of walls of Allah
September 13th, 2003 byYaser’s imagery brings back memories-
-of mosques that I have loved and places where I enjoyed to just sit down and worship Allah.
There was the one in my senior year in highschool, that small tiny thing behind it. It was visited mostly only by manual laborers.
The wudu area was made to just function, simply. The water wasn’t temperature regulated, and the water tank sat out all day. Zuhr wudu scalded, fajr wudu made brittle bones; each one cleansed like no other bath. Our wet feet would gather dust and stick to us by the time we reached the masjid itself, a single room that sat on temporary bases. Inside, the two air conditioners worked, coughing momentarily when started, startled. The room cradled inside it a few shelves that held dog-eared copies of the Quran, tattered covers with pages stained from turning itself. The carpet design laid out the pattern for us to stand at, lined with alternating colors. The carpet itself was worn out, starved from hard work, a character built relentlessly and modestly. The sensations the air carried were priceless; they lacked all and any ostentatiousnes that many a mosque nowadays leek of. The air breathed of honesty, of no deceptions, of a reality where laughs and conversations were built out of sincerity.
The imam was randomly chosen from amongst us. And the salat contained no arrogance. We prayed, because it was to be done, it was the right thing to do. We prayed as ourselves, to a Creator as Himself.
Years later, I went back, to find that mosque again. I drove past the street, my eyes searching for a small portable housing unit, converted to a mosque for many. It was gone but not lost.
This was one. There are others.
What about yours?
September 18th, 2003 at 4:13 pm
Alas.
for lack of sharing.
for lack of words.
for the lack of itself.
Alas.
September 18th, 2003 at 6:23 pm
lol. Alas that we all lack Waleed’s ability to string together words to form sentences that recognize the beauty in small things we take for granted. And even in the small things that sometime don’t seem so beautiful at first glance.
But since you’re so sad about the lack of sharing, here, I’ll try:
The first masjid of any kind I ever saw (seriously) was in a little Pakistani village very dear to my heart, but admittedly a little Pakistani village where women attending salah at a masjid would be viewed as out of the ordinary, even something to be frowned upon. I was thirteen then, I think. I walked by one day, the gate was ajar, so I peered in, and stood there gawking for several minutes. All I really remember is a vast expanse of tile. And shoes and slippers. A humble masjid, yes, but subdued and serene, with a quiet sense of peace that made me want to go in and explore. But I didn’t.
The next masjid I saw was a year later, Badshahi Masjid in Lahore. It was summertime, I was hot and exhausted, just recovering from an illness, too. The masjid was huge and dark and cool. I looked around with sufficient awe and interest, then lay down on the beautiful, intricately designed rugs and fell asleep while my father performed salah. I associate that masjid mainly with him, because I hadn’t seen him for a year, and he was soon to leave again. (And that whole sleeping thing is semi-annoying, come to think of it. My first ever chance to worship in a real deal masjid, and I fall asleep. What’s up with that?)
There have been many masajid since then, mainly in the Bay Area. But those are the two I like remembering.
September 19th, 2003 at 3:14 am
Well, jaza kala khair Yasmine for your generosity.
See? Was that really that hard, hmm?
You all should try be like Yasmine. Insane. Literate. Insomniac. Lovely.