Healing the Soul: A Reflection on True Wealth

Healing the Soul: A Reflection on True Wealth

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I turn 46 today. Yep, 46 trips around the sun, and honestly, I’m feeling a mix of gratitude, nostalgia, and maybe a pinch of ‘where did the time go?’ But here I am, another year older, and hopefully a bit wiser. And on this day, I can say honestly and truthfully, without fear of contradiction, that I understand what it means when it’s said, "For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his soul?"

We may be quite successful in the world's terms. We might even gain the whole world for ourselves—money, homes, luxury, physical beauty, superficial friendships, that dream partner, the perfect job—everything on the surface that screams, "You’ve made it!" But here’s the catch: all that earthly success is like a flashy commercial—it’s great until the show’s over. We pour so much time and effort into achieving these things that we often neglect our souls because, let’s face it, who thinks about that when the spotlight’s on us? It only becomes important or hits us hard when we’re sick, when someone close to us dies, or when some big calamity rocks our world.

So today, on September 10, 2024, the day I entered this realm (or as some might call it, the world’s most intense escape room), I sit at my desk and do some soul-searching. I ask myself, "Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar, you’re 46 now. Take a look at your life. Can you honestly say you have a relationship and a connection with your Creator? If you had to give this flesh back today, where do you stand?"

Let’s be real here—these aren’t the easiest questions to ask yourself, especially on your birthday, when you’re supposed to be eating cake and pretending calories don’t count. But I dive in any way: "Kateb, have you been good to yourself and others? Have you been an agent of unconditional love, forgiveness, and empathy? Have you lifted people more than you’ve put them down, including yourself?"

Then, the big one hits me: "Kateb, if you could trade your current life and all that you have for your dream life—would you?" And I’ll be honest—I think about it for a second. I mean, who wouldn’t want to live out their wildest dreams? But then the answer comes, clear as day: I wouldn’t trade it. Not for all the dream jobs, dream homes, or dream anything in the world.

I can say with truth that I wouldn’t trade my life because my connection and my relationship with my Creator are in a pretty good place. All that I’ve been through—the good, the bad, and the downright ugly—has made my soul, heart, and mind pretty handsome in the eyes of the Creator. And you know what? That feels good. It’s not about what people say about me, feel about me, or don’t feel about me. I can sit here with a smile on my face, knowing that my Creator loves me and keeps me close. I’m not perfect, and I’m not better than anyone else. But I know that my ups and downs have built a solid bond with my Creator and myself, one that will benefit me now in this world and my soul when it departs from this realm.

I’ve come to understand that healing is not just a one-time thing; it’s a journey, like those mushrooms that thrive in the dark, damp corners of the forest. They break down the fallen, the forgotten, and the discarded, turning what was once dead into rich soil for new life. In the same way, our wounds and broken places, when exposed to the light of our Creator’s love, become fertile ground for growth. Just like mushrooms that sprout after a rainstorm, our healing comes from the depths, nourished by the unseen roots of grace and mercy that dig deep into the Creator’s essence.

Healing is a process, a bit messy and not always pretty, but necessary. And it requires us to look beyond the surface, beyond the fancy suits and polished smiles. It’s about getting into the mud, digging deep where it's uncomfortable, and letting the light in—even when it feels like the last thing you want to do. It’s like those mushrooms, quietly working in the background, turning decay into nourishment. We, too, have to work on the parts of ourselves that need healing, even if it means sitting with some uncomfortable truths.

Today, I am reminded of the last three wishes of Alexander the Great. He wanted his physicians to carry his coffin to show that no doctor can save you from death; he wanted the path to his grave covered in gold, silver, and precious stones to show that wealth acquired on Earth stays on Earth; and he wanted his hands to hang outside his coffin to show that we come into this world empty-handed and leave it the same way. I’m happy that I don’t have to be in his position to see what he realized so late. I’m grateful that, on this birthday, I can sit here and acknowledge that no amount of success or material wealth is worth the price of my soul.

If anything, turning 46 has made me appreciate the real wealth that can’t be measured by the zeros in my bank account or the square footage of my house. It’s in the laughter shared with friends, the quiet moments of prayer, the joy of helping someone who can’t repay you, and the peace that comes from knowing you’re walking your path with the Creator right beside you. It’s in the simple, often overlooked things that we find the most profound connections—like the way mushrooms connect entire forests through their hidden networks, unseen but vital to the life above ground.

So, as I blow out the candles this year, I’m not wishing for anything material. I’m just grateful for the journey—the stumbles, the falls, and the times I got back up. I’m grateful for the chance to grow in ways I never expected, to heal in places I didn’t know were wounded, and to connect more deeply with the Creator who has been with me every step of the way. And if that means I’m not winning at the game of ‘who has the most stuff,’ I’m perfectly okay with that.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not about the trophies or the accolades. It’s about the relationships we build—with ourselves, with others, and with the divine. It’s about making sure that when the final chapter is written, we can look back and say that we lived with purpose, that we loved fully, and that we didn’t lose sight of what truly matters.

So here’s to 46 years of life, learning, and, yes, a bit of laughter at the absurdity of it all. And here’s to the journey ahead, with all its unexpected twists, knowing that my soul is where it needs to be—rooted in something far greater than myself. As I move forward, I’ll keep tending to my inner garden, nourishing it with the love and light of my Creator, trusting that just like those mushrooms, new life will continue to spring forth from even the darkest places.

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