There’s hidden sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness.
We are lutes, no more, no less. If the sound box
is stuffed full of anything, no music.

If the brain and belly are burning clean
with fasting, every moment a new song
comes out of the fire.

RUMI

We spend most of our lives trying to fill things—our plates, our schedules, our homes, even our social media feeds. Fullness, we’re told, is the key to happiness. More food, more money, more notifications, more stuff. But then Rumi comes along, with his timeless wisdom, and flips the whole idea on its head: real fullness comes from being empty.

It sounds ridiculous at first. How can less make us feel more? But think about it—what makes a cup useful? The empty space inside it. What makes a flute sing? Not the wood, but the air passing through it. A stomach stuffed with biryani at iftar isn’t exactly going to produce wisdom—just a long nap. But when we practice emptiness, something beautiful happens: we start to appreciate what truly nourishes us.

Fasting is like a detox for the soul. When we stop stuffing ourselves—whether with food, distractions, or endless scrolling—we create space. And in that space, we notice things. Suddenly, a simple sip of water at sunset tastes better than the fanciest drink in the world. The act of patience becomes easier. We start to see just how much extrawe’ve been carrying and how little we actually need.

This is the paradox of Ramadan: by emptying, we become full. By letting go, we gain. It’s not just about skipping meals; it’s about making room—for gratitude, for reflection, for a little divine inspiration.

Finding the Sweetness in Less

One afternoon, Mulla Nasruddin was watching a potter shape a jug from clay. His friend, puzzled by his fascination, asked, “Mulla, why are you staring at that jug like it has the secret of life?”

Nasruddin grinned. “Tell me, my friend, what makes this jug useful? The clay on the outside, or the empty space inside?”

His friend thought for a moment. “Well, obviously, the empty space. Without it, the jug would be useless.”

“Exactly!” Nasruddin said. “And yet, we spend all our time focusing on what we can see—our possessions, our appearances, our cravings—while ignoring the space that gives life meaning.”

Fasting, like the potter’s hands, shapes us by hollowing us out. It removes the excess so that we may be filled with something deeper—clarity, peace, and a stronger connection to what truly matters.

We often treat emptiness like something to fear. We rush to fill every silence, every hunger, every moment. But Ramadan teaches us that emptiness is not a void—it’s an invitation. It’s the space where real transformation happens.

So, as we go through this sacred month, let’s embrace the emptiness. Let’s trust that in the hunger, in the quiet, in the stillness, something powerful is at work. And maybe, just maybe, when Eid arrives, we’ll realize we’re not just lighter in body—but lighter in soul, carrying a fullness that no feast could ever match.