A Call to the Sacred
On being intentional about calling yourself to write
Allahu Akbar. The call from the local mosque stopped me in my tracks. I ran out into the garden to hear it more clearly, the lilting syllables pulling me in. The sounds reverberated inside me. The voice of the muezzin rang out across the East London High Road, above the rush of traffic, lingered in an offering so tender and powerful. God is Great, God is Great, Hurry to the Prayer, Hurry to the Prayer.*
I remember a long-ago trip to Morocco where the call to prayer differed from town to town, the words the same but the call made unique by the muezzin, his own personal song, his proclamation, his notes rising and falling with his spirit. I was moved then, my soul would stir, I would pause, take it in. I would let the sounds fizz through me as I lay in bed, the sound itself saturated by the sacred.
The other day when I heard the call again, I was moved almost to tears. What beautiful simplicity there is in being called to the sacred, in the middle of the day, when your mind is muddled in the mundane. To be reminded of the sacred and called into its presence, what a gift! That thing you are worrying about, that shopping list that feels so important, forget it for a while and get back in touch with the divine.
What would my call to my sacred look like? What would my day look like if I called myself to the sacred regularly throughout it?
Writing is my sacred. Along with dancing, it is the place where I touch the divine. It is the place where (at its most pure) the to do lists, the shoulds and the expectation fall away. I move beyond the grey into the multicoloured, into the sparkling bliss of something beyond me, something that connects me into the magic outside myself. The mundane is made bearable, more beautiful, even, if we regularly touch the sacred. The sacred is a necessity daily. And yet, I often forget that. The mundane has a way of shouting its importance, its solidity somehow blocking the more ephemeral from sight, claiming its urgency over everything else.
So now, I am pondering how I might be intentional about calling myself to writing. Is reading poetry my call? Is it a few lines from a favourite book? Can I whirl like a dervish in perfectly threaded words to remind me of their power? Do I sing myself in, offer a chant that guides me back? Is meditation a call or is that something I also need to call myself to? How often might I call myself in? Where do the sacred and the mundane mingle?
I don’t have the answers yet, but I am grateful for the questions.
There is a chance, I believe, to touch the sacred within all of the mundane. It is just about remembering. ✨
* More about the call to prayer can be found here, including the full call from which I just took a few words.
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Recommendations
Things I have enjoyed recently…
Book: Still Born (La Hija Unica) by Guadalupe Nettle is a compelling novel about choices around motherhood, community and friendship . The writing is direct, sparse and cuts directly to the point. The protagonist also has an apartment in the neighbourhood I lived in in Mexico City, goes to one of my fave cafes and spends much of her time in the Biblioteca de México, like I did, which was fun to read.
100 Ways to Write a Book: Do you worry that somehow you are writing your book wrong? Do you hear writers talk about craft and not identify at all? This newsletter from Mslexia might assuage your fears.
Podcast: I had the absolute joy of meeting Zadie Smith at a book signing to launch her new book, The Fraud (it was a very sweet little meeting, she was engaged and delightful, I’m still reeling in the joy). On BBC’s Open Book she shares more about The Fraud, about her beliefs about the world and writing, and gives an interesting critique on novels written in the present tense.
Mentoring
If you need a little creative boost, you can find my free, Reignite Your Sacred Fire visualisation here.
On my little island, when the wind is right I can hear church bells softly ringing each day: 9 am, noon and 5 pm. Your words are a good reminder to pause in gratitude.
Susannah’s post expressed so beautifully that magical moment wherein life resets my clock with the right sounds. Yesterday the sound of morning birdsong on a walk did the same for me. Maybe that’s why they sing, to heal the world:). So unexpected, so appreciated. But I didn’t think to share it. Thank you Susannah!