This morning, I awoke to the sound of the prayers. It was beautiful. It was comforting. The rhythmic singing in a world of words that I cannot understand. It should be slightly... disconcerting - perhaps, it should be bathed in confused frustrations. This is not the case. All I feel is an understated peace and I wonder why the world, the one from which I sprang anyway, would feel such defensiveness and unease when confronted with this one. Their obviously misguided fear feels forced this morning. Wouldn't anyone, with a mind even slightly ajar, feel the same way when the prayer song swirls over and around them at 530am? Would they not feel the beauty that I do? How do we return, in any instance, to the the stark beauty that exists in this world of false conceptions?
I find I cannot sleep through the prayer. It is not my god, not my language, not my world but it seems to pull me just the same.
The physical:
A sultry Dubai
The desired:
Currently unconcerned with such pursuits
The feeling in the forefront:
Peaceful contentment
The smothering sense:
Tactile - the warmth and humidity of the cradle of life
In absence of misplaced action:
Questing to fulfill my sleep quota
If I were listening closely:
Echos of the Islamic morning prayer
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I felt the same way waking up to morning prayer in Egypt, here in Brighton if the wind is right I can hear the church bells from home, all sounds of prayer have some sense of the familiar which is very beautiful. Thanks for reminding me of that feeling of worldly similarity.
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