The call to prayer resonates within me, not from anyone’s mouth, not from a particular building, not from a bell or a bowl.
The call to prayer comes from the center. It places me, arranges me on the cushion or sends me on my knees, or right there, in the fields, the forest, in the street, the living room.
The call to prayer is the realization that there is nothing more to do than this.
I don’t do it. The call to prayer, I answer it as I surrender.
When all loopholes have finished operating, they showed themselves as they were: dead ends, forcing a U-turn. The call to prayer is the real life inviting itself into me.
A source of existence.
But where was life and where was I before the call to prayer resonated in me ?
Notes & Silence 
Hmm. Prayer as an attitude and practice of life. Perhaps more simply undertaken before it is sensed and expressed in words…
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Certainly
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Words always appear
For lack of better words.
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