“You know why,” I said, smiling. “Spiritual growth is about the totality of our consciousness, not about obsessing over particular aspects. Rule Number Thirty-two: Nothing should stand between yourself and God. Not imams, priests, rabbis, or any other custodians of moral or religious leadership. Not spiritual masters, not even your faith. Believe in your values and your rules, but never lord them over others. If you keep breaking other people’s hearts, whatever religious duty you perform is no good.
“Stay away from all sorts of idolatry, for they will blur your vision. Let God and only God be your guide. Learn the Truth, my friend, but be careful not to make a fetish out of your truths.”
I had always admired Rumi’s personality and known that his compassion, endless and extraordinary, was what I lacked in life. But today my admiration for him had grown by leaps and bounds.
This world was full of people obsessed with wealth, recognition, or power. The more signs of success they earned, the more they seemed to be in need of them. Greedy and covetous, they rendered worldly possessions their qibla, always looking in that direction, unaware of becoming the servants of the things they hungered after. That was a common pattern. It happened all the time. But it was rare, as rare as rubies, for a man who had already made his way up, a man who had plenty of gold, fame, and authority, to renounce his position all of a sudden one day and endanger his reputation for an inner journey, one that nobody could tell where or how it would end. Rumi was that rare ruby.
“God wants us to be modest and unpretentious,” I said.
“And He wants to be known,” Rumi added softly. “He wants us to know Him with every fiber of our being. That is why it is better to be watchful and sober than to be drunk and dizzy.”
I agreed. Until it turned dark and cold, we sat in the courtyard with a single red rose between us. There was, beneath the chill of the evening, the scent of something fresh and sweet. The Wine of Love made our heads spin gently, and I realized with glee and gratitude that the wind no longer whispered despair.
Ella
NORTHAMPTON, JUNE 24, 2008
“Baby, there’s a new Thai place in town,” David said. “They say it’s good. Why don’t we go there tonight? Just the two of us.”
The last thing Ella wanted to do on this Tuesday was go out for dinner with her husband. But David was so insistent that she couldn’t say no.
The Silver Moon was a small restaurant with stylish lamps, leather booths, black napkins, and so many mirrors hung low on every wall that the customers felt as if they were dining with their own reflections. It didn’t take Ella long to feel out of place there. But it wasn’t the restaurant that had made her feel this way. It was her husband. She had glimpsed in David’s eyes an unusual glitter. Something wasn’t normal. He looked pensive—worried, even. What disturbed her most was that he had stuttered a few times. Ella knew that for his childhood speech impediment to surface, David had to be very distressed.
A young waitress dressed in a traditional outfit came to take their orders. David asked for chili basil scallops, and Ella decided on the vegetables and tofu in coconut sauce, staying true to her fortieth-birthday decision to refrain from eating meat. They also ordered wine.
They talked about the sophisticated decor for a few minutes, discussing the effect of black napkins versus white napkins. Then there was silence. Twenty years of marriage, twenty years of sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same shower, eating the same food, raising three kids … and what it all added up to was silence. Or so Ella thought.
“I see you’ve been reading Rumi,” David remarked.
Ella nodded, though with some surprise. She didn’t know what surprised her more: to hear that David knew about Rumi or that he cared about what she read.
“I started reading his poetry to help me to write my report on Sweet Blasphemy, but then I became interested in it, and now I’m reading it for myself,” Ella said by way of explanation.
David grew distracted by a wine stain on the tablecloth, then sighed with a valedictory expression on his face. “Ella, I know what’s going on,” he said. “I know everything.”
“What are you talking about?” Ella asked, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“About … about your affair …” David stammered. “I’m aware of it.”
Ella looked at her husband, flabbergasted. In the glow of the candle that the waitress had just lit for them, David’s face showed pure despair.
“My affair?!” Ella blurted out, quicker and louder than she intended. She instantly noticed the couple at the next table turning in their direction. Embarrassed, she dropped her voice to a whisper and repeated, “What affair?”