A. In between the twilight hours of 7.30pm and 8.00pm on 20th September 2024, the compounds surrounding the tennis courts of Holland Park went radio silent. A boundaried quietude descended on the warm asphalt, and I could only glance at Colin in bewildered amusement at this unusuality. The sky was heavy and humming with the promise of a storm - a blanket of static that Colin said smelled amazing. But it was the bubble of stillness that really reverberated into my core. It felt like the universe switched gears, shifted alignment, refreshed and dipped into a different timeline; and as this new surface was loading the whole world around us paused. My nerves tingled and I remember feeling the smallest spark of excitement. Then time passed. Laughter filled the air. The courts around us were taken up with people. And we continued on with our lives.
B. In a small nondescript townhouse in Harlesden I was guided to the top floor by a Belgian-based Moroccan healer. The halls were carpeted, and the walls decorated in larger than life calligraphy, alongside hanging Persian rugs. My purpose of appointment was fair - to do hyjama, the drawing and extraction of blood through cupping, a sunnah, an encouraged health treatment. In itself this would have been adequately overwhelming for a first timer - but it was the sound - the chorus of deep voices reciting the dhikr over and over again - melodiously droning through the floor boards from the musollah below us - reverberating through the building, the furniture - reminding both of us of how auspicious a day it was on the Islamic calendar - that clasped my core. Lying on the day bed, hearing the devout voices wash over my body as my physical toxins were drawn out in bull horns, I couldn’t help feeling like the earth and the sky were holding me in between them and reminding me of what should matter.
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