When I am praying–truly praying–I lose myself
to my Self.
I become centered.
My husband once told me that he knows when I really pray–
When I really pray, I am hypnotized. When I don’t really pray, I fidget.
He is right.
(Once, I couldn’t control my laughter while praying and kicked and giggled on my prayer rug while my husband turned red trying to control his own outburst)–
He blamed Shaytan, I blamed the towel that was slipping off his hips exposing him.
I stare blankly in the direction of the kaaba—
the corner of the room that is piled with dirty laundry
(I don’t know where to begin to clean up that mess)–
I imagine the way home,
I am lost,
self within Self.
Searching and seeking,
dreaming of finding–
something I am sure I once had. Or imagined I had.
Prostrating, I relinquish myself to a world I cannot hold.