My wandering heart went around the world —
It travelled far seeking the remedy.
But in the end, that sweet and savoury water of life
Simmered and flowed from the granite of my own heart
– Rumi (translated by Emily O’Dell)
There are few poets in the world more famous than Rumi. There are perhaps even fewer who are as misunderstood. Extracts of his poetry abound in popular culture, many of which are either blatant forgeries or grossly inaccurate translations. If these popular depictions are to be believed, Rumi was a man entirely absorbed in love and little else – an ancient practitioner of new age spirituality.
While love is central to Rumi’s worldview, he was a man who experienced far more shades of emotions, each of which shaped his worldview and writings. Perhaps the most influential emotion responsible for both his literary and spiritual insight, and one with the greatest capacity to teach us something about ourselves, was grief.
To understand the wellspring of his magical words, one must grasp the significance of Rumi’s meeting with the Shams, the mysterious wandering dervish. The meeting of these two figures was the pivotal turning point in Rumi’s life.
Before this meeting, Rumi had not composed any of the poetry that would garner him global renown, though he was a renowned “shaykh” and a spiritual master in Konya.
He had many students and enjoyed close relations with many luminaries of his era. But Shams was unlike anyone else. Rumi was enthralled, and secluded himself with Shams for days on end, much to the chagrin of his family and friends. As secrets passed between them, their bond continued to grow, until Shams vanished without a trace.
Heartbroken and desolate, Rumi mustered his students and tasked them with tracing down Shams and bringing him back, which they managed after finding him in Syria. Rumi was ecstatic, and their spiritual sessions resumed with renewed vigour. But Shams disappeared again, this time for good. Rumi was shattered, forlorn and forsaken by his kindred spirit.
At this critical juncture two choices lay before him.
Rumi could wither away and allow his grief to consume him. Or he could channel his grief: pour it from the jug of his heart into his inkpot and express it in the most profound and poetic of ways. Thankfully for Rumi, and for us, he chose the latter. The result was among the finest love poetry in world literature, one that continues to enchant readers and listeners across the world.
Rumi’s resolution to compose poetry to articulate his grief is a reminder to us of the power of literature, particularly in our most trying times.
All of us have found comfort in the words of a writer; words that spoke so truly to us that we felt they were composed solely for us. This power of words and, more broadly, the power of art to sublimate grief into love, was recognised in the world in which Rumi resided – indeed, poetry and music were performed for those suffering from melancholia in the hospitals of the medieval Islamic world.
Our pre-modern counterparts were acutely aware of the power of words: words can not only pierce us in ways that weapons cannot but they can also mend us in ways that medicine cannot.
More importantly, Rumi teaches us that love is not unbridled joy, the infinite succession of pleasurable moments undimmed by the looming shadow of grief. Love is, above all, a commitment to feel, to be utterly human, to be vulnerable. In taking the leap of faith to be vulnerable, we expose ourselves to the storms of sorrow and mires of mourning. But there is no other way.
Love is simply not possible without loss, without carving out a piece of your heart so that another can nest there. They may reside there forever, or eventually depart, leaving behind naught but a scent and memories in the spaces that remain. Rumi teaches us that within these spaces – in the shadow of the bittersweet dance between sorrow and love – lie the most profound and transformative human experiences.
Ali Hammoud is a PhD candidate at Western Sydney University. He is broadly interested in Shīʿīsm and Islamicate intellectual history. More of his writings can be found on his Substack page
