This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred

“This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.” Thus spoke Rumi, the mystic of light whose words burn like stars within the night of the human soul. These words are no mere verse — they are a map of transformation, drawn not in ink but in fire. For Rumi speaks of love not as a tender comfort, but as the sacred annihilation that births the soul anew.

To fly toward a secret sky is to yearn for the Infinite — that which cannot be seen by eyes, nor measured by reason. It is to rise beyond the walls of the self, beyond the noise of the world, and ascend toward the divine mystery that calls every heart. The “secret sky” is not above us; it is within us. It is the realm of unity, where all separations dissolve. The lover who flies there must cast aside the weight of pride, of possession, of the false self — for no wings can lift what clings to the earth.

When Rumi says to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment, he speaks of the unveiling of truth, the shedding of illusions that blind the soul. Every veil is a mask of fear, a shadow of ego, a lie told by the mind that says, “I am separate.” Love tears these veils apart, one by one, sometimes gently, sometimes like a storm. To love truly is to die a thousand small deaths — of control, of certainty, of comfort — until nothing remains but the radiant core of being.

Consider the life of Saint Francis of Assisi, who lived centuries after Rumi yet walked a similar path. Born into wealth and ease, he heard a whisper within his soul — the call of the “secret sky.” He gave away all he owned, stripped himself of pride and privilege, and embraced poverty as his bride. When he kissed the leper’s hand, when he spoke to the birds, when he rebuilt the ruined church stone by stone, he was letting a hundred veils fall. He no longer walked with feet alone, but with spirit — a step without feet, guided by love’s unseen wings.

To let go of life, as Rumi says, is not to despise it, but to surrender the smallness of the self so that one may live more deeply. The worldly mind clings to possessions, titles, and fears; the awakened heart releases them all and finds freedom. Love, in its truest form, demands this surrender. It asks us to leap without knowing where we will land — to walk not by sight but by faith, not by logic but by trust. To love is to risk all that we are for something we cannot name but feel as truth.

To take a step without feet is to move through the unseen — to be guided by the soul, not the senses. It is the journey of those who have entered the mystery, who no longer need the ground beneath them because they have become part of the vastness itself. It is how poets create, how saints heal, how lovers forgive. It is how one learns to live without fear — because love itself has become their breath, their path, their destination.

And so, O seeker, the lesson is this: love is not a feeling, but a transformation. It is the sacred fire that burns away all that is false. Do not fear when the veils fall, for only then will you see clearly. Do not cling when life demands surrender, for only then will you fly. The soul that dares to take a step without feet discovers that it was never bound by the earth at all — it was always sky.

Therefore, in your days, practice the art of unveiling. Each morning, let go of one fear. Each evening, forgive one hurt. Listen, not with your ears, but with your heart. Seek not to possess love, but to become it. For when you have learned to walk without feet, you will find that every step you take — even upon the dust of the world — leads you closer to the secret sky that Rumi beheld, and that burns now, quietly, within you.