The Day of Silence

19 March, 6 PM

It’s almost impossible to write of perfect moments without becoming precious, especially when it involves nature. The photo’s not enough, though; I’ll try this one deadpan & curt.

After a clear, hot day: a bold rainbow over the city. That much you can see. It stays as storm clouds stack in anvils. It stays through sunset & the evening salat. The light is extraordinary; we leave our desks to sit on the balcony. Bats flicker in the space beyond the rail. Lightning in the clouds now: filaments, muted glows & incandescent tumbleweeds. There is no thunder, no rain. A haze descends. For a short time—& the first time in a long while—the call to prayer is beautiful, a pair of muezzins only, two voices rising & crossing like veils of incense smoke over the city. The air softens & grows lovely to breathe, only on this evening, tonight only scented with unlikely blossoms. A stir of wind over my whole skin. The body-warmth of it makes part of me indistinct from what I’m seeing: the city, the apricot sky, the minarets, the rainbow; for a moment I feel something close to reverence. The timing of this is important, for now the calls to prayer increase in number, in volume, in insistence. It’s so pleasant outside that this time I am not exasperated or concerned, only struck anew at how loud they are, how tight the weave of their voices over the city. Reminded that right now, on the next island over: it is silent.

Today it is Nyepi in Bali, the Hindu New Year. Today that entire island is quiet: The Day of Silence. Its planes are grounded, its markets closed, its people mute--all so that evil spirits on their yearly search will believe the land uninhabited & pass over. Not here, not here (though on our balcony we have fallen silent, too): the Muslim adhan is rising & rising, their thousands of solos sent up through the rainbow, lightning, sunset, clouds, the soft air. Through us, too. For this long, extraordinary moment, it only Is. The city grows dark & as it does: a fireworks show begins.
What a strange, good world.

For the first time I think to myself: I like it here. I like it here.