M6:459 — من به صحرا خلوتی بگزیده‌ام / خلق را من دزد جامه دیده‌ام

Translation: I have chosen solitude in the desert; For I have seen people as thieves of my raiment.

Meaning: This verse, spoken by a hunter seeking seclusion, conveys his perception of people as thieves who plunder his possessions. It is a metaphor for the way human interaction can steal one's time, energy, and inner peace.

I interpret this verse within the narrative of a hunter justifying his seclusion, yet beneath this justification lie profound truths about the nature of life and human heedlessness (ghaflat). He says, "I have seen people as thieves of my raiment." This is not a mere simile; in reality, people are not just thieves of our material possessions but also plunderers of our time, energy, and even our thoughts. One person takes our time, another our money, and yet another, in Rumi's words, devours our mind. This implies that in daily interactions, a significant portion of our being is squandered without our even realizing it.

Rumi then connects this image to children playing, who discard their clothes and only realize their destitution when night falls. We, too, engrossed in the "game of life," are oblivious to this great theft until the night of life arrives. It is then that, empty-handed, we lament our loss with no means to remedy it. As I have often stated, this "game" (laʿb), emphasized in the Quran, is the pervasive heedlessness that envelops all worldly life, and the very order of this world is, in a sense, contingent upon this ghaflat.

In another passage, in the first book of the Masnavi, at the outset of the story of the Parrot and the Merchant, Rumi reiterates this meaning. He says that one spends half of one's life on "the desire of the heart-stealer"—be it beloveds or captivating pursuits—and the other half on "the sorrows of enemies." These "heart-stealers" and "enemies" are, in fact, two sides of the same coin that consume our entire existence, preventing us from returning to our true selves. When the night of life arrives, we find that "one took the cloak, the other the cap," and we are left "engrossed in play like a small child." The majority of people, in Rumi's words, are "children, save for the one intoxicated by God," meaning they are as helpless as children in discerning their own good and welfare, except for the man of God who has attained maturity.

It is here that a call arises: "Khall hādha 'l-laʿb, basuka, lā taʿud"—Leave this game, enough, do not return to it. I have often emphasized that the key to exiting this heedlessness and breaking free from the "game" is what I call "second-order looking" or "mindfulness." For a person to be able to observe themselves and their actions from an external perspective, to view their play from a higher vantage point like a spectator, can tear the veil of heedlessness. This is, of course, not easy, for combining the roles of "player" and "spectator" in life is difficult. Yet, the first step towards liberation is the awareness that this life is a "game."

This chosen seclusion, which the hunter adopts, is actually a prelude to intimacy with solitude. The hunter argues that since "in the end, I will be left alone," then "one should not become intimate with every man and woman." This is the same idea expressed by philosophers: "We all die alone." If this is the case, why not now cultivate intimacy with "the One" (God) and detach ourselves from strangers? This is a path to prepare for that ultimate solitude, which we have no choice but to embrace.

Key takeaways

• Choosing solitude and withdrawing from people is justified as a means to preserve one's time and energy from external (raiment) and internal (time, thought) thieves.
• The world is a stage of "play" and "heedlessness"; people are like children who lose themselves in their games and end up empty-handed.
• People, like "thieves of raiment," steal our time and energy; half of life is spent on "desires of heart-stealers" and the other half on "sorrows of enemies."
• Awakening from heedlessness occurs through a "second-order look" (mindfulness) at one's actions, observing oneself from an external perspective.
• The argument for seclusion: everyone ultimately dies "alone"; therefore, it is better to cultivate intimacy with God (Ahad) from now on and detach from others.