Having Fun With Grace and Rumi

By Mayet|2026-10-26T15:29:44-05:00November 12th, 2026|Comments Off on Having Fun With Grace and Rumi

November 12, 2026

While ruminating about Grace, I began to wonder what Rumi might say.

I suspect he might laugh, though not unkindly. Rumi’s God or muse or creator always seems to be laughing in delight somewhere behind the curtain, amazed by the length we travel in search of what is already searching for—and finding us—in every moment of our lives.

Perhaps Rumi listens patiently as we explain everything we’ve considered about Grace these last weeks.

That Grace surrounds us; that Grace moves through us; that Grace appears in unexpected forms; that it becomes more available when we remember we are it.  We realize, we say, that Grace is like water to fish and we are encompassed.

At about this point I think Rumi might interrupt saying, “Beloved one, why are you still talking about the water? Swim!”

Here we too might laugh to notice how this shifts things.  There’s something else that happens in knowing that Grace has been following us around, tugging at our sleeves, leaving little notes here and there that we have hurried past.  

Grace had hidden itself in Tuesday afternoon, while we were looking for revelation.  While waiting for the heavens to open, Grace has put sunlight on the kitchen floor.

This is exactly the sort of thing I imagine would inspire Rumi’s pen.

Grace, he might tell us, is shameless. She will hide anywhere. In music, in grief, in the scent of the newly ripened pear. Or, equally, in the smell of the pot forgotten on the fire, blackened contents perfuming the air.

Grace, Rumi would know, has no standards about where holiness is permitted to appear. Such rules are our problems. Grace isn’t interested.

Grace loves to approach looking nothing like Grace. Coming perhaps as a thief who steals something away—a certainty, a plan, an identity, a relationship whose time has passed. Or even a future we have fully settled into in our imagination. Stolen away, causing an outcry, “Something is wrong! We have been robbed!”

Grace however might—with an inquiring quirk of brow—say, “But have you, my beloved friends?”

We’re never amused. But the mystics, they have always been suspicious of our plans. They know that the Soul has destinations the personality would never willingly put into the GPS.  

Grace, then, can be quite inventive, setting bright yellow signs to close the road. We might not notice her in our passenger seat until we are thoroughly lost. Grace doesn’t mind.  We fuss, petition for directions.  There is a peculiar intimacy in being lost like this. Bewilderment removes the idea of knowing exactly where we’re going, our attention fastened to that road.

When we quit knowing we begin to see everything else.  New landscape, an interesting stranger, a light-filled opening in the clouds, an unexpected path. And Grace, a passenger in the car.

It occurs to me now that bewilderment is indeed one of the doorways through which Grace enters.

Rumi would also know: Grace has an ancient relationship with longing.  We generally relate to longing as wanting what is absent. We long for some perceived lack, seeing a hole to fill. But the mystic would turn this upside down: Longing itself is evidence of what is there. 

We’re longing for Grace when here she is, making herself at home.  She knows that the yearning isn’t proof of separation but the very thread connecting us.  A thread we keep pulling, hoping to find our way Home. While Grace is there quietly holding the other end, knowing there’s no pulling or pushing or tugging. 

This is surely where Rumi would emit a delighted laugh, realizing there aren’t really even two ends. There is only the thread of connection. There is only the certain coming together. There is only Grace recognizing itself as Home.

Now, at last distance collapses. We are left there, standing in the Grace we Are.

Now is when the laughter begins. We get the joke, remembering ourselves lighting lamps to find the light, searching the house for the one who is searching. 

Now we discover the beauty of the human heart reaching toward what it loves, suddenly recognizing the familiar arms outstretched and reaching back. 

Now the grace-filled falling starts! The falling into Love. Loving that which we are and ever were, and ever will become.

Now is when the dancing beings. With Grace we begin to move, to flow together along the Widening Way, eyes lost in the beauty of the starry sky.

Lovingly,
Mayet