Peace

One of the benefits of being in residence on the taman is the ease with which I can attend Friday Prayers. The masjid is less than five minutes walk away which makes for an unhurried experience, in contrast to the usual need to find a good time to leave work and get a decent parking space - and get back to work in time to meet whatever demands happen to be on-going. And, for some reason, I nearly always find myself lucky here in terms of the weather around 1.15 pm. Typically it's hot, in a pleasantly heat-struck manner, and the masjid is satisfyingly cool.

Today was a case in point. We've now having quite a flurry of rain but the sky didn't begin to show signs of darkening until I was on the way back and the day felt glorious going to prayers. The fact that the mosque is so well-maintained added to my general sense of well-being. Amongst its various attractions, the carpet is thick and welcoming - and richly coloured in a predominantly blue and white confection. What's not to like? as they say.

The one thing that disturbed my peace was that I'd been reading the May issue of the New York Review of Books this morning and a couple of articles on the suffering of some of the civilians in Ukraine had strongly registered. The contrast with my personal feeling of ease weighed on me a little. I suppose this was due in part to the fact that my Friday has been so satisfyingly ordinary in contrast to the way that the ordinary life of Ukrainians has been so thoroughly trashed. (The word seems inadequate, I know, but it will just have to do for now.)

Peace seems so simple when you've got it.