The Hajj - A Journey in Parts - The Prophets (P.B.U.H) Mosque
I wake up early, well before the call to the early morning prayer. I turn on the shower and discover that I had forgotten to turn the geyser. After a cold shower, I anxiously throw on my clothes, drape my saal over me and make my way to the mosque.
The air is crisp and cold. People fill the streets as they make their way to the mosque to secure a place inside. I make my way through the throngs of people and find a place in the new extension. After sitting down, I take in my surroundings.
The mosque has been extended a number of times. This section has a high roof supported by a number of arches. Columns reach down from the ends of the arches and are planted firmly on a plinth supporting the enormous weight of the roof. Above me is huge dome, which can be opened lest the heat inside the mosque becomes oppressive. Shimmering Brass clothes the columns where they meet the arches and the plinth too. The mosque is filled with pilgrims and there is a murmur in the air as people recite various supplications.
The call to prayer goes out, and I realize that I am in the place where, some fourteen hundred years ago, our prophet would have emerged from his abode to take his place and lead the morning prayer. I am transported back in time. I have been granted the privilege to relive history, in the city nay, the exact place, where it was made.
I offer the two units of prayer the Imam makes a call to start the morning prayer. His sweet voice rings out reciting the verses of the Quraan and though I do not understand a word, it is as though the words reach through and touch the very depths of my soul. The beautiful rhythm of his voice, filled with emotion and understanding, causes the hair on my neck to stand up. It is as though it is the first time that I have heard these verses being recited.
After the obligatory prayer I make my way to the front of the mosque. To the brass barrier that separates the Prophets home and grave from the rest of the mosque. The Prophets (P.B.U.H) home was next to the mosque, and when he passed on he was laid to rest where he passed on, as is the tradition with all prophets. Later his trusted companions sought permission from the Prophets (P.B.U.H) wife to be laid next to him, and it was so. As the mosque was extended over time, the home was included in the precinct of the mosque.
Turning to face the Prophets (P.B.U.H) resting place I proceed to greet the Prophet (P.B.U.H). My heart is overwhelmed. My mind races and it suddenly dawns on me that not matter what I do, no matter how closely I follow in the Prophets (P.B.U.H) footsteps, never, never, will I be able to give enough thanks for that which the Prophet (P.B.U.H) had gifted us. The mercy, the sacrifice, the understanding, the love, the kindness, the nurturing of that which became dearer to him than life itself, Islam. And for this I could not find anything that would sufficiently express my gratitude.
Tears stream down my cheeks. It is the first time, since I was a young lad, that I cry. Wrecked with emotion I am unable to stand. For a long time I try to gain my composure and when I finally do I turn towards Mecca and supplicate giving thanks to The Almighty. I cannot for the life of me remember the words that flowed from my being, all I remember is the feeling of being completely overwhelmed.
I have been touched, the husk has been removed and my soul has been stripped and laid bare. Clothes cover my flesh while my soul is revealed. Exhausted, clothed yet naked, I slowly make my way back to my room. I am at peace, at peace with the world, at peace with all of creation, at peace with my Creator....... :-)
The air is crisp and cold. People fill the streets as they make their way to the mosque to secure a place inside. I make my way through the throngs of people and find a place in the new extension. After sitting down, I take in my surroundings.
The mosque has been extended a number of times. This section has a high roof supported by a number of arches. Columns reach down from the ends of the arches and are planted firmly on a plinth supporting the enormous weight of the roof. Above me is huge dome, which can be opened lest the heat inside the mosque becomes oppressive. Shimmering Brass clothes the columns where they meet the arches and the plinth too. The mosque is filled with pilgrims and there is a murmur in the air as people recite various supplications.
The call to prayer goes out, and I realize that I am in the place where, some fourteen hundred years ago, our prophet would have emerged from his abode to take his place and lead the morning prayer. I am transported back in time. I have been granted the privilege to relive history, in the city nay, the exact place, where it was made.
I offer the two units of prayer the Imam makes a call to start the morning prayer. His sweet voice rings out reciting the verses of the Quraan and though I do not understand a word, it is as though the words reach through and touch the very depths of my soul. The beautiful rhythm of his voice, filled with emotion and understanding, causes the hair on my neck to stand up. It is as though it is the first time that I have heard these verses being recited.
After the obligatory prayer I make my way to the front of the mosque. To the brass barrier that separates the Prophets home and grave from the rest of the mosque. The Prophets (P.B.U.H) home was next to the mosque, and when he passed on he was laid to rest where he passed on, as is the tradition with all prophets. Later his trusted companions sought permission from the Prophets (P.B.U.H) wife to be laid next to him, and it was so. As the mosque was extended over time, the home was included in the precinct of the mosque.
Turning to face the Prophets (P.B.U.H) resting place I proceed to greet the Prophet (P.B.U.H). My heart is overwhelmed. My mind races and it suddenly dawns on me that not matter what I do, no matter how closely I follow in the Prophets (P.B.U.H) footsteps, never, never, will I be able to give enough thanks for that which the Prophet (P.B.U.H) had gifted us. The mercy, the sacrifice, the understanding, the love, the kindness, the nurturing of that which became dearer to him than life itself, Islam. And for this I could not find anything that would sufficiently express my gratitude.
Tears stream down my cheeks. It is the first time, since I was a young lad, that I cry. Wrecked with emotion I am unable to stand. For a long time I try to gain my composure and when I finally do I turn towards Mecca and supplicate giving thanks to The Almighty. I cannot for the life of me remember the words that flowed from my being, all I remember is the feeling of being completely overwhelmed.
I have been touched, the husk has been removed and my soul has been stripped and laid bare. Clothes cover my flesh while my soul is revealed. Exhausted, clothed yet naked, I slowly make my way back to my room. I am at peace, at peace with the world, at peace with all of creation, at peace with my Creator....... :-)
how awesome to stand in such a place and feel love acceptance innocence and peace. such is the love of our higher power that you feel whole complete and childlike.
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