Play is the effort I enjoy. Work I do not.
My heart cries out to those who lie to our self inside who close our eyes to abundant lives of blissful sighs for each and I.
We don't deny the circle of life that each is born to eat to grow and sing and love and die to be eaten by the next who arrive.
A sprout of lettuce young and supple plucked in gums of passing goat models the way each must go from earthen gooey womb to dusty gnashing tomb
When the mission is well-being all for one and one for all we strip away our hopes and live our dreams fail with grace to grasp or strive shed our wants and share our needs.
Well-being blossoms when needs are met, abilities activate, pleasure swells, and pain recedes.
Needs are difficult to meet when we compete. When we establish a common ground, acknowledging inseparability with everyone and everything —our profound state of Interbeing— we can proceed amicably to share what we have, get what we need, do what we want, and be who we are.
Let's talk turkey. Work is effort we don't enjoy. Play is effortless, doing we do enjoy. Enjoyment is the common goal of every being. It's how we use well-being. Bliss, a consistent state of enjoyment, is the prime directive, the reason for breathing.
Play can be as useful and productive as work, and extraordinarily more so when the product is bliss.
But productivity to its own end is not the grand goal. What we want, the reason we breathe, is to achieve universal bliss, to reach the pinnacle of enjoyment for each and every being.
We acknowledge that this is a lofty goal. It may be idealistic, but it is not ideological.
The aim of life is harmony. Living things are born to eat and grow, then die, and be eaten by ever better lifeforms, advancing toward greater self-knowledge, activation, novelty through creativity, and ultimately harmony with the whole of nature in all its multifarious splendor. To release ourself from Samsara and follow the Tao, we must look deeply within, peer into the infinite nothing and ineffable everything we comprise.
"Play, of the senses or the imagination, is the magic, the grace, the elixir without which roles become habits, personality becomes a facade, character becomes character-armor, culture becomes a prison." — Sam Keen, The Passionate Life: Stages of Loving, p. 45-6