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Walid El-Taha

The first seed from Beirut, the one to give a renewed spiritual flowering that started at Columbia University and spread to the Village to New York City ghettoes and beyond and across the Great Pond to the Old Country, was a brilliant Jazz musician that died before his time--a martyr--slain by the men in blue. When we search for the roots of the Moorish Orthodox Church, we find a tender soul, Walid al-Taha.

Dervish Scabbard

The Sultan brought him into the Noble Order of Moorish Sufis ("NOMS") in Baltimore in 1959 after being introduced by a mutual friend and Noble Order member, Rachel Yaqubi El. Walid was fifteen or sixteen at this point and had a wandering, questioning mind. From the Sultan he would learn about Hassan Sabah and the Assassin Ismaili Dervish Order. Walid was born as Warren Tartaglia in Upstate New York. He would often travel from there to Baltimore to visit his mother's relatives and the Sultan. He rose quickly in the ranks of the Noble Order of Moorish Sufis, was given a Moorish name and title, and the honor of heading the second temple. When he enrolled in New York University (Washington Square) he ran a temple there and became the head of Orissa Province (New York State). His friend G.M. Foster (Ghulam El Fatah) would head Temple No. 14 in Newark, New Jersey, and be Governor of Behar Province (New Jersey). Walid was also responsible for the chartering of Noble Order Temples 7, 22, and 23. Later, in 1965, some initiates of those temples would start the Moorish Orthodox Church ("MOC") at New York City's Columbia University.

Like the Sultan and the Sultan's father, Walid was a jazz musician and shared interests in worker rights. Walid was an alto sax player, a talented poet, and an artist. He had the honor of playing with such noted musicians as Yusuf Lateef, Art Blakey, Jim Green, Freddie Mitchel, and Pony Poindexter. Art Blakley's son and his Native American daughter-in-law would join the Noble Order Moors.

Dervish Scabbard

Walid brought the NOMS and the MOC to a wide audience as a preacher and a radio talk show host on WBAI. There he had such notables as Al Fowler, Ed Sanders, Ghulam El Fatah, Barbara Holland, and Harry Fainlight read their works over the airwaves. Barbara Holland has lines about Moors in her poems "Of Jazz and Hierophants" and "Moresco" in the collection Return in Sagittarius (NYC: The Eventorium Press, 1965). Likewise we find Ed Sanders writing about Ancient Egypt in his Egyptian Hieroglyphs. Ghulam El Fatah became a full-fledged Noble Order Moor and continued to write poetry with Moorish themes. Harry Fainlight only had one twelve-page booklet of poems published in his life time Sussicran (London: Turret Books, 1965). Harry Fainlight's poetry tends toward themes of love, isolation, and addiction much like Walid's. Harry's sister Ruth Fainlight is also a poet and has written on Moorish/Egyptian themes.

Walid had a dark side as well - a love of opium. This hindered his eduation, his career as a musician, and ultimately led to his martyrdom. He collapsed into a coma in a New York City park, was handcuffed, and taken to a hospital where he died ten days later. Today he is memorialized by having NOTSMS Temple No. 2 named Walid al-Taha Memorial Temple.

Dervish Scabbard

The following is an excerpt from Walid's The Hundred Seeds of Beirut, a brief text attempting to blend the search of meaning and self on the path of chemical enlightenment with that of the spiritual Moorish Path of Love, Truth, Peace, Freedom, Justice, and Beauty. When you read this shed a tear for our dear Moorish brother and remember the Moorish Covenant of Brotherhood given to us in the Circle Seven (chapter XXV), and please say a Fatihah for all the diligent work of our Moorish brothers and sisters who are trying to uplift all humanity.

AGENTS OF CHAOS

1. THE PAVILION
(After meeting the boy & the
aide he erects A PAVILION
by the river to shelter them
from the storm. When it is finished
he says:)

I was borne by comets
& shackled only to the wind
but now that you take up these chains
I feel coarse sugar course my veins.
How sweet the slavery to flesh
that wraps you too my masters
in a rope of stars
coil about me two snakes
warm from the egg a net or mesh
of born sounds whispered words
to catch the silence of nite
& when it is full draws up & tight
sink release swim fall
back again beyond the light
pleasure like song calls
a crystal out of chaos
a prism of basalt to reflect the face
huge empty golden features
of chaos itself the fires of space.

2. THE CHANT
(He strikes the pavilion & inscribes
a circle where it stood & says:)

The storm that has passed electrical
turbulence in your afternoon soft
white bodies which bent
the grass in our cirlce the evening
begins in your crevaces hollows
& splits in the poolgreen hedges
here in the forest hung
with your breath & the breath of decaying
warm flowers & wet leaves.
The fading thunder slapping
together of empty air
silence which opens with the rite
will surely ask blood sacrifice
to know them even to drink
from the necks of ones we love --
In a hall of mirrors out of
thousands approach the reflection
which is dark.

In the pearlgrey evening
in cypress shadows are forming
in the pointed shades of the firs
the shapes we evoke sewn
in place by the dark rain
resting on green shadows.
What can we spill from our bodies
to draw them near? The hands
of the wind the foxes & ermines
the night insects & mists
of the forest will drift to the rim
of our circle as if we had rubbed
ourselves with salve of lichen
nightlilies moss & aconite
the shapes will become more visible
cobwebs strung with rain.
From deep burrows in the ground
woven behind thorns under rocks
drift vapors of sound as from
buried mouths from the throats
of the evning stars from the trees
like women shrouded in blue
the unformed sounds float up
in a shadow chant
shapechanging calling & binding
both of children & devils
& songs for success in the hunt.

Now the moon rises the eye
disembodied in a dream
a pearl in the dark groin
of the forest a mirror for owls
& we reach out to fingerchange
the shape of the shadows it throws
on the ember grass.

There's more to say about opium
the insect that brings you flowers
O P I U M
makes you think of doping someone
since flesh itself comes like viscous Pollen
floor is heavy couch in heavy
you could
consume touching with thick fingers
portions of the sleeper like fruit
soft, black pears round &
stained with opium
yourself the insect
warm & with legs of gold
and black nervehairs to brush
along sleeping petals.

Dervish Scabbard

The introductory comments above by Amid Ahari El, Governor of Orissa Province, as well as the excerpt AGENTS OF CHAOS are taken from The Hundred Seeds of Beirut: The Neglected Poetic Utterances of Our Moorish Martyr Warren Tartaglia (Walid al-Taha), Magribine Press, Chicago, ©2000, which was taken from the original manuscript of Walid's poems provided by Sultan Sheikh Rafi Yahya Sharif Ali Shah Bey. The Dervish scabbard is over one hundred years old and resides protectively in Apollo Temple No. 13, Samarkand Province V of the Noble Order Temples of Sufi and Moorish Science.

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