August 12, 2009

Between Blinks (12.08.2009)

 The carpet is plush vermillion, with enough cushioning to make repeated kneeling bearable. The space inside is surprisingly small for how large the building is, but the domed ceilings and ornate décor make the mosque seem larger. The gilded scribbles are breathtaking in spite of their illegibility. I feel comfortable.

 The mosque is stunning, inside and outside and metaphysically. It’s difficult to say how, but I can’t shake a feeling of peaceful belonging here. I’d like to sit here until sunset to see how the fading light plays in stained glass windows. I still don’t know why our guide made the distinction that this is a ‘Turkish style’ mosque—it resembles every other mosque I’ve been in, as far as I can tell. Maybe it’s the big pulpit, maybe it’s just nominal. Turks can be so cheeky.

 (Eyes are stinging a little bit.)

 I want Muhammed to show me around the mosque, to translate the Arabic calligraphy and teach me what the prayers mean, but I don’t want to be rude. Artists must have spent weeks decorating this mosque. To call it aesthetically impressive is an understatement—the deep colors and gold trim remind me of a jeweled necklace.

 When I stand directly under the chandelier my voice echoes from the dome above. I think Trang is within my little reverberating sphere; she turned and looked up when I let out a Hoo. My socks are leaving little traces of white on the carpet fibers. I’ll tip-toe from now on.

 (Tearing up.)

 The cantor hums a few unrecognizable bars, probably of the call to prayer. He sounds a little bit like an a capella Stevie Nicks if you don’t listen closely. I think, when I’m old, I’ll take my kids to see different religious centers around the world—mosques, churches, temples, synagogues, McDonald’s. I’ve never been a fan of organized religion but I’ll be damned if my progeny doesn’t appreciate good architecture. Talk about the pillars of religion, eh?

 The group starts to sit and—

 (Blink.)