At first it may seem unclear how Vipassana meditation is connected to divine play. However, upon arriving at the conclusion of this story its connection becomes quite clear. This manuscript represents the struggle to find play on unfertile grounds – one of rigid, disciplined orthodoxy, and another of inner torment and challenge.

James Carse wrote a definitive book on play called, “Finite and Infinite Games.” The book explains how life is composed of two differ- ent kinds of games – finite and infinite. The basic difference between the two is that finite games are played to win, and infinite games are played merely to continue the process of play. Carse’s book provides a brilliant expansion upon these definitions, showing how these two kinds of games unfold into all sectors of life and culture. Infinite games bears striking similarities to divine play. What follows is a lengthy exegesis on one key passage of Carse’s text, bringing these similarities into focus, and revising the passage itself by following Carse’s logic to its more playful extremes.

The following is an extract taken from a meditative play manual. In the complete manuscript, this manual describes meditations for various forms of play: musical, imagistic, felt, embodied. This particular meditation is devised for the play of thought with a group, perhaps with about 3-10 people. It seems as though the meditation could be performed in as little as 30 minutes, or in as much as 1-2 hours. The main pedagogical content of the meditation resides in the first half of the text. The second half of the text is an expanded metaphysical outline of the possible unfoldings of the conversation. It is recommended to read the entire meditation through before undergoing its directions.

The Amidah (Hebrew: העמידה) is one of the most important prayers in Jewish liturgy. It is sometimes simply called hatefila (התפילה) or the prayer. This text represents a highly revised version of the Amidah, where the prayer is not made directly to the Judaic God – Yaweh, or Elohim – but to divine play. Whether or not divine play is one cosmological force amongst many within the Judaic God’s powers does not seem to be relevant. The structure of the Amidah is retained; its contents are highly edited.

Inside of you lies your darkest darkness – a darkness even greater than fear. Fear is typically some sort of external threat, some- thing that may end your life, or a thing that brings about great tor- ture or pain. The darkest darkness, the most shadowy shadow, the most bilious evil, is something inside of you. It could be horrific thoughts or actions that you could commit to others – grave violences, horrible and malicious acts such as murdering your friends or axing up your lovers. But the most horrific acts, the most splendid atrocities are always more than just pure physical violence. As Nietzsche and Foucault tell us, there are spiritual or psychic sufferings that are far worse than the greatest physical violences. The greatest pains are never physical. The greatest horrors are not the kind of fears that horror films express. What are some examples of these horrors? Abandonment. Feeding someone with hope and then pulling it away. Feeding someone with security and then pull- ing the rug out from under them. Allowing someone to trust you and then, once you become their source of comfort and security, feeding (into the very core of their being) words that puncture their entire self image and dissolve any sense of comfort or stability. Moulding someone to your own will to make them a mere puppet of your desires. Stealing away from someone the only true happiness they contain.

Darkness is upon me. It is here, in the room. Everything is weighty and hard. So weighty, so hard, so challenging. Such weight and heaviness. Heavy heavy heavy. Oh God of Play, where are you? Where have you gone? Even the little bits of light that you exude are so hard to see. How is it possible to bring you here when in this condition? What would make you possible? Wouldn’t the only thing that could make you be here be some kind of detachment? Does divine play necessitate departure? Is play responsible for cosmic avoidance? It is so easy to avoid, to leave behind, to forget. Play, the forgetful. Play, memory’s opposite. And memory? It is gravity’s ally, the forever weighty, hard and non-buoyant.

Say I enter into play with a plan – to win, to prove that capitalism is evil, to play in A minor, to eliminate a disease, to cut down a tree. In each of these, divine play is cut off, negated, and not allowed to flourish.But for you, oh God of Play, all conversation, all thinking, all feel- ing, all making of music, all dance, all drawing, has one simple di- vine goal – to play. And yes, I don’t always achieve this goal. There are moments when I get riled up, where I get furious, sometimes because I see another holding so dearly onto an idea or desire so firmly. “This must be that,” they say. And now I am so angry! I put all my energy into a negation so that this person sees how wrong they are. I put all my energy into the opposing position (no matter how right or wrong it is) to loosen up the certainty of their position.

