The Desert Shine

I walk the precipice. Flirting with the edge. Getting a little closer with every few steps, testing the stability of the ground beneath me. Sometimes, an ambitious foot sends a mound crumbling off the edge, and I scramble to stay on solid earth. But I never stray too far from the edge; it’s the “What If?” that holds me there, that keeps me from veering too far to either side. One side is faux-green, the other dark, with a hint of light far below. The earth under my feet is uneven, brittle in places, and I step carefully, aware that one wrong move could send me tumbling into the unknown.

I look out towards the green of my right. Far, far away, I can see it—the chimerical party I think is raging. The people might be dancing, though I cannot make them out clearly. But the lights convince me there is something better, something extraordinary, than my little cottage here. The thump of their music resonates through the ground, carrying all the way to me, vibrating under my feet and stirring a longing in my chest that I cannot name. The party pulls at me, calls me to join. It is the pie on the windowsill, and I am a beggar. Yet the walk… the walk is so far. So, so far. And treacherous too. Snakes and bears are likely hiding beneath and behind every rock formation. The cracks in the earth are lined with spikes, sharp enough to pierce skin, and the distance between water sources is too great. Every step I take is calculated, a negotiation with danger, with desire, with my own hesitation.

My little cottage here, a blessing to most, is a heavy set of chains on each of my limbs, bearable but not forever. It shelters me, but it also confines me, reminding me daily of the world I might never reach. I am ungrateful. The grass around me seems fake, too cheerful, too plastic in its imitation of life, but I never reach down to touch it to be sure. The sky hangs too low, almost pressing down on me. It is close enough to feel suffocating, yet not low enough to touch, leaving me constantly aware of its oppressive presence.

The people here sing and dance to music I struggle to hear. I know it is there, rhythmic and persistent, yet my feet cannot match its beat, my head does not nod along in time, though I try anyway. Sometimes, if I am good enough, I am applauded—but this is not my music. It is not my world. My heart strains for something beyond these walls. There has to be something better, something more.

The people around me do not seem to hear the distant, grand festivities. Those who do usually ignore it. But some, some decide the stretch is worth it despite the pitfalls and run headlong toward the desert shine, risking everything to chase the distant allure. I watch from the edge as a few of my neighbors fall, never rising again, swallowed by the obstacles or by miscalculation. Others make it all the way to that glorious celebration. That is what it must be like, over there—dancing, singing, beauty, love, joy, freedom. It waits for us. Waits for me.

Sometimes, in the dark, I start making my plans. I list all the ways I could avoid the animals, the spikes, the cracks. I calculate the water I’ll need and, occasionally, even pack my bags, imagining the journey in minute detail. Yet the morning always brings new eyes. Eyes that take in the scale of the damage if I do not make it, eyes that show me just how precarious the path is, how devastating the fall could be. Worse yet, what if during the journey I find it is a cruel mirage? There is too much to lose if I go, but still, my nightly schemes pull at my heart. What if I could make it? What if there is more to lose if I do make it? And yet, every fiber of me aches to find out, to step beyond what I know, even if the cost is unknown.

Then there is the enormous pit to my left. Calm and quiet, it has its own pull, but it is different from the party. The waves whisper to me from below, promising the sweetest, gentlest cocoon. The softest blanket I could imagine, cool and dark, wrapping around me like a contented sigh I didn’t know I held. The pit promises I will not have to pretend to dance, that here, the spikes could never reach me. There is no fake grass because there is no grass at all, only water. Here, there are only merciful, dark waves to cradle me forever.

The pit is safe. The pit can transform my nagging desires into nothing at all, absorbing them into the endless, quiet expanse of water. But the pit is an enigma. If I jump, will there only be water? How easily a soft cradle becomes a cage when you cannot reach the sides. Or maybe I could pull myself out, who could say for sure? The possibility of release sits next to the possibility of imprisonment. The pull is magnetic, seducing me with promises of ease and peace, yet shadowed with uncertainty.

When I ask my neighbors about what the pit offers, I get differing answers. Some tell me that if I jump, I will land in the center of the grandest soiree of all. Some say all there is is the water below. And some, like me, do not know at all. Most are afraid of the pit. Some also walk the edge, too scared of the party but too scared of the waves to jump either way.

I cannot stop thinking about it. What if the waves hold something better than here? What if their certainty is all I need? The pull of safety, the pull of adventure, the pull of the unknown—all converge at the precipice, and I feel my heart stretched taut between them. Every step I take, every glance I cast, every plan I conjure in the dark is an act of wrestling with my own desire and fear, a balancing of possibility and consequence.

I linger at the edge, drawn to both that cursed desert shine and the pit, caught between two infinities. I feel the weight of indecision pressing in, yet it is also alive, vibrant, and intoxicating. The “What If?” continues to hold me, and I am grateful for it even as it tortures me. It is the very thing that makes me feel alive.

I walk, and I pause. I walk, and I dream. I calculate, and I imagine. The precipice stretches endlessly on either side, one a world of danger and longing, the other a world of surrender and mystery. Both promise something, both threaten something. Both call to me with irresistible voices, and I am here, caught in the greying space between, suspended over possibility and peril.

Perhaps, one day, I will choose. Perhaps I will step forward, carrying my bags, my plans, and my courage into the distance, toward the music and the lights. Or perhaps, I will let the waves cradle me, surrendering to the uncertainty of their darkness, allowing my desires to fade into their quiet embrace. But for now, I walk. For now, I linger. For now, the “What If?” keeps me tethered to the edge, alive in this delicate, trembling balance, watching, dreaming, yearning, and waiting. I think the sea winks at me from down below.