The Fall of the Walrus: A Reflection on Heights, Desperation, and Divine Grounding

The Fall of the Walrus: A Reflection on Heights, Desperation, and Divine Grounding

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

In the far reaches of the Arctic, where silence is interrupted only by the rumble of collapsing ice and the low murmur of the sea, they gather giants of flesh and tusk. The walrus, wrapped in thick blubber and time-tested instinct, arrives by the thousands on jagged cliffs that weren’t meant to hold their weight, nor were they meant to climb. But climb they do, because the ice, their true home, has retreated. Their ancient resting places have melted into myth, leaving only barren rock and treacherous ledges.

So, out of desperation, hundreds fall from heights they should have never scaled.

And we gasp.

But do we see ourselves in that tumble?

Because we, too, have climbed things never meant to carry us. In pursuit of status, wealth, acceptance, or empty validation, we claw our way up cliffs of ego, ambition, and comparison. And when the applause fades or the platform crumbles beneath us, we fall not just in body, but in spirit. Like the walrus, we are not designed for those heights. Not without guidance. Not without grounding.

Let me tell you a folktale passed down from a wise grandmother with silver hair and the eyes of someone who’d been to heaven and back:

There once was a man named Oba who wanted to be the tallest in the village. Not in stature, but in importance. Every day, he piled up stones, one by one, to sit above everyone else. Soon, he was so high, the birds mistook him for a cloud. But he couldn't come down. He had no ladder. He had no friends. He had no peace. One day, a storm came and Oba called out for help. "Why should we help you?" the villagers cried. "You left us to be a god among men. Now you must learn that even gods fall."

And fall he did with a thud that shook the village and realigned his spine and his soul.

Humor aside, Oba’s spine never quite healed, but his spirit did. He learned to walk low to the ground, collecting herbs and helping the elders. He became a healer. Not because he rose above people, but because he chose to walk among them.

And isn’t that what we’re all learning? That being grounded, connected, and whole is worth more than any summit reached through desperation or false desire?

The walrus, poor creature, isn't foolish. It's just adapting in a world where the old paths are vanishing. Sound familiar? We, too, adapt but not always wisely. We stretch ourselves thin, climb spiritual cliffs for likes and followers, and compete for spaces that were never meant to nourish us. And when we fall emotionally, mentally, spiritually we wonder why.

Now, let me bring in some Celestine wisdom for y'all. My Grandmama Celestine used to sit on that back porch peeling sweet potatoes, hummin' gospel and watching the sun stretch its arms over the fields. She'd say, "Baby, just 'cause the hog got legs don’t mean he need to dance." I'd blink at her, confused, and she’d laugh that thunder-rollin' laugh. "It means," she’d say, "you can do a thing, but that don't mean you should. Ain't no sense in stretchin' your neck to see over a fence the Lord didn’t build for you. You best bloom in your own garden, sugar."

And that's just it. We keep trying to climb fences and cliffs we weren't called to. We hustle so hard to get to that "next level" when maybe, just maybe, our blessing is at this level. Maybe the ice we need to rest on is already beneath us, but we’re too busy tryin' to climb to notice.

You ever seen a walrus on a cliff? It ain’t graceful. Legs splayed out, grunting like Uncle Ray after a second helping of banana pudding, looking confused and bloated. That’s some of us. Up on high ledges of performance and pretense, uncomfortable, anxious, waitin' for the world to notice us and just one wrong move from tumbling down.

And bless it, when we fall, it ain’t always quiet. It can be loud. Embarrassing. Spirit-shaking. But let me tell you something Grandmama also said: "The Lord don’t waste nothin' not even a fall." Sometimes, what you call a fall is really a return. A holy drop back to where your soul was safest. A divine reminder to quit tryin' to fly when you ain’t grown your wings yet.

The Creator did not craft us to balance on sharp ledges with trembling hearts. We were made to walk in harmony with the Earth, grounded by grace, anchored in compassion. To lie upon the sacred ice of trust, not scramble for space on crowded rocks of self-promotion.

So, what’s the lesson?

Stop climbing what isn’t yours. Rest where the Creator planted you. Seek elevation of the soul, not status. And if you must fall, fall into humility, not despair. Because sometimes, that thud you feel isn’t a failure it’s the sound of you landing where you were always meant to be.

And one more thing: next time you think you're failing at life because you didn't get to the top, just remember the walrus. He made it up the cliff and that didn’t go so well.

Now go on and rest your soul a bit. You ain't got to prove nothin' to anybody but the One who already knows your name.

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Author’s Note

Dear beloved readers and listeners,

I want to take a moment to personally thank each and every one of you who has supported, encouraged, and stood with me on this sacred journey of storytelling, reflection, and truth-speaking. Your presence means more than you know, and your energy, prayers, and kind words fuel this mission in ways words can’t fully express.

If my writings, reflections, or messages have ever touched your heart, helped you see a little clearer, or reminded you of the beauty of your own spirit, I humbly ask for your continued support. Word of mouth is powerful please share my blog, my work, and my reflections with your friends, family, and communities. Whether you forward a link, post on social media, or simply speak about it in conversation, every act of sharing keeps the light moving forward.

Also, if you feel led and are in a position to do so, I kindly invite you to donate whatever you can to help sustain the blog, cover essential costs, and fuel future projects that I believe can uplift and inspire many more souls. No amount is too small every contribution matters and is received with deep gratitude.

We are building something meaningful together. Something that speaks to the spirit. And with your help, I know we can take this even further.

With love, appreciation, and unwavering faith,

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar