A Small Success

I’m just going to do the prayer, I said to the missus just now. And, not for the first time, found myself reflecting upon the extent to which I find myself using expressions that mirror her own simply because they seem so entirely appropriate. The central form of Islamic prayer, the solat, the one performed five times a day at set times, is exactly that: a performance (in physical terms) , as opposed to something that one might simply say. And just what an energetic performance it is has been brought home to me over the last two weeks by my inability to do it properly.

This is the result of a decidedly iffy left knee. I don’t think this is in any way related to the sciatica I have to put up sometimes. Normally that runs down my right leg. In fact, the discomfort in my knee reminds me of the kind of injury I found myself carrying in the last couple of seasons in which I was still playing the beautiful game. I’ve got a lurking suspicion this has something to do with a shifting cartilage, if cartilage can be said to shift.

The sort of good news is, though, that I’ve just done the maghrib prayer at full throttle, as it were. (I’ve simply been sitting down through the prayers recently whilst my knee has been refusing to cooperate. This is, of course, allowed, but it has left me feeling irritatingly incomplete – which is foolish since it is, obviously, the quality of devotion that counts. But I can’t help being a fool.)

The bad news is that, even as I listen to the Call to Prayer sweeping across the taman for the final prayer of the day, I’m not sure I can repeat my little success.