Written by Chris Wardle
After tentatively asking about wudu, I’m encouraged to freely access the ablution facilities adjacent to a
stairwell, leading to the prayer room on the roof.
Such humanity holds the unusual threat of my being overwhelmed by bathing not with cold, fresh
water, but warm, salty, happy tears.
Yes, I’m still a prisoner. Still confined, still uncertain, still somewhat fearful, but those self-constructed
cell walls are gradually dissolving.
Refreshed with joy and gratitude, I wash, unwatched, and mount the stairs, unescorted, unhandcuffed,
unbagged, and unblindfolded. Seeking merely the known small space of solitude’s worship,
Alhamdulillah, I find the unknowable enormity of a Heaven unglimpsed, for far too long. This revelation
transforms my epiphanic evening prayer, into something evermore thankful.
I linger in the musalla in part, simply because I can, and no one is required to guide my faltering steps
down dungeon stairs. And my return itself is not hurried, not forced, nor tethered in blind faith to an
aloof, unknown, and fully-masked guard.
Held, but unrestrained, I keep finding amazement, Mash’Allah, in the ability to walk and gaze in light,
contemplating a new life, and new hope, in this new Moon.
Touching earth, refreshed by my spiritual refuge, the Duty Officer offers
only one kindly question…
“Now Hamza, would you like to watch some football with me?”
.
At age 70, Chris Wardle (Hamza) works at being happy and grateful, while writing through his second childhood with an eye for wonder, a taste for questions, and a sense of proximity to the Sacred. Beholden for the support and encouragement of the Oxford Poetry Library in improving his craft, 2024 sees his work emerging more widely in journals and anthologies. Un-social-media-averse, you can reach him at: TheHealingCup@protonmail.com