The Walka spread: where we stand, what we inherited, where it ends
A probability here is a property of the world given a path. Move the path and the number moves.
A teaching instrument, not a forecast. Nothing staked, nothing sent.
What the buttons do (together is the step of faith: it counts only when coordination is above the bar)
A walk is twenty years or an ending, whichever comes first. Then write it as fiction, see how your call did, and cast again; casting again throws every coin again, for the endings and for the seats. Walk a year together is the step of faith: it moves the world only if coordination is above the bar, and below it the year is spent for nothing. This hour's table deals the same cast to everyone who opens it this hour.
1The Node — where we stand
Where we stand
The card we stand on
The allocation is the four shares under the table. Capability grows with the power share. Alignment and sustainability are stocks; what matters is each stock divided by capability, so spending after the power has run is worth less.
Turn the card back
turn over
2The Inheritance — what we assumed before we walked. A small change here can flip the ending; that is the point, not a fault.
3The Horizon — where this walk ends, if we keep walking like this. Grace and the turn are the hoped-for endings; the Stop is a halt; Adolescence is the rocky middle, survived; Lock-in and Doom are the endings to fear; still walking is unfinished. Upright is the generous reading, reversed the cynical one: the coin changes the words on the back, never the number.
Your call — which ending will this cast reach? Nothing rides on it; over many casts you learn how often you are right when you say 70%.
4The Step — the one move you take tonight, sized to you; choosing it walks nothing. Pick one card. Its kind is on the face, and the four kinds are explained under the cards.
5The other seats — the deck's characters, each on a path this cast dealt them; cast again and the coins fall again. Which path each one walks, upright or reversed, is this page's reading of the deck's generous and cynical texts, not the deck's claim. The words on the back of each seat are the deck's own.
Your hand — the allocation, always 100%
What changed
The ending, as fiction
Nothing leaves this page unless you copy it yourself. Copy my casting above puts the whole casting on your clipboard, and only you decide where it goes: the cards and their faces, your call, your step and its kind, the asymmetry, and this text. A form to send it will be linked here once it exists; until then, paste it to whoever runs the room.