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The Eye of the Needle

Writer's picture: kateb78kateb78

The Eye of the Needle

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar



We can stack up degrees, collect accolades, and chase accomplishments until we’re out of breath, imagining they’ll somehow define us. We convince ourselves that titles and possessions are the ultimate prize, but in the grand scheme of things, they amount to almost nothing. Their worth is lighter than a droplet clinging to a blade of grass before sunrise beautiful for a moment but gone with the morning light. If you could measure it, all the knowledge and wealth we pile up wouldn’t even fill the tiny eye of a sewing needle.

I remember standing by a quiet lake deep in the woods, watching how the water perfectly mirrored the sky. It was so still, so pure, I couldn’t tell where the heavens ended and the earth began. The trees around me stood rooted, unshaken by storms or time, their branches stretching upward as if they were always in prayer. That place didn’t need human validation. It didn’t care about diplomas or bank accounts. It existed in this quiet, sacred way that felt more real than anything I’d ever worked for.

And yet, here we are, caught in the endless chase. We’re always trying to prove our worth stacking achievements and filling our lives with “stuff.” But for what? What good is knowledge if it doesn’t make us more compassionate? What’s the point of wealth if it blinds us to the treasures we already have? It’s like trying to carry the ocean in a bucket futile and, frankly, exhausting.

I think about that old image of the camel trying to squeeze through the eye of a needle. It’s not that the camel’s too big; it’s all the baggage it refuses to leave behind. The sacks of grain, the bundles of cloth, the unnecessary weight we think we can’t live without. Aren’t we just like that? Carrying around the weight of pride, fear, and ego, hoping we can still somehow fit through the narrowest of doors?

But here’s the thing: when we let go when we strip ourselves down to just our raw, honest selves we discover what really matters. Standing by that lake, with nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees, I realized something. The Creator doesn’t care about our resumes or our trophies. What matters is the love we show, the kindness we give, and the gratitude we carry in our hearts.

Nature has this way of humbling you. It doesn’t need to announce its greatness it just is. A bird taking flight doesn’t think about impressing anyone. A river doesn’t question its path; it just flows. That’s the kind of simplicity and trust I think we’re all searching for. But we complicate things. We hoard, we strive, we cling to things that don’t feed our souls.

I’ve learned that the path to the Creator isn’t about climbing some grand staircase made of achievements. It’s more like stepping into a stream and letting it carry you. It’s about surrendering not giving up, but letting go of the stuff that weighs you down. When you finally do that, you realize how light you were meant to feel all along.

So maybe it’s not about the droplets we try to collect in this life. Those evaporate, anyway. Maybe it’s about diving into the vast, endless ocean of compassion and grace that the Creator offers. That’s where the real treasure is. And when you open yourself up, unburdened and free, you’ll find that you fit perfectly through the needle’s eye after all.

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