m u s l i m v o i c e s - The University of Texas at Austin

Salvaged Gratitude
by meelad al-arashi
musalla 1 : prayer area
imam 2 : leader of the congressional prayer
iqamah 3 : prayer call
by meelad al-arashi
e parked. I paused and I glanced up only to see the mammoth arches of the structure before me like arms bent
W at just the right angle forming the most immaculate curves. I was somewhat intimidated. I modestly walked up
the stairs that led me to the doors that stood tall like impenetrable guards. The doors opened and I entered the
mosque.
This was like every other visit to the mosque on any other Friday with my family, but I had never been to this mosque
before. The moment I took one step into the musalla 1 I was immediately reduced in size in every aspect imaginable as I
stood beneath the colossal ceiling. What I noticed first was the intricate geometrical design of the ceiling. My eyes followed
the golden Arabic calligraphy that scrolled up and around it. There didn’t seem to be an end to the Byzantine
maze of words. I was amazed at the simplicity and purity of the architecture inside and out. The Persian rugs that
spread on every inch of the floor almost seemed to have rolled out to welcome me.
I was humbled at the sight of a mother praying with her son by her side and him trying to reflect the reverence she
expressed. There was an aroma of incense burning, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. As I inhaled it I was
immediately calmed and a strong feeling of composure trickled down my spine. The atmosphere was kindling and comforting.
At the mosque I usually attend, there is a titanic glass wall that stands about eight feet off of the ground that separates
the men from the women. But here, there was a thin wooden separator that was stenciled with definitive arabesque
patterns. I couldn’t help but stare at them in total admiration. I am very used to going to Friday prayer but this time felt
like a whole new experience—overwhelming, breath-taking.
The imam 2 proceeded to give the sermon. His words were those of wisdom and tolerance. An elderly man, he annunciated
every syllable in the most lucid way possible. The whispers slowly vanished as the iqamah 3 was made. Everyone
including myself, my mother and my sister formed a tightly woven line and we began to pray. Our movements were so
precisely timed, that it felt as if we were graceful ballerinas mastering the art of perfection before a silent audience.
After the prayer, we started to leave. Even though I was quite intimidated by such physical and spiritual beauty, I was
thunderstruck by pride and appreciation.
3
about the author
Meelad is a Government Junior at UT, Austin and plans to attend law school to
pursue a career in International Law. Her hometown is Houston, Texas and she is
Yemeni by descent. Meelad enjoys politics, foreign languages, and photography.
The masjid described in the article is the Islamic Dawah Center in Houston.
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