I am mesmerised by another sunset. The sun has become a perfectly circular blood orange disc as it begins its final descent behind the thick, grey clouds low on the horizon. I am not the only one who has noticed the beginning of the end of light for another day.
The first call to prayer pulses over a stilling Yogyakarta. Its deep, hypnotic melody, passionately calling for the attention of those who hear the cry, reminding them of the time of day, to pray to Allah in gratitude and praise.
I am not muslim but I, too, feel the call. I don’t comprehend the words and I don’t understand the exact nature of what is being asked or instructed or reminded. But the energy of the call connects to something deep within myself, something ancient and timeless. It leaves me feeling like I have heard the call before. And as much as I don’t understand the words of the call, I have this great sense of knowing and understanding of something my logical mind cannot comprehend, of something far bigger than I. I am being asked to stand still and to remember, to remember who I really am and the whole of which I am a part.
I hear the call. And for this moment, in this stillness, I heed the call and am flooded with peace, grace, gratitude and humility. And I remember. I do not understand but I remember.