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Ella
NORTHAMPTON, JUNE 13, 2008
Beloved Aziz,
You’re going to think I’m crazy, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you: Are you
Shams?
Or is it the other way round? Is Shams you?
Yours sincerely,
Ella
Dear Ella,
Shams is the person who was responsible for the transformation of Rumi from a local cleric to a
world-famous poet and mystic.
Master Sameed used to say to me, “Even if there might be a Shams equivalent in some people,
what matters is, where are the Rumis to see it?”
Warm regards,
Aziz
Dear Aziz,
Who is Master Sameed?
Best,
Ella
Beloved Ella,
It’s a long story. Do you really want to know?
Warmly,
Aziz
Dear Aziz,
I have plenty of time.
Love,
Ella
Rumi
KONYA, AUGUST 2, 1245
Bountiful is your life, full and complete. Or so you think, until someone comes along and makes
you realize what you have been missing all this time. Like a mirror that reflects what is absent
rather than present, he shows you the void in your soul—the void you have resisted seeing. That
person can be a lover, a friend, or a spiritual master. Sometimes it can be a child to look after.
What matters is to find the soul that will complete yours. All the prophets have given the same
advice: Find the one who will be your mirror! For me that mirror is Shams of Tabriz. Until he
came and forced me to look deep into the crannies of my soul, I had not faced the fundamental
truth about myself: that though successful and prosperous outside, I was lonely and unfulfilled
inside.
It’s as if for years on end you compile a personal dictionary. In it you give your definition of
every concept that matters to you, such as “truth,” “happiness,” or “beauty.” At every major
turning point in life, you refer to this dictionary, hardly ever feeling the need to question its
premises. Then one day a stranger comes and snatches your precious dictionary and throws it
away.
“All your definitions need to be redefined,” he says. “It’s time for you to unlearn everything you
know.”
And you, for some reason unbeknownst to your mind but obvious to your heart, instead of
raising objections or getting cross with him, gladly comply. This is what Shams has done to me.
Our friendship has taught me so much. But more than that, he has taught me to unlearn
everything I knew.
When you love someone this much, you expect everyone around you to feel the same way,
sharing your joy and euphoria. And when that doesn’t happen, you feel surprised, then offended
and betrayed.
How could I possibly make my family and friends see what I see? How could I describe the
indescribable? Shams is my Sea of Mercy and Grace. He is my Sun of Truth and Faith. I call him
the King of Kings of Spirit. He is my fountain of life and my tall cypress tree, majestic and
evergreen. His companionship is like the fourth reading of the Qur’an—a journey that can only
be experienced from within but never grasped from the outside.
Unfortunately, most people make their evaluations based on images and hearsay. To them Shams
is an eccentric dervish. They think he behaves bizarrely and speaks blasphemy, that he is utterly
unpredictable and unreliable. To me, however, he is the epitome of Love that moves the whole
universe, at times retreating into the background and holding every piece together, at times
exploding in bursts. An encounter of this kind happens once in a lifetime. Once in thirty-eight
years.
Ever since Shams came into our lives, people have been asking me what it is in him that I find so
special. But there is no way I can answer them. At the end of the day, those who ask this
question are the ones who won’t understand it, and as for those who do understand, they don’t
ask such things.
The quandary I find myself in reminds me of the story of Layla and Harun ar-Rashid, the famous
Abbasid emperor. Upon hearing that a Bedouin poet named Qays had fallen hopelessly in love
with Layla and lost his mind for her, and was therefore named Majnun—the madman—the
emperor became very curious about the woman who had caused such misery.
This Layla must be a very special creature, he thought. A woman far superior to all other
women.Perhaps she is an enchantress unequaled in beauty and charm.
Excited, intrigued, he played every trick in the book to find a way to see Layla with his own
eyes.
Finally one day they brought Layla to the emperor’s palace. When she took off her veil, Harun
ar-Rashid was disillusioned. Not that Layla was ugly, crippled, or old. But she wasn’t
extraordinarily attractive either. She was a human being with ordinary human needs and several
defects, a simple woman, like countless others.
The emperor did not hide his disappointment. “Are you the one Majnun has been crazy about?
Why, you look so ordinary. What is so special about you?”
Layla broke into a smile. “Yes, I am Layla. But you are not Majnun,” she answered. “You have
to see me with the eyes of Majnun. Otherwise you could never solve this mystery called love.”
How can I explain the same mystery to my family, friends, or students? How can I make them
understand that for them to grasp what is so special about Shams of Tabriz, they have to start
looking at him with the eyes of Majnun?
Is there a way to grasp what love means without becoming a lover first?
Love cannot be explained. It can only be experienced.
Love cannot be explained, yet it explains all.
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