Finding Your Way is Finding Your Play

When I first began my journey into magic, I often questioned myself. The experiences I had felt so similar to the imaginative play I remembered as a child—stories unfolding in my mind, unseen forces responding to my intentions, synchronicities appearing as if reality itself were playing back with me. It was exhilarating, yet a part of me wondered: Am I making this up? Could magic really work this way, or was I simply indulging in fantasy?

What I have come to understand is that magic is play. It is the art of engaging with reality in a way that is fluid, creative, and alive. Through play, we transcend the four movements that keep us bound: seeking, clinging, hiding, and shattering. Seeking keeps us trapped in the illusion that we must search endlessly for what is already within us. Clinging prevents us from flowing, turning our desires into chains. Hiding keeps us small, afraid to be seen in our fullness. Shattering happens when we break under the weight of these tensions, unable to hold our own wholeness. Yet play transcends all of these. Play does not seek—it discovers. Play does not cling—it dances. Play does not hide—it expresses. Play does not shatter—it transforms.

As I deepened into my practice, I realized that so much of my magic, so much of my interaction with other beings and the gods, felt like a game of imagination. Yet time and time again, this game of imagination manifested into reality. The wonders I played with in my mind became tangible experiences. The more I let go of questioning and allowed myself to play, the more reality coordinated in astonishing ways. I saw clearly that reality itself wished to play with me—but only once I became a worthy playmate.

To become a worthy playmate of reality means to move in truth. When we are in truth, we are in alignment, and when we are in alignment, reality recognizes us and responds. A child at play does not force the world to bend to their will; they engage with it, weaving possibility into experience without resistance. In the same way, when we step into our truth and move in harmony with All That Is, the game of life becomes effortless, filled with serendipity and grace.

At first, the process of surrendering to play can feel strange. We have been conditioned to equate seriousness with somberness, to believe that effort and struggle are necessary to create something real, and that all play is frivolity. But the greatest magic is light, fluid, and free. It does not force—it flows. It does not demand—it invites. It is the most serious thing there is, without the slightest hint of somberness.

The gods, too, play. I have found that when I engage with them not as distant, solemn deities but as co-creators in the dance of existence, they respond with laughter, mischief, and joy. They do not wish for us to worship them in heaviness, but to join them in the delight of creation.

Before we learned fear, before we learned doubt, we played. To return to play is to reclaim that most natural state of being. It is to unlearn the weight of limitation and remember the freedom of possibility.

So I ask you: How do you play with reality? What happens when you treat the world as a playground rather than a battlefield? Try approaching something simple—an everyday task, a conversation, a moment of stillness—with the spirit of play. See what shifts. Feel how reality responds.

Finding your way is finding your play. When you stop seeking, stop clinging, stop hiding, stop shattering—and instead play—you find that you were always exactly where you were meant to be.