The Game of Life

Ah, yes – games. We play them all the time. We juggle rank simplicities and bundles of rules or conventional orthodoxies as though there were some purpose or reason and meaning beyond our endless attempts to keep it all in the air and moving. But there is not.

This is a game that plays itself through us and in that modicum or minor illusion of self-determination that this evolving rules-set grants us, we swear upon and double-down on the significance and certainty these bit-parts and tribal confrontations provide us. But it is all empty, meaningless beyond the act and fact of engaging and playing the game itself.

It is difficult to surrender control, to acknowledge that you never really had anything more than the most hollow skeleton of a dream of certainty and purpose in life. The thing is, though, once you realise that there was never any purpose beyond simply playing a game of the world that plays itself, again, through us – then you actually and counter-intuitively can aspire to an authenticity of freedom and self-realisation that would otherwise be forbidden to you by the very methods and means by which you sought to obtain it.

It is an enigma.

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