Five Times

Hill: I wonder if at Muslim schools they have special prayer times.
Me: Is it by time, or is it just pray 'five times a day and you're good.'
Hill: Isn't it by sun something? I know I'd be a Muslim who'd be like, 'It's 9:45?! Shit!'
Me: [mimics kneeling to pray five times fast]

I looked it up today. It is based on sun stuff. So the prayer times change. Woof. To be a Mus. It's hard enough for me to remember one obscure meeting in my day, let alone five new by-the-minute times to roll out the God mat. Annoying. But then I remembered, if it's what brings peace, perhaps it should be difficult to remember. Like when you order fries unsalted so they must be made fresh. There is no option for auto-pilot when we are forced out of habit. If something isn't easy and we still do it, it is truly a priority. Maybe therefore or maybe because. Either way. If one abides by the structure, I can't imagine she would be able to shove her spiritual priorities to the bottom of her backpack...down there with the half-cracked sticks of gum and paper clips. She would be a Muslim who studies/works/lives instead of a student/worker/liver first and a Muslim second. Or third. Or nineteenth. With this in mind, it's crazy the 'lims only pray five times a day.

This semester (over in one sweet sweet week--thank all the Muslim prayers in the world) I have had a mantra. It is this: Your motive is love. I have written it on notecards, in my planner, in my phone notes. I  mumble it on my way to class. I state it in the bathroom mirror. And yet I can still forget. Am I dull to my own handwriting? Do I not take enough moments surrounding the sentiment to let it sink in? I could use some strict proclamation appointments. I want to be a lover first. All the other garbage second. Eighty-second. Whatever.