You are certain. You say something and what you say has a tone of absolute finality. “Oh actually this is the way things are.” How can one play with such certainty? Play is responsiveness. So then what is the responsiveness that I can give here? My options are limited. I can agree with you – “Oh yes, that is the way of things, and here is why.” I can build upon your words. We make an idea-house together. You put a plank, I put a plank, you put a plank, I put a plank. We build together. Yes and yes and yes and yes. But this yes-building is rather difficult. Why? Because buried in your words, buried behind your idea is a feeling. This feeling isn’t said, but I can feel it. It’s so very loud for me. And it is this feeling that is so hard to play with. This feeling says, “This must be so!” This feeling says, “Anything otherwise is not acceptable.” The feeling says, “Arg! The world is so fucked up! Ahhhh this is bad! Ahhh badness badness badness badness unto all that is not like this.” But I am too sensitive. I notice the tiny peaks of this feeling slipping through the surface of your words. And to build plank upon plank, to build a house in this fashion together (saying yes and yes and yes) is to build a house whose foundation is built on anger and negation. Certainty has roots in fear. Certainty contains hidden anger and rejection. Certainty is a resistance to play.

In divine play everything bad or problematic is integrated into the play – every mistake, error, and mess up. But what happens when the mistake blurs one’s entire vision? What happens when we are living in a mistake? What happens when all is viewed as error and wrong?

How to play when there are thousand-fold worries? How to play when [fill in the blank]? When I might get stuck? When I am being graded and evaluated and judged? When my teacher doesn’t care about me? When my family is angry at me? When I’m sad and alone? When the play could make me more sad and alone? When the play could make me embarrassed and ignite childhood trauma? When I don’t have enough money to pay rent? When my brother is going to jail? How can I play when I feel like I am a piece of shit? When I have nothing good to offer? When everything I do is worthless?

Oh God of Play, despite all the words of praise and dedication uttered to you, there are many instances where I cannot find you, where I cannot worship you, where you are lost to me. There are so very many moments where I do not play! I am unable to delight in movement, juxtaposition, or listening. I crave and avert. I am not open to the unknown.

Oh God of Experimentation, what are you really? Why do I desire you? What is your place in my heart? Why you? What are you doing? What is your purpose? What is your calling? Is it that you want me to endlessly make new forms? Is it that you want me to constantly seek newness? And why do you only exist for me in very specific kinds of play? Why are you hardly present when I am playing music? But with words, with my word play, my play of thinking, there you reside in full force, there I feel your needy tug. You say, “With thinking and feeling you must inscribe new- ness, there must be new methods. There must be new conversational modalities. There must be new ways of playing with words and thought. There must be new play structures.” Why do you call me here? Why? And why me? 

Oh dearest God of Play, I must confess – there is another God in my heart. I am not a fully devoted play worshipper. Who and what is this God, you ask? Are we related? I’m not quite sure, for this God doesn’t yet have a name. This God has initially appeared in my heart as a voice that says, “Play, you are not enough for me.” In many moments of my life I feel as though play, in all its grandeur, is still not enough. The beautiful, graceful, spontaneous immediacy of play, without fear or aversion – this is not enough. Sometimes play is there before me, or present right beside me with my friends, I have the possibility to engage in it, and I could will an engagement with it, but there is a stumbling block in front of my will. And this stumbling block is not just a loose puff of air, or some childhood trauma, or some power play. This stumbling block is a God. Some force that I worship deeply. The best name I can give for now is to call this God “experimentation.”

Oh divine Play, how much do I love your rules! How much do I love your structure – the boundary, the container, the holder, the vessel, the cup that holds the liquid! I love analyzing it, playing with it, sitting inside of it wondering, “Where are we?” resisting it, breaking it, re-shaping it, and playing in the new structure formed by the discarded bits of the prior one. The shape of the cup changes the shape of the liquid. The shape of the container changes the shape of the play. Play infuses all activity and movement. All cups can be playful or serious. All containers can infuse beauty or dread. And we rise to the next level of play when our play plays with the containers themselves – the processes of making cups.

If play is a liquid, we have so far only examined the chemical com- position and molecular weight of the liquid itself – its touch, smell and color. But we have not yet begun to examine how this liquid behaves by looking at what is around it. Liquids change depending on their environment. Liquids are contained. And their containers change their behavior, their shape and their extension. We have not yet discussed play’s container – the structural components that define it, the background that contains the movement, and the rules that structure its movement. What is this container? How do rules and structure come in and out of existence? What does this structure do to play itself? And to what degree must these containers and structures be intentionally designed and constructed?

Oh God of Play, I have by now uttered so many words to describe you, to explain your boundaries and general guiding principles, to show why you are needed, to guide others into you and not the profane, and yet I have not truly evoked you. I have not yet fully dived into your actions and manner of being. I dip my head overzealously and dribble some spit onto your altar – my humble apologies oh playful one. I will now begin again. Begin by playing. For to truly show what you are, author and reader must play together. And although we’ve already begun playing together, let us now watch ourselves play as it is happening, and name it, and notice it. Let’s play with thoughts.

What is this profane play that I keep speaking of? You, dear reader, dearest play worshipper, must know of this most of all lest you get lost on your path towards divine worship. Most of the things we call “play” in our modern Western world can be considered blasphemous or profane. However, blasphemous play is not really “offensive” in the way that traditional blasphemy is offensive. The God of Play does not take offense in any serious way. The God of Play meets all offense with a smirk and playful, encouraging gestures. For the God of Play, all offense is itself a game. In this sense, blasphemous play isn’t really play. It is something else disguised as play. But then why call it blasphemous? For something to be an offense towards a God it must have some power against this God. Blasphemous play steers potential worshippers away from the divine path. It diverts attention away from divine worship. Blasphemous play reduces humanity’s attention and focus on the God of Play; however, it does not directly damage or injure the God. Therefore, let us merely call this type of play profane play, and not name this play blasphemy, for blasphemy must always offend, and the God of Play is most certainly not offended. We shall define profane play as that which is play, but not divine. And now we begin the hunt for qualifications of false play, qualifications that divine play has that profane play doesn’t have.

And another question rises to your lips, dear reader, as you per- haps now consider more fully the possibility of divine play worship. This question is another of The God of Play’s essential questions: which game shall we play? But the word “game” has a more expansive meaning than the one we usually think of. All play involves playing games because all play involves rules. Even the most seemingly lawless games have rules that are moving, chang- ing and adapting extremely quickly. So to ask, “What game shall we play?” is merely to ask, “What kind of structured play shall we engage in?”

And so reader (potential play worshipper), you ask, why play? And I say back to you, why breath? Why circulate blood? Why perform any of our life functions? And you reply, but play is not a necessary part of life. We can live without play. What essential thing does play provide? What does play give us? Play doesn’t create a better world. It doesn’t help us get money or a good job. It doesn’t help us get a good relationship or a loving family. Does play help heal the world? Does play help us heal ourselves?

And so, God of Play, let us now recount and respeak your teachings. You are grounded in listening and response. This is your communicative aspect – how you move and operate. Then there is an aspect of you that pertains to desire and pleasure. These are the affective requirements for play to grow – its fertile soil. Play does not crave or avert. But play is also not a negation of pleasure. There is a divine pleasure that permeates play. A pleasure that can turn all pain into buoyancy. A pleasure that comes from a delightful curiosity with the unknown that lies in all things. Play does not always have to be light and calm – it can be wild, active, reflective, nostalgic, or full of tricks. But behind all of these states lies a base state of curiosity – that constitutive blanket that gives meaning to all of play’s actions.