More Thoughts
Last time I wrote about what I still call “wandering”. I still love to wander. Especially when I am abroad with friends or family. I will aimlessly “wander ” around a new place, city or whatever, just to see it and soak up the atmosphere. Walking around Agadir in Moroco, being shouted at by the traders was an experience.
I have a beard. The custom in that country is that a man may have a moustache or a shaped beard, not a full one. So, once I wandered outside the tourist area I was smiled at, shouted, at called at ( so was my travelling companion, also a Bearded One). I would call back. There would be an exchange, a laugh and I would move on.
On one occasion a mother and her young son, about four years old walked past me. She turned and came back, called out to the boy to look. I smiled and gave them a few coins. The boy kept staring. He was transfixed. It was, for him, the nearest thing to a child seeing Santa Claus for the first time! Ali Baba. Ali Baba!!! Regard Maman, Ali Baba. There was I, unknown to myself creating consternation among the Moslem Faithful as a perambulating” Ali Baba”. ... We never know , do we?
So later,I had to ask a friendly native. Seems the full beard is the mark of Ali Baba. “Oh”, said I,” and the forty thieves. That’s not fair, I said I am not a thief, I am a teacher”! ( despite current media opinion, not the same thing!)
“Oh! No, Monsieur, Ali Baba et les 40 femmes”. This accompanied by a raising of the fore arm in a phallic manner. “Oh!, oui monsieur, c’est vrais, Ali Baba avec des femmes. Mmmmmmmm”!!! Said with more than a touch of salacious envy. I don’t know what he thought I was doing in the back streets of Agadir, but I don’t think it was simply “wandering”.
Ok, so that’s that. But let me share something else with you now. Ironically, I was doing something else. I found the Catholic Church in Agadir. Very discreet, very simple and very quiet. It was wonderful. I stayed there alone for more than an hour. Surrounded by the minarets of the many mosques, invaded by the call to prayer of the Moslem Faithful I took some time out from taking time out.
How can I convey the specialness of that time? Sometimes we can get a handle on special moments, often with great clarity. I think perhaps it is because we contrast one thing against another. The opposition sets the difference in clear view. We can see things as they really are, no longer in a glass, darkly. So peace against turmoil, silence against the noise of these days. Love against its absence, (not hatred, that’s too pure, like raw poteen, and for consideration another day) .
In that little Church, in a Moslem land, there was a sense of peace and of prayer. There were prayer books and hymnals around on seats and shelves. Leaflets and notes and the parish newsletter. This was no museum . There were plenty of plants too and a lovely little courtyard at the back of which was the very modest priests’ residence. All quite small and neat and clean.
In this foreign friendly land I found my space. I was at home with the things I know, in that special way which is beyond words. Just like in Granada at the tomb of St. John of God, the Sacre Coeur, the other, little Church in Paris whose name I forget, and in so many other places. In these places we create a special moment. We make a thin place between this world and the next and we allow its peace to envelop us. We can be alone, alone or alone in a congregation. We can be alone with the Other. We can set up a contrast, come to know ourselves and the Other. We can enter into the Sacrament of the Present Moment.
Take a look at www.sacredspace.ie.
Buoichas go deo le Dia.