Dearest Empowered Wayers,

I was standing in my bathroom last week, rushing through my morning routine, when I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Not my hair, not the lines around my eyes. Something deeper. Something that made me stop.

In that moment, the words from the Sufi poet, Rumi, surfaced like a prayer: “If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?”

I had been irritated all morning. The email that didn’t come. The client who canceled. The small disappointments that pile up before we’ve even had our coffee.

But what if those rubs weren’t obstacles?

What if they were the very thing polishing me into someone who could finally see clearly?

Why an 800-Year-Old Poet Still Makes Us Weep

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī was born in 1207 in Balkh, in what is now Afghanistan. His family fled the Mongol invasions when he was a child, eventually settling in Konya, Turkey. He was a respected scholar, theologian, and a teacher with thousands of students. He had everything a man of his time could want: status, security, certainty.

And then everything changed.

A wandering dervish named Shams of Tabriz arrived in Konya one November day in 1244. Shams was rough where Rumi was refined. Homeless where Rumi was established. Wild where Rumi was composed.

The story goes that Shams approached Rumi while he was studying, surrounded by books, and asked him a question so piercing that Rumi fell from his donkey, unconscious.

When he woke, everything he thought he knew had shattered.

Shams didn’t give Rumi answers. He gave him a mirror. He showed Rumi that all his learning, all his religious knowledge, all his carefully constructed identity was just that: a construction. A veil between himself and the Divine Love that was already within him.

The sober scholar became a devotee of music, dance, and poetry. The theologian became a mystic. The man who had all the answers began living in the questions.

And for the next three years, until Shams mysteriously disappeared, Rumi was transformed.

He spent the rest of his life writing about that transformation. Over 70,000 verses. Poems that make people weep eight centuries later. Words that cross every boundary of religion, culture, and time to land directly in the center of the human heart.

Why?

Because Rumi understood something we are still learning: we cannot see ourselves without a mirror.

The Metaphor That Changes Everything

Rumi returned to the image of the mirror again and again in his poetry. It wasn’t decorative language. It was his entire spiritual philosophy.

We are the mirror as well as the face in it. We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity. We are pain and what cures pain, both.”

You are the mirror and the face in it. You are the one seeing and the one being seen. You are the Divine beholding itself through your very eyes.

This is not abstract philosophy. This is the most practical spiritual teaching I know.

When I sit in meditation each morning, I am polishing the mirror of my heart. I am clearing away the dust of yesterday’s fears, last week’s resentments, last year’s grief. Not because those experiences were wrong, but because they have settled over the surface of who I truly am.

If you find the mirror of the heart dull, the rust has not been cleared from its face.

The rust is not failure. The rust is simply what accumulates when we forget to tend to our inner life. When we rush through our days without pausing to remember who we are.

Why Rumi Needed Shams

Here is what moves me most about this story.

Rumi was already brilliant. Already successful. Already teaching others about the Divine.

And yet.

He needed someone to walk into his life and show him what he couldn’t see on his own. He needed a mirror in human form.

Shams didn’t teach Rumi new information. He reflected back to Rumi the vastness that Rumi had forgotten was already within him.

This is what we do for each other when we are fully present. This is what happens in the Sovereign Women’s Circle, in our deepest friendships, in the moments when someone truly sees us and we catch a glimpse of ourselves through their loving gaze.

We become mirrors for one another.

One of Rumi’s most tender poems captures this perfectly:

“You have no idea how hard I’ve looked for a gift to bring You. Nothing seemed right. What’s the point of bringing gold to the gold mine, or water to the ocean? It’s no good giving my heart and my soul because you already have these. So I’ve brought you a mirror. Look at yourself and remember me.”

What gift can you give to someone who already contains everything?

Only this: help them see what they have forgotten.

The Polishing

There is a reason Rumi’s words land so deeply in the modern heart. We are drowning in noise, images and in the constant scroll of other people’s curated lives. We have forgotten what our own face looks like without the filter.

Let go of your worries and be completely clear-hearted, like the face of a mirror that contains no images.

Can you imagine it? A heart so clear it contains no images. No projections of fear. No anticipation of disaster. No rehearsal of old wounds.

Just clarity and presence. The quiet readiness to reflect whatever truth appears.

This doesn’t happen by accident. It happens through the rub.

If metal can be polished to a mirror-like finish, what polishing might the mirror of the heart require?

Every disappointment and loss. Every moment when life doesn’t go the way you planned. These are not evidence that something is wrong. They are the polishing.

The question is not whether the rub will come. It will. It always does.

The question is: Will you let it polish you? Or will you resist and stay dull?

The Truth Was a Mirror

There is another Rumi saying that has stayed with me for years:

The truth was a mirror in the hands of God. It fell, and broke into pieces. Everybody took a piece of it, and they looked at it and thought they had the truth.

I think about this every time I see people arguing about who is right. Every time I catch myself certain that my way is the only way.

We are all holding a shard. We are all seeing only a piece of the picture. No one has a view of the whole picture.

But here is the grace: when we gather in love, when we lay our pieces side by side, something whole begins to emerge. Not because any of us possesses the complete truth, but because together we reflect a larger pattern.

This is why community matters. This is why we cannot walk this path alone. We need each other’s reflections to see what we cannot see from our single vantage point.

What the Mirror Reveals

I want to leave you with one final Rumi verse. One that I return to when I have forgotten who I am:

Do you know what you are? You are a manuscript of a divine letter. You are a mirror reflecting a noble face. This universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you are already that.

You are already that.

Not will be or could be if you work hard enough, heal enough, achieve enough.

Already. Right now, in this moment, as these words flow across your mind.

The mirror doesn’t create the face it reflects. It simply reveals what is already there.

Your meditation practice, your spiritual work, your commitment to presence: none of it is creating your divinity. It is revealing it. Polishing away the dust so you can finally see clearly what has always been true.

You are an individual aspect of Divine Love, looking at itself through your eyes.

Let the rub polish you. Let the world be your Shams. Let every challenge reveal another layer of the beauty you have always been.

And then, as Rumi did, let your life become a poem that helps others remember too.

To your sovereign seeing,

Kathryn

P.S. If Rumi’s words have touched something in you today, I invite you to join us in the Sovereign Women’s Circle, where we practice seeing each other clearly. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give is simply being a mirror for another woman’s light.

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