The Starlight Tightrope

Picture a rope stretched across the night sky.

Not made of hemp, nor wire.

This rope is woven starlight, thrumming with ecstasy, stretched between two worlds.

One, your current reality. The other, everything you want to become, do, achieve.

Moving from one world to the next is daunting, but doable. 

You need only walk the Starlight Tightrope. 

This is inevitability as a tightrope, which isn’t something out there waiting to strike. 

Inevitability is a field of threads, potentialities, all shimmering before you. 

Infinite possibility.

You are the loom. 

The way you act, orient, and declare is what draws certain threads into form.

Step onto the Starlight Tightrope, and you’ll feel the hum in your bones. 

Each step biases the next. 

Pausing, retreating, doubling back, and changing direction bleeds time.

So be sure of each step. 

Haste only leads to folly.

The Starlight Tightrope slithers underfoot, alive, laughing at your balance, testing your fears. There’s no ground beneath you.

Just a carnival of teeth and mirrors: every version of you that could’ve been or wanted to be, leering up from the abyss, whispering their invitations. Or threats. Hard to tell. Some shimmer with love you never chose, or didn’t let in. Others grin with jaws unhinged, clawing at you. One winks. One weeps. All wait for you to stumble.

They want to kink your current, weigh you down, knock you out of alignment.

A tendril slaps your leg, hard enough to leave a bruise.

Arms out. Head up. Eyes forward. Walk.

Each step is a decision, an expression of will: Yes. No. Rest. Leap. Hold.

Every choice becomes a charm that keeps you upright or lures you astray. 

This is how inevitability works: each step you take chooses the rope’s next strand.

Sometimes other ropes will brush yours. Friends, family, lovers, rivals: they’ll thread their inevitabilities close enough to jostle you, test you, temper you. Sparks can leap when two ropes kiss. Some snarl. Some sing. Occasionally, two ropes knot for a time.

There’s the trickster too.

Grinning beside you, barefoot, careless, tossing peaches into the abyss. 

“The fall isn’t so far,” they hiss through a smirk.

The abyss snarls and snaps, hungry for your fall. 

The trickster dances ahead, peaches bursting into galaxies in their wake. 

The abyss dares you to cling to safety. The trickster dares you to leap into play. 

The rope thrums with delight either way. The rope doesn’t want perfection—only movement. For inevitability isn’t the end, but the walk itself.

So go on.

Grin at the abyss.

Throw your own peach.

Remember: every step weaves.

Choose carefully.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander