It’s jum’ah. I chose this mosque today.
The floor of this mosque is soft like the Prophet’s first mosque. The sound of Eternal Being ripples through this mosque.
Every day I come here it is different. كُلَّ يَوْمٍ هُوَ فِي شَأْنٍ
Some days the majesty of fierce waves attacks. Or the surface shimmers like a wet dupatta. Some days it stretches toward the horizon, transparent, barely moving.
Today, grey water is One with misty white-grey sky.
The congregants mutter on the side, preening their feathers.Nothing to say about my clothes or how I am standing, sitting, or kneeling.
Prayer without words rises up through me at Friday prayers