M6:570 — ای ز تو ویران دکان و منزلم / چون ننالم چون بیفشاری دلم

Two markdown sections: Translation: O You, by whom my shop and home are laid waste, How can I not lament, when You press my heart? Meaning: Addressing the Divine Beloved, this verse conveys that when God dismantles the lover's worldly attachments and intensely impacts their heart, the resulting cry is not one of complaint, but rather an inevitable expression of the profound spiritual state and the overwhelming power of this love.

This verse is one of those instances where Rumi reveals himself in the peak of his ecstatic, self-abandoned state. Addressing the Eternal Beloved, he utters a lament that carries no trace of objection, nor a complaint against divine justice or injustice; it is simply a narration of the condition the lover's heart experiences in the presence and action of the Beloved.

O You, by whom my shop and home are laid waste; this 'ruin' of which Rumi speaks is not destruction or decay in the negative sense. Rather, it is the severance from attachments, the dissolution in the pull of love, the liberation from the chains of the 'shop' (symbolizing worldly affairs, external status, and social standing) and the 'home' (representing comfort, stability, and false earthly identity). This ruin is the beginning of true flourishing; it is the annihilation of the ego so that the spirit may emerge. Here, this destruction is the work of the Beloved, and the mystic finds himself surrendered to this devastating action. This is precisely the 'effacement' (maḥw) Rumi speaks of, merging into the divine existence, not constructing a 'grammar' (naḥw) based on worldly rules.

How can I not lament, when You press my heart?; the 'lament' (nāle) here is not 'complaint' (shekāyat) in the conventional sense, but rather 'narration' (ḥekāyat); it is the narration of a sweet pain, a pain that arises from the relentless pressure of love upon the lover's soul. This lament is inevitable, just like the sound that issues from a reed cut from the reed-bed; a sound that is neither the reed's choice nor a complaint about being cut, but rather the result of the breath of the player blown into it. The lover's heart, like the reed, is emptied and hollowed out to echo the Beloved's sound; but this blowing, or rather, this 'pressing,' is so intense that it elicits a cry from the lover's core. This is an existential ache stemming from the profound bond between lover and Beloved, not from distance or ignorance.

Rumi himself clarifies elsewhere: "Am I complaining about the Soul of the soul? / I am not the complainer, I am the narrator." This verse testifies to the same interpretation. Even when he speaks of 'lamenting,' his intent is to 'narrate' his inner state. This lament is the lament of separation (judā’ī), not the lament of loneliness (tanhā’ī). In separation, the Beloved is still present and acting; in loneliness, the Beloved is presumed absent. Rumi never believes in an absent God; his world is full of the active presence of the Beloved. Thus, his lament is, in effect, the restless melody of a soul that finds itself submerged in the boundless ocean of love, seeing all distinctness and identity of 'shop and home' swept away. This lament is, in truth, the music of unity, a symphony of oneness arising from its displacement and moving towards a return to its origin.

Key takeaways

• The 'ruin of shop and home' signifies detachment from worldly ties and the dissolution of the ego in the face of Divine Love.
• The 'lament' here is not a complaint against the Beloved, but a narration and expression of the lover's inner state in the throes of divine attraction.
• This lament is one of separation (from the Origin), not loneliness (implying abandonment); the Beloved is ever-present and active.
• The Beloved's 'pressing of the heart' is an action akin to blowing into a reed, causing an inevitable sound to emerge from the lover's being.
• Absolute surrender to the Beloved's action, even if it leads to apparent 'ruin,' is the true path to perfection in Rumi's mysticism.