Meeting Jalaluddin Rumi
By Zahid Ali Jatoi
Amid today’s AI revolution, social media frenzy, and growing divides across nations and neighbors alike, the voice of a 13th-century mystic still rings with timeless clarity. Jalal al-Din Rumi (d.1273), known as Rumi, the sage of Konya, reflected not for an empire or a single creed, but for the human heart wherever it yearns. Today again, his call for love, humility, and inner awakening still communicates to both those leading the countries and those living under their powers struggling to remember their shared soul.
Born in Balkh (now Afghanistan) in 1207, Rumi moved with his family to Konya, then part of the Roman Empire, earning him the title “Rumi.” Trained in Islamic law and philosophy, his encounter with the mystic Shams of Tabriz transformed him from a theologian into a seeker of divine love his poetry transcending all boundaries.
In his Masnavi, Diwan-e Shams-e Tabrizi, and Fihi Ma Fihi, Rumi proclaimed a single, radical truth: all existence is bound by love. “There is no salvation for the soul but to fall in love,” he wrote. To Rumi, love was not emotion but liberation: from ego, pride, and the cages of self. “Only lovers can escape out of these two worlds,” he said, urging humanity to transcend all divisions through love.
The message is still relevant today. The 21st century has given us dazzling connectivity but deep disconnection. Nations drift into conflict over identity and power. Faith, which should unite souls in compassion, is often wielded as a weapon. Even digital spaces have turned into arenas of outrage. Amid the unrest, Rumi’s voice returns as a quiet but revolutionary reminder: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”
That “field,” Rumi suggests, is not a physical place but the landscape of the heart where differences dissolve in understanding. His parable of the elephant in the dark illustrates this beautifully. In the story, each person touches a part of an elephant in a dark room and argues about what it is: one feels the trunk, another the leg, yet another the ear. Each is partly right and wholly wrong. The truth, Rumi says, is not in any single grasp but in the light that allows us to see the whole.
The same metaphor applies to our fractured world. Every culture, ideology, and nation touches only a part of the truth. Wisdom lies not in claiming absolute rightness but in seeking illumination together. Global citizenship; a term Rumi never used but perfectly embodied — begins when we recognize our shared blindness and our shared light.
Rumi’s Story of the Shepherd offers another profound lesson for our times. When Moses rebuked a shepherd for praying in overly human terms, offering to comb God’s hair or wash His clothes, God admonished Moses: “You have separated My servant from Me. I look not at words but at the heart.” In that divine correction lies the essence of tolerance: that sincerity outweighs conformity, and love matters more than language or ritual. In a world still judging faith by form, Rumi’s God values the humble heart over polished piety.
To live as a global citizen, Rumi might say, is to see the same divine breath in every being: to replace judgment with empathy. The divisions of geography, class, or creed are, to him, illusions. “Why no love between two bubbles,” he asks, “while we all are one water?” When nations rage or faiths collide, his question pierces our conscience.
Rumi’s insights are not merely mystical; they are profoundly political. They challenge the arrogance of power, the pride of intellect, and the emptiness of rhetoric unrooted in compassion. Leaders who seek peace without humility are like those blind men in the dark; loud in debate but lost in vision.
Yet Rumi does not despair. He reminds us that even in suffering, there is a doorway to light: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” The world’s wounds, wars, displacement, injustice, alienation, can become openings if they awaken our collective heart. But only if we choose love over fear, empathy over pride, and dialogue over division.
Pakistan, like much of the world, stands at a crossroads of choice. Our spiritual heritage, shaped by Rumi, Bulleh Shah, Shah Abdul Latif, and Iqbal, calls us to rediscover that “field beyond right and wrong.” To teach Rumi is not to teach poetry, but the ethics of being human.
In his vision, Rumi says that, love is not escape from the world but engagement with it through a purified heart: one that finds light in every path yet clings to none. Such hearts can guide nations beyond prejudice and people beyond despair. In an age of noise and division, Rumi reminds us that true change begins within the heart. Eight centuries on, he still calls us to that inner field of peace—perhaps the world, weary of conflict, is finally ready to listen.
Zahid Ali Jatoi is an Assistant Professor at a private university with an interest in Sufism.
