He is closer than you think

reflections on the forty rules of love: part one

i’ve been spending more time with myself lately, just sitting in silence, writing, trying to remember who i am after the month i just endured. it’s been uncomfortable and healing at the same time. and in the midst of it all, i remembered the forty rules of love again. reading this book for the first time altered my brain chemistry (quite literally). i would even go as far as to say it helped me in my healing journey. it’s like every time i reflect on it, i stumble across something i wasn’t ready for the first time around.

so, i decided i want to write through each of the rules. not in a deep intellectual way, but through the lens of someone who’s just trying to make sense of it all. someone who’s felt pain, who’s healing, who believes in Allah more than anything but still has her moments. these most definitely aren’t essays, but love letters, reflections, pieces of my heart.

bismillah…

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rule one: "how we see God is a direct reflection of how we see ourselves. if God brings to mind mostly fear and blame, it means there is too much fear and blame welled inside us. if we see God as full of love and compassion, so are we."

i really reflected on this deeply when i first came across it. because if i’m being real, whilst growing up i didn’t always see God as merciful. not because He wasn’t, but because i didn’t know how to be merciful to myself.

for so long, my relationship with Allah was built on fear. and not the kind of fear that humbles you and brings you closer to Him. it was the fear that made me hide. the kind that convinced me that i had to be perfect to be loved. that one slip-up would mean i’m no longer worthy. that if i wasn’t praying on time, if i wasn’t doing enough, if i was broken or sad or angry or doubting, He’d be disappointed in me.

but that fear came from me. from my own wounds. from thinking i had to earn love instead of just accepting it.

i look back now and realise that i was projecting everything i was afraid of onto Allah. the guilt, the shame, the self-criticism. i made God out to be harsh because i was harsh with myself.

but the more i healed, the more i softened. and the more i softened, the more i felt His mercy. like truly felt it. i felt it in my silent duas. in the fact that i could be so low and still feel Him pull me back.

because He was never the one pushing me away. i was the one building walls.

there’s a well known Hadith Qudsi that says,

“i am as My servant thinks of Me.”

and that line alone will shake you if you really let it. because it means if you think Allah is forgiving, then you will find Him that way. if you believe He’s gentle, you’ll experience His gentleness. but if you believe He’s distant or angry or unreachable… that’s what your heart will hold onto.

so, we’ve learnt that the work isn’t just about getting closer to Allah, but it’s also about healing the version of ourselves that doesn’t feel worthy of closeness. because He never changes. He is Al-Wadud, the Most Loving. Al-Raheem, the Most Merciful. always. it’s us who shift.

if your heart feels heavy, if you’ve messed up, if you haven’t prayed in a while, if you’re scared to turn back to Him — He’s not angry with you. He’s waiting. He loves you more than you could ever understand. and the second you take one step toward Him, He runs to you.

so maybe the first rule of love really is this: start with how you see yourself. give yourself compassion, give yourself softness, give yourself another chance. and through that softness, you’ll begin to see the mercy that was always there.

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rule two: the path to the Truth is a labour of the heart, not of the head. make your heart your primary guide! not your mind. meet, challenge and ultimately prevail over your nafs with your heart. knowing your ego will lead you to the knowledge of God.

this one hit deep. like, really deep. for a long time i thought knowing Allah meant reading more, studying harder, learning more facts. and don’t get me wrong — seeking knowledge is a huge part of the deen. but this rule reminds you that it’s not just about what’s in your head. the heart has its own kind of knowing, and when it’s awake — when it’s tender, broken, yearning — that’s when it gets closest to the Truth.

i’ve been thinking about how often we try to logic our way to peace. we spiral in overthinking, or beat ourselves up with guilt over things we haven’t even done yet. and while caution is good — taqwa (God consciousness) is beautiful — it becomes dangerous when the mind is over-functioning and the heart is under-nourished.

in Islam, there's such a rich framework for understanding this. the concept of jihad an-nafs (the inner struggle) is at the core of our spiritual journey. we’re all carrying some version of this inside us. you feel it when you’re torn between instant gratification and long-term peace, when you know what’s right but still flirt with what’s wrong, when you crave validation from people more than you crave the pleasure of Allah. that pull… that’s your nafs at work.

and the nafs has stages.

at the base is nafs al-ammarah — the commanding self. it’s that part of you that just… wants. craves. consumes. it whispers, “you deserve this,” even when “this” is destructive. you’re not even resisting at this stage, you’re just going with the flow of desire, ego, dunya, whatever’s easiest. it’s scary how normal this can feel.

then comes nafs al-lawwamah — the self-reproaching soul. and this stage is painful, but it’s where real transformation starts. you’re wrestling. you’re aware. you’re repenting, slipping, growing, slipping again. but you’re trying. and trying counts for so much with Allah. this is the battleground. it’s where most of us live. it’s exhausting, but it’s also where the most beautiful character is formed. humility, discipline, gratitude. it’s where you learn to choose your soul over your self.

