This Ramadan has been very special for me. After many years, I am alone at home. I do not have a job that requires me to work set hours, because I recently chose to do my own work in order to contribute my service to the whole. I am spending my time being productive in a way that takes me deeper into my inner peace, such as writing this article. What’s more, I am devoting my time to studying prayers like the Salah and Sufi mantras and reading ancient inscriptions about higher consciousness, such as The Masnavi. I research what my heart is seeking for, namely love and awareness, and I practice yoga, mindfulness, breathing work, and meditation. For the first time in my life, I am at a retreat in my own temple, my body. What’s more, I see very clearly that whatever takes us closer to the Creator—when done with heartfelt devotion and aligned emotions, thoughts, and behaviors—turns into our worship, our divine service, and the essential reason for our being here, namely love. I therefore comprehend that whatever the attitude the “I” in this divine love has towards the Creator, it puts only that potential into love and relationships on this physical realm.

She can surrender as much as she wants to the Creator’s might but maybe not even that much.

She can be as receptive as possible to the Creator’s grace, but maybe it’s not even that much.

She can be heedful of the Creator’s proposals, but again, maybe it’s not even that much.

If the call for prayer (called the adhan or ezan in Islamic cultures) is an invitation from the Creator, when I hear the call, I could consider myself as having an unclear intention of meeting my lover.

And if I respond the call but cannot give all my being—my body, mind, and emotions—just because my time is limited or I have other priorities, I may consider myself a loyal but not very heedful lover.

Finally, if I am unable to hear the call at all, or if I just ignore it completely, I can consider myself as lacking enough awareness about the lover inside me and being unready to turn my essential being beyond the “self” that I attribute to myself. Unless I achieve the pure wholeness of my being, I may not be completed by any relationship in this physical realm.

The relationship I have with the transcendent supreme consciousness (love), as well as the way I perceive and dedicate my service and worship, describes the way I experience secular love and the way I relate with a lover. After all, all the incidents of love on this realm are just reflections of the love I express to myself and through myself.

We are all born as lovers, and reaching the peak of this glorious love is the ultimate purpose of our lives. Waking up to the hidden potential of the lover inside, being in harmony with the time of the universe, and being in the right time at the right place is all possible when we pay attention to the call, the call that comes from the deepest places in our hearts.

If you are waiting for a loving conversation with the Creator, if you are hanging up the phone, if you dare not jump right into the fire of love and leave whatever you call “you” in the flames, letting yourself melt and disappear, what kind of lover are you? If you drift around your intentions again and again, if you cannot align with everything you have, if you do not feel heard when you speak “Semi’allahu limen hamideh” in the prayer, what kind of a lover are you?

The invitation comes from Him, and He is the one who hears, the one who loves and is loved.

So, what kind of a lover are you?