M6:1451 — که چرا قبله نکردم مرگ را / مخزن هر دولت و هر برگ را

Translation: Why did I not make death my qibla (direction of prayer) / The very treasury of every fortune and every leaf? Meaning: This verse expresses the profound regret of a person who realizes, after time has passed, that they failed to orient their life towards death—not as an end, but as a perpetual reminder that activates and enriches all endeavors; a death which, in Rumi's view, means shedding attachments and attaining one's true self.

This profound couplet emerges from Rumi's deep discourse on the regret of lost opportunities. The Noble Prophet, as narrated in traditions, stated: “The departed do not grieve death, but rather regret missed chances.” Death is an inevitable event, yet the remorse stemming from a life heedlessly lived, without seizing its bounties, is a soul-scorching torment. Rumi emphatically states that “there is no room for regret in this world.” Why? Because regret itself is a form of idleness and futility. Instead of dwelling in sorrow, one must “act, act.” Remorse and contrition are products of indolence and will never sprout in the heart of an “active seeker” constantly striving.

Yet, the torment of regret after death is of a different quality. There, hope for redress and rectification is non-existent. The human, whether in word or state, pleads: “My Lord, send me back that I may do righteousness in what I have left behind,” only to be met with the response: “It is but a word he utters.” This regret is more searing than fire, precisely because one knows it is not constructive. This very futility is what kills the soul. Rumi declares, “It burns him a hundred times more than the fires of Hell.”

Now to the verse: “Why did I not make death my qibla / The very treasury of every fortune and every leaf?” This is not a desire for an end to life, but a cry of profound regret. Death, in Rumi's eyes, is not merely physical death; it is “the shedding of attachments, the liberation from superfluities and trivialities, the casting away of vain dependencies, the return to one’s authentic self, and the sacrifice of the false self at the altar of the true self.” This type of death is the true source of flourishing, felicity, and every “fortune and leaf,” meaning it is a treasury for every success and every spiritual growth. One who makes such a death their qibla lives every moment of their life consciously and meaningfully.

Rumi contrasts this with a life where, “All my life, out of double-vision, I made my qibla / Those illusions that vanished with the coming of death.” Hawl, or ahwali, refers to a double-vision that perceives the singular reality of the world as multiplicity. We spent a lifetime praying towards our “illusions and fantasies,” taking them for reality. But with the arrival of death, we realized they were all but “foam on water,” and vanished. Our regret is not for death itself, but for having “paused at forms”; we stopped at the level of appearances and failed to penetrate to the depths of meaning. We did not see that the “form” and “foam” are nourished by the sea. Forms are a veil for meaning, and our task is to read meaning beneath the forms, not to be content with the superficiality of words. We must move from the foam to the sea.

This sea, after death, casts us into “crisis,” whereas we should have spent a lifetime learning to swim in it. Rumi states, “The sea has cast you into your crisis.” Then, in the graveyard, our bodily remains are asked: “How can a form, like foam, stir without a wave? / How can dust without wind reach the heights?” And we receive the answer that this question should be posed to the sea itself. Hence, Rumi emphasizes “nazar” (deep seeing or contemplation): “We are all eyes; the rest is but skin.” This “seeing” is not with the physical eye, but rather “a precise contemplation of the cosmos and the depths of human existence”—what one might call contemplation in a philosophical sense. As Sohrab Sepehri poetically stated, “We are nothing; we are gaze.” It is this gaze that shapes us and serves our purpose; otherwise, the rest of our being, apart from “fat, flesh, warp, and weft,” lacks all value and meaning without that inner vision. “Go into seeing, go into seeing, go into seeing.”

Key takeaways

• Death, in Rumi's view, is not the end of life but an opportunity for 'self-reconstruction' and shedding attachments.
• True regret after death stems not from dying itself, but from squandering life's opportunities and neglecting inner growth.
• Diligence and purposeful action in this world are the only escape from futile regrets and the path to flourishing.
• Living with awareness of death as one's 'qibla' means living each moment consciously and meaningfully.
• Double-vision (ahwali) and pausing at the world's superficialities prevent seeing the unity of truth and lead to the torment of regret.
• Deep, inner 'seeing' (nazar) is the true essence of humanity, elevating individuals beyond mere 'fat and flesh'.