very few reach nafs al-mutmainnah — the tranquil soul. that soul that’s content with Allah. trusting. peaceful. imagine having that kind of contentment inside your heart, no matter what’s going on around you. and the beautiful thing is, you don’t arrive there and stay. even the highest souls can fall. it’s a constant journey. some days you’ll feel like you’re soaring spiritually, and the next day you’re drowning in your own thoughts again. that’s okay. the goal isn’t perfection, it’s presence.

and all of this, this whole internal struggle, is a labour of the heart. the mind can’t defeat the nafs. it’s not a debate to be won. you can’t outsmart your lower self. you have to soften it. surrender it. love it back into alignment. you have to trust that the heart, when it’s connected to Allah, knows the way home.

that’s why purification of the heart is such a huge deal in our faith.

the Prophet (ﷺ) said,

“verily, in the body there is a piece of flesh, which if sound, the whole body is sound; and if it is corrupted, the whole body is corrupted. verily, it is the heart.” (al-bukhari).

this is reality. a clean heart leads to a clean life.

and i think one of the biggest blocks to that is overthinking. waswas. the whispers of Shaytan that turn sincerity into self-doubt. that make you question your intentions, your worth, your place with Allah. the mind gets noisy, but the heart knows. it always knows. when you feel that ache during sujood, when your eyes tear up without warning at the remembrance of Allah: that’s your heart remembering its origin. that’s not logic. that’s love.

i’ve learned to be gentler with my mind and firmer with my nafs. to ask my heart for guidance. to sit with silence. to listen inward. because Allah didn’t just place His signs in books and scholars. He placed them inside us. in our fitrah. in our ruh. the map to Him is already within us. we just have to stop overcomplicating it and start tuning in.

so, it’s not about having all the answers. it’s about having a heart that’s awake, a heart that longs, a heart that’s willing to do the hard, messy work of growth. that’s the real path to the Truth.

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rule three: you can study God through everything and everyone in the universe, because God is not confined in a mosque, synagogue, or church. but if you are still in need of knowing where exactly His abode is, there is only one place to look for Him: in the heart of a true lover.

this rule feels like a soft undoing of of the idea that Allah can only be found in religious settings. it reminds you that the divine isn’t far. He’s not hidden behind a wall of scholarship or locked away in a masjid. He’s right here. everywhere. all around you. and, more than anything, within you.

sometimes, i think we make the mistake of believing Allah is only accessible through formal rituals. and yes, salah, dhikr, Qur’an — they’re essentials, they’re sacred, they ground you. but Allah isn’t limited to those acts. He isn’t confined to the prayer mat. He’s the one who hears you at 2am when your tears hit the pillow and all you can whisper is, “ya Allah.” He’s the one who places calm in your chest out of nowhere, after a week of anxiety that you didn’t tell anyone about. He’s the one who sends you a stranger’s kindness on the day you were breaking. that’s divine mercy showing up in the everyday.

you can know Allah through sunsets and heartbreak. through poetry and pain. through the people He places in your life and the ones He removes. through the beauty in nature, and the silence between conversations. Allah leaves signs everywhere. not just in scripture, but in your experiences. you just have to look with the right heart.

and that’s the thing. it’s heart that sees Him, not intellect alone. your heart recognises what your mind sometimes tries to rationalise away. the heart is what stirs when you hear Qur’an even if you don’t understand the words. it’s what softens in sujood. what aches with longing in Ramadan. it’s divine proximity.

but the real key to this rule is the phrase “the heart of a true lover.” it holds weight.

because real love is what purifies you. it transforms obedience from a duty into a longing. it’s not that you have to pray, it’s that you miss Allah when you don’t. you feel disconnected. you notice the absence. that’s the heart of a lover.

and when someone loves Allah deeply and purely, their heart becomes a mirror reflecting Him. being in their presence reminds you of God. because they embody. you feel safer. lighter. more grounded. it’s like something in you wakes up around them. their adab, their humility, their mercy. all of it points back to Him. you see His beauty through them.

that’s why it’s so important to surround yourself with people whose hearts are close to Allah. not perfect people — none of us are — but sincere ones. you’ll know them by how they make you feel about your own soul.

and this reflection also reminds me of the Prophet ﷺ. the most beloved to Allah — and the most loving. the way he ﷺ carried the divine wasn’t through just rulings or theology, but through mercy, compassion, deep gentleness. He was the walking Qur’an. and if you want to know what a heart filled with divine love looks like, you look at him.

so maybe the real journey isn’t to go looking for Allah in distant places or lofty books. maybe it’s about learning to feel Him in the now. in the little things. in yourself. in the hearts that reflect Him.

let your heart become one of those places. keep it soft. keep it sincere. keep it in remembrance. because that’s where Allah lives. in the core of those who love Him most.

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rule four: intellect and love are made of different materials. intellect ties people in knots and risks nothing, but love dissolves all tangles and risks everything. intellect is always cautious and advises, “beware too much ecstasy,” whereas love says, “oh, never mind! take the plunge!” intellect does not easily break down, whereas love can effortlessly reduce itself to rubble. but treasures are hidden among ruins. a broken heart hides treasures.

you know when you go through something so deeply personal — heartbreak, loss, a moment of complete helplessness — and no matter how much you try to think your way through it, nothing adds up? that’s when you realise that intellect has its place, but it can’t save your heart.

not from longing. not from love. and definitely not from Allah.

intellect wants everything mapped out. it wants answers. proof. it wants to understand the exact how and why of every moment. but real love — the kind you feel when your soul begins to crave its Creator — it throws all of that out the window. love says: i don’t know how, but i want Him. i need Him. i miss Him. i want to feel Him close, even when i can’t make sense of my life.

and that kind of love will break you. but it’s a breaking we are blessed to endure.

you see, the nafs al-ammārah thrives when we’re in control. when we’re comfortable. when we’re able to convince ourselves we’ve got it all figured out. but pain humbles the nafs. it introduces you to parts of yourself you didn’t even know existed. it peels you back, layer by layer, until what’s left is just... real. raw. sincere. hungry for something more.

and that’s where love starts to deepen.

you begin to move away from superficial worship. the ticking of boxes. and towards connection. towards that desperate sujood where your whole body feels like a question. you stop performing. you start being.

and yes, it’s messy. love always is.

but that’s where the rule hits hardest: “treasures are hidden among ruins.” i’ve found this to be true in ways i can’t even explain. every time i thought i’d lost something — love, hope, clarity — i ended up gaining a version of myself i never would’ve met otherwise. i ended up finding Allah in ways my intellect could’ve never planned. because logic can’t take you to that place. only love can.

and when your heart becomes rubble, when everything falls apart, there’s room again. room for Allah to build you. to plant something new. something beautiful. something eternal.

so don’t be afraid to fall in love with Him. with deen. with surrender. it will feel vulnerable. it is vulnerable. but it’s the safest kind of risk you’ll ever take.
and if your heart has been broken, let it be. don’t rush to fix it. sit in the ruins. cry there. pray there. watch what grows.

because when love is clean and when it’s for the right one, it will purify you. not destroy you.

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rule five: most of the problems of the world stem from linguistic mistakes and simple misunderstandings. don’t ever take words at face value. when you step into the zone of love, language as we know it becomes obsolete. that which cannot be put into words can only be grasped through silence.

words are powerful, but they’re not everything.

we live in a world obsessed with articulation. with saying the right thing, the clever thing, the well-packaged, grammatically correct thing. we overthink texts. we rehearse conversations in our heads. we measure sincerity through perfectly chosen words.

but the truth is: the most sincere things i’ve ever felt couldn’t be spoken.

there’s this moment in prayer, for example. when you’re so overwhelmed, so full, that your body’s bowed in sujood but your mind is blank. you’re not reciting a fancy dua. you’re not listing out your goals. you’re just there. on the ground. heart exposed. and somehow, that silence says more than a thousand words ever could.

because Allah knows. He always knows. even when you don’t know what to say. even when you’re crying without knowing exactly why. even when your duas are just sighs.
this rule reminds me how often we mistake language for truth. but love doesn’t always speak in sentences. sometimes, it speaks in actions. in tears. in pauses. in staying when it’s easier to leave. in trying again when you’ve failed five times already. in saying nothing, but feeling everything.

and let’s be honest. misunderstandings are one of the biggest tests in life. we’ve all been there. you say something with one intention, and it gets completely flipped. or someone judges your heart based on a word or two, without knowing your journey. but the love you seek with Allah sees beyond that. it doesn’t need you to be eloquent. it just needs you to be sincere.

it’s also why i think some of the most healing moments aren’t the ones where someone says the perfect thing, they’re the ones where someone just sits with you. no advice. no lecture. just presence.

and that’s what Allah offers us. always. a kind of presence that doesn’t need to be narrated. a kind of love that knows you before you can even name your pain.

so if you’re in a place right now where words feel out of reach, that’s okay. you’re not failing. you’re just being real. let your silence be dhikr. let it be worship. let your rawness be enough.

because Allah listens to hearts, not grammar.

and in the moments when you can speak, let your words be soft. be gentle with yourself. be patient with others. so many problems, so much hurt, comes from assuming, from mishearing, from not asking what someone really meant. don’t be the cause of that. let your love translate into carefulness. not perfection, just care.
there’s a language deeper than words. one of presence, humility, and divine longing.
learn to speak that one, too.

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so, come back. come back to Allah, to yourself, to the truth of who you are: messy, raw, beautiful, imperfect. you don’t need to be perfect to walk this path, and you don’t need to have it all figured out. Allah doesn’t want your ideal self; He wants your real self. the one that struggles, the one that stumbles, the one that tries again even after the hardest fall.

so, whatever stage you're at with your nafs, whether you're just starting, in the middle of the fight, or you’re finding a little peace — just keep going. don’t romanticise the return or wait for the perfect moment. just show up as you are. because, at the end of the day, it’s the effort that counts, not the perfection. and with every step you take towards Him, He’s already closer to you than you think.

and sometimes, that’s all you need.

love, imaan x

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