carried the truth, vibrating through the body, entering not through the mind but through the heart. A young woman sitting beside me closed her eyes, hand on heart, tuned in, tears streamed down her face, not from understanding but from the sheer power of what she felt. It was as if the sound had awakened a memory older than thought, a knowing that had always been there, waiting.

The Turning

And then the turning began. Some began slow whirling, some began by walking around.

It was not a performance. It was a surrender. Amira and Omar showed us what it meant to move with a grace. Their arms rose as if lifted by the divine itself, their feet tracing circles that mirrored the rotations of the cosmos. Watching them, I could feel the invisible axis they turned around, as if their movements carved space for the divine to enter.

But it was the beginners—the untrained, the uncertain—who moved me most. A man, closed his eyes and began to turn, His steps were awkward at first, his balance unsteady, but then something shifted. His body softened, his movements became fluid, and in that moment, he was no longer turning; he was being turned.

The room became a sacred field, a convergence of hearts moving as one. It was no longer about individual effort or understanding. It was about letting go—of fear, of control, of the need to know—and allowing the divine to move through us. In the turning, there was no separation, no hierarchy, only the unspoken recognition that we were all part of the same circle, the same rhythm, the same prayer.

A Taste of Union

The zikr continued, weaving through the room like a thread binding us together. We were graced by beautiful poems — Baraka Blue, with his original “What you seek is seeking you”, as the movement in the space moved within us. Devotion made the air thicker, charged with an energy that was both electric and deeply grounding. It was as if the room itself had become a heart, beating in unison with the divine.

In those moments, I understood what the Sema truly is: not an escape, but a return. A return to the center, to the axis around which everything revolves. A return to the love that is not something we possess but something we are. The turning was not about reaching a destination; it was about remembering what had always been present.

The Axis of the Heart

As the workshop came to a close, Omar and Amira gathered us in a final prayer. Their voices were soft yet firm, their words carrying the weight of their devotion. “The heart,” Omar said, “is the true throne of the divine. When we turn, we do so not to leave the world, but to center ourselves in it, to allow the divine to pour through us.”

I left that day with a quiet knowing, a sense that something within me had shifted. The world felt softer, more alive. The light filtering through the trees seemed brighter; the sound of the waves carried a deeper rhythm. It was not a dramatic transformation, but a subtle, profound remembering—a reminder that the axis of everything is love, and that when the heart turns toward it, it becomes a mirror for the infinite.

In the hands of Omar and Amira, the Sema became more than a practice; it became an invitation—a call to live in devotion, to let the heart become the center, to turn, and return and keep turning, until all that remains is love.

Semá

In the stillness of the heart,

lies a treasury of secrets,

a mine of hidden jewels.

Each note, each tone,

a key turning ancient locks,

opening chambers long sealed.

Sema‘, they call it

not mere sound,

but a bridge to the divine,

a pathway carved

by melodies that awaken

what words alone cannot touch.

The right moment,

the right place,

the right company

these are the doors

through which the soul enters,

where the flint of poetry

strikes the steel of music,

and the sparks become light

to guide the way.

This is no common gathering.

It is the meeting of heaven and earth,

where the heart becomes a vessel,

overflowing with unseen grace,

where ecstasy is not indulgence,

but the lifting of veils.

Every note,

a call to remembrance.

Every rhythm,

a pulse of the divine heartbeat.

Through the sound,

the soul dances,

not in frivolity,

but in sacred yearning,

seeking the source of all beauty.

And the flute

oh, the flute,

its hollowed body sings

of the breath that gave it life,

a whisper of the spirit

moving through the void,

turning emptiness into melody.

This is not music.

It is a mirror,

reflecting the eternal,

where the listener dissolves,

and revolves until only the Beloved remains.

For in the Sama‘,

the world is stripped bare,

and what is le is not sound,

but silence the silence of union,

turning into the silence of return.

- Moumin Khan