Waking Up from the Dreams

In the empty echoes of the night, I awaken. Was it a dream? An unexplained clink in the oil heater? The loneliness of too much space for me to breathe? Why am I awake in Cyprus in the dark, pre-dawn?

Then, I hear it—so far in the distance—the morning call to worship from the Muslim mosque, drifting to Engomi from Town Centre in the ‘north,” the other side of the Green Zone.

The voice of the imam drones the prayer and another responds; faint voices blend into the stillness across Nicosia. I am amazed. I’m living in the Greek Cypriot side of the island, the Greek Orthodox side, and yet, I am so close to the other that I can reach out and touch the sound—and, I can be moved by the promise of peace offered by public prayer.

I open my window and lean out into the chilled air, straining to hear the phrases, wanting more of the connection. My mind wanders to Rwanda, where our hotel in Kigali was next to a mosque’s loudspeakers which thundered into our rooms at five a.m., more of a physical shock than a spiritual blessing. This is different. This morning call is patient, persistent, calming, a gentle reminder that possibility floats easily across this divided island. If tolerance and understanding of others’ beliefs can exist—can be voiced and heard—then conflicting cultures can co-exist. Oh, that it would be that simple—a voice across the villages in early morning hours, asking us all to wake up and praise our God—and to hold each other close.