The Ones Who Walk With You

The Ones Who Walk With You

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

There are moments in life that press against your chest so hard, you forget how to breathe. Not because you’re out of air but because you’re out of trust. Out of reasons. Out of people. You look around, and the room that once held laughter now just holds echoes. You sit with silence and silence doesn’t lie.

I’ve had people vanish on me like fog under the morning sun. Friends I prayed with. Folks I celebrated. People I thought were mine for life only to discover they were seasonal shadows. And when they left, they didn’t just walk away from me. They walked away from the assignment the Creator placed on me.

See, not everyone has the capacity to hold sacred space. Not everyone can recognize the divine thread in you especially when that thread is still being woven. And that's okay now… but back then? It broke me.

I remember those early mornings of heartbreak, waking up with a weight I couldn’t explain. Praying with trembling hands, trying to understand why people who once called me “brother” suddenly turned cold. I’d ask myself, “Was I too much?” But the truth? I was too divine for some folks to carry. And some people can’t handle the oil on your life they’ll slip trying to hold you.

One place I always found stillness and remembrance was Geechee Kunda, down in Riceboro. That place more than a cultural center was a spiritual refuge. A living altar of memory, struggle, and triumph. I used to go down there often to write, to listen, to feel. I remember sitting in Pat’s warm kitchen, with Brother Jim that man had a voice like a bell, ancient and grounded. Their dog curled up near the door, watching everything like it understood the spirit in the room.

Pat looked at me one day, over a pot of something soul-soothing, and said,

“Brother Kateb, not everybody gon’ understand your fire. But don’t you ever dim it. You come from a long line of light.”

That stayed with me. Still echoes in my bones.

See, places like Geechee Kunda weren’t just buildings they were breathing testimonies. Living proof that legacy isn’t about who stays it’s about what stays with you. And Jim and Pat? They didn’t just speak history they became it. They reminded me that the ones who truly walk with you don’t need to be loud. They don’t need applause. They just show up. And they stay.

So many people only want your harvest. Few want to weather the drought. Fewer still want to dig their hands in the soil with you. But the Creator? Oh, the Creator walks with the plan in hand even when you can’t see it.

There’s a proverb that says, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” But sometimes, going far requires walking alone for a while so you can recognize who’s really meant to go with you.

I’ve learned that heartbreak doesn’t always come in betrayal. Sometimes it shows up as absence. As indifference. As ghosted messages and empty chairs at your table. But let me say this plainly: just because they left doesn’t mean you’re unloved. Just because they didn’t show up doesn’t mean you’re unseen.

You are not forgotten.

You are not forsaken.

You are not discarded.

You are becoming.

Every tear has purpose. Every ache is shaping you. And every goodbye was a kind of mercy.

The folks who couldn’t handle your spirit didn’t deserve your future.

Some people saw your shine but never imagined the fire it took to create that light. They loved your rhythm but couldn’t dance to your soul. And so they left.

But hear me your walk ain’t in vain.

You were born for a different rhythm. A different vibration. Some folks operate on FM, while you’re vibrating at ancient, divine frequencies. You feel the wind when others only see trees. You hear the voice in the stillness while others chase noise.

And for people like us people stitched with sacred thread loneliness can feel like the norm. But it isn’t. It’s just a waiting room.

A room the Creator uses to remove noise, refine your purpose, and prepare your people.

There are those being molded right now who will love you from the inside out. Who will honor your silence. Who won’t run when the fire comes, because they were forged in their own.

They’ll say, “I see you.” And they’ll mean it.

They’ll say, “I’m here.” And they’ll stay.

Until then, walk anyway. Write anyway. Sing anyway. Cry if you need to, but keep moving. Because the assignment doesn’t stop just because others walked away.

The sacred within you doesn’t need validation it needs obedience.

Let go of those who couldn’t hold space for your calling.

Bless those who left before they damaged more.

And give thanks for the empty chairs because they made room for real love.

The same hands that formed the stars formed you and they don’t make mistakes.

“The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.”

But you? You were never meant to burn down you were meant to rise. To shine. To build.

And as long as you keep walking in the light even with tear-streaked cheeks you’ll find your way home.

You are not alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

The ones who walk with you may be few, but they are enough.

And the One who called you?

He’s never taken His hand off your shoulder.