A few lines from Cordoba, Spain...
She walks with the authority of centuries, carrying history in her body. Each footfall; an echo across all time. The leader of the
night tour – Luz – Light - of the Mezquita; El Alma de Cordoba – the soul of
Cordoba, the tour is named.
The place is truly vast. Row upon row upon row of arches
striped rust red and cream on columns. Such space! Additions added on layer by
extensive layer as each ruler expanded this place-until 40 thousand worshippers
could pray together. Imagine: forty thousand, one in spirit.
We begin in an outdoor alcove with ancient timbers in rows above,
carved in Arabic(?); a little film. Then we rise and enter the massive courtyard;
the full moon rises, birds fly across the lit palms and splendiferous gold-lit mosque
domes. My god. I am breathless. We stand at the massive dark doors of the
mosque. And remember this history of this place, layer upon layer. It’s
Halloween.
The doors swing open and enter the cavernous space. As we
move about, each area slowly illuminates. It is atmospheric. I have had the
privilege of seeing many mosques and ancient places; The Blue Mosque and St
Sophia in Istanbul, the grand mosque in Cairo, and Karnak in Luxor with Abu
Simbel south of Aswan at the border of Egypt and the Sudan; I have been inside
many churches and cathedrals with glorious architecture and art throughout
Europe; from the north of Finland to the Vatican city, most recently the gorgeous
glowing stained glass by Chagall in Zurich. All to name a very few. But this
place, a UNESCO world heritage site, speaks to me. Its dignity. Its constant
changes through so many, many centuries as men fought over it, conquered from
Christians by Arabs, to be conquered yet again eventually by Christians. (The
Inquisition tower, by the way, is a few hundred meters away. More on this
later).
As always, when I visit these sites, the vibration of the place ripples
through my body. And I weep. Always. It is not merely the splendour and the
manifestation of vision and effort, rather, it is as if my own body knows these
places, remembers them. Remembers our collective history. My human history.
This place. This planet. Where, in an untold swirling aeon, I will recall and
long to touch again; yes, I was here. On this planet. In time. Part of
humanity, with all our strivings and squabbles and foibles and errors. I was
here.
