Rumi placed a hand on his heart. "Your father’s suffering is not his sin. It is your knot. He is trapped because you still see him as a separate 'someone' who failed. To free him, you must free yourself from the illusion of separation."
In the winding alleys of Konya, there lived a master weaver named Kemal. He was a student of Rumi’s Masnavi , but like many, he was tangled in the letter of the law, not the spirit. Every Thursday night, Kemal would gather his family to recite Tahlil Arwah —the sending of blessings and the creed "La ilaha illallah" to the souls of the departed. But he did so with a heavy heart, worrying whether the words "reached" his late father, a harsh man who had never prayed.
"Exactly," said Rumi. "Your father's soul is no longer a clay pot—a collection of sins and virtues. It has returned to the River of Oneness. When you recite tahlil thinking, 'I am a good son sending a package to a dead man,' you are throwing stones at the river. But when you recite La ilaha illallah as a state of your own annihilation—when you forget the sender, the sent, and the one you are sending to—that is not a stone. That is a raindrop returning to the ocean. And that raindrop becomes the ocean." tahlil arwah rumi
"What happened?" Kemal asked.
In that moment, he saw a vision: his father was no longer struggling with a rope. He was sitting beneath a tree, laughing. The frayed rope had turned into a garland of light around his neck. Rumi placed a hand on his heart
"Nothing," said Kemal. "The river absorbs it."
Kemal wept. "But how do I help him, then?" He is trapped because you still see him
Kemal ran to him. "Father! I have been sending you tahlil for ten years! Thousands of 'La ilaha illallah'! Why are you still suffering?"