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How a Single Building Transformed My Perception of Sacred Spaces
Visiting the mezquita of Córdoba
Occasions when a building moves us emotionally are rare.
It seems almost impossible that a stone-cold structure could do such a thing as prompt feelings — until it happens, and then there is no doubt.
A small number of buildings have stirred me in this way: the Pantheon in Rome, the interior of Gaudí’s La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Ryōgen-in temple and dry garden in Kyoto, and the first time I visited the Alhambra in Andalusia, Spain.
The sense is one of awakening. To walk around a beautiful building, especially one steeped in history and a deep cultural tradition, is to experience a sort of unfolding revelation of what’s possible. It also feels like a gentle coaxing towards a fresh idea, a bloom of sensations slowly condensing into something profoundly pure. A new way of seeing, perhaps.
That’s certainly the effect that the Mosque of Córdoba had on me.
A Journey to Southern Spain
I had been travelling through France and Portugal on a winding route, when I eventually reached Cordoba in southern Spain — pre-designated as the highpoint of my journey.
I dropped off my bag at the Hostel Trinidad, by then draped in a pall of rain, then immediately chased down the maze of wet streets to find the mezquita nearby.
The Mezquita of Córdoba is the largest mosque built under the reign of the Moors. Set within the narrow white-washed streets of the old quarter, I hurried through the Patio de los Naranjos (“Court of the Oranges”) and sheltered from the rain in the cloisters that surround it. Across the courtyard, through the wooden “Blessings Arch” into the interior, I entered directly into the deep, calm forum and felt a surge of inspired pleasure.
