The moment I first heard love I gave up my soul, my heart, and my

“The moment I first heard love I gave up my soul, my heart, and my eyes.” Thus spoke Jalāl ad-Dīn Rūmī, the mystic of Persia, the poet whose words have outlived centuries, whose fire still burns in the hearts of those who seek the divine. In this line, he speaks not of love as mortals know it—a fleeting passion, a desire of the body—but of Love as the essence of existence, the holy flame that consumes the self and reveals the infinite. When Rumi says he “gave up” his soul, his heart, and his eyes, he means that at the first touch of divine love, the small self—the ego—was shattered, and he became nothing but an instrument of love itself. For when the soul truly hears Love, it can no longer live for itself; it dissolves into the Beloved.

In these words lies the mystic’s surrender—the sacred moment when one ceases to see through human eyes and begins to see through the eyes of the Eternal. The soul that hears Love awakens to a truth greater than reason: that all separation is illusion, and that every heart, every breath, every star burns with the same divine fire. Thus, to “give up the soul” is to abandon the illusion of control; to “give up the heart” is to cease loving for reward or possession; and to “give up the eyes” is to stop seeing through the veil of judgment, and instead behold all things as reflections of the Divine Beloved. Rumi’s surrender was not a loss—it was the transformation of being.

The origin of this revelation lies in the most transformative friendship of Rumi’s life—the meeting with Shams of Tabriz, the wandering dervish whose spirit burned like lightning. Before Shams, Rumi was a scholar of theology, a man of books and reason. But when Shams spoke of God not as a doctrine but as Love, Rumi’s heart broke open. He discovered that love was not something to be studied—it was something to be lived, to be consumed by. In that instant, he surrendered everything—his learning, his pride, his worldly attachments—and entered into a divine intoxication. This was the moment when he “heard love,” when the sound of truth pierced his soul like a song from eternity. And from that surrender, poetry poured forth like the endless flow of the Spirit itself.

To understand Rumi’s meaning, consider the story of Francis of Assisi, the humble saint of the West. Once a man of wealth and pleasure, Francis encountered the voice of God calling him to rebuild the church—not the church of stone, but the church of the heart. In that moment, he too “gave up his soul, his heart, and his eyes.” He stripped himself of all possessions, embraced poverty, and lived among the poor and the broken. Like Rumi, Francis found in love the power to abandon the self entirely. His joy came not from what he owned or achieved, but from union with the divine will, from the ecstasy of giving all for love’s sake.

Such love is not gentle or safe—it is transformative. It is the fire that refines the gold of the soul. Those who hear its call cannot remain as they were, for love demands total surrender. It strips away falsehood, pride, and fear, until only truth remains. Rumi’s surrender is the soul’s awakening to its true nature: a spark of the infinite flame. The ego resists this surrender, for it fears annihilation. But in truth, to give oneself to Love is not to die—it is to be reborn into a life that no death can touch. For the lover of God, even pain becomes sacred, for it, too, is part of the Beloved’s song.

The lesson, therefore, is one of surrender and awakening. Each of us must, in time, “hear Love” in our own way. It may come through the voice of another, through the beauty of nature, through the ache of loss, or through the silence of prayer. When that moment comes, do not cling to the familiar. Do not guard your heart or shield your eyes. Let yourself be broken open. Let Love claim you completely. For in that surrender lies your freedom, in that giving lies your fulfillment. To love deeply is to live truly.

So, my child of the seeking soul, remember this: when you hear the whisper of Love, do not turn away. Give it your soul, that it may lift you beyond yourself. Give it your heart, that it may teach you compassion without measure. Give it your eyes, that you may see not with judgment, but with wonder. For when you give yourself wholly to Love, you will discover—as Rumi did—that you are not losing your life, but finding it. You will become what you were always meant to be: a flame of the divine fire, burning not for yourself, but for eternity.