The Game Part II

 

I got this phrase from a philosopher by the name of Alan Watts, who got it from another source — such is the grapevine of information — and it reads, “Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity.” Many traditional religious minds have taken this passage to hoist the idea of God onto Copperfield-like pedestals. When man can’t take it anymore, God swoops in, cape flapping in the wind, and works his magic. One who strays away from the fanatical bandwagon-jumping that is traditional religion can clearly see that in order to gain the power in oneself, it must already be present. Citing an external source for an essay wrote or a goal scored cheapens the very feeling of accomplishment and sheer splendour one was originally trying to attain. For the goal is achieved; but instead of living in this moment of excellence, one starts to almost forcefully ponder ‘what’s next?’. And while self-improvement is more than commendable, one has a well-deserved right to bask in the light of a task transcended. Internal truths are the imagination’s manifestation of one’s ideal reality. A reality that is, at the core of us human folk, basically uniform. Overall health and well-being is the principal tenet in this reality. As far as an ethic goes, it is almost unarguably the star of the show. Very many people, however, take vastly different routes and climb over, run around and travel across vastly different obstacles along the way to self-actualization. The big obstruction, or shaky foundation, is this Game as was referred to before; It simply just does not fit an increasing number of people’s values. With these numbers assumingly growing as the infinite wave of information continues to wash over the planet, one can only hope that an infinite growth paradigm can be applied to a global population with a much more benevolent mindset and mission. No longer will the ‘square peg, round hole’ paradox of The Game be present, because no longer will most people see the need to participate in fixing a broken vehicle. It will truly be survival of the fittest and adept rather than survival of the wicked and corrupt. Manufactured, fear-based freedom will go the way of the Studebaker. The metaphorical love bombs are only able to spread a certain distance after detonation, so one would conclude that the outliers will still be lingering. But, as cliché as it sounds, love will conquer fear, based on ratio alone. At that point, humans will actually be able to see the clarity that has eluded them for so long. As I look at the quote above I see a message that is clearly in stark contrast to one’s dogmatic interpretation. And with this realization, I would like to put up an alternative pillar beside this long-standing ideal that reads, “Man’s necessity is God’s reality.” For if the human is one with the gods, then it must have the ability to foresee the error in its current ways and right the ship of modern civilization. If that is found not to be true then, frankly, the human is kidding itself.

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The Game

The Game. It is why I am sitting here, in this mall: all built, bought and paid for, and produced by the game. It is why the middle-aged woman dyed her hair platinum blonde and got a twenty-dollar tan. It is the reason why young lovers use their parents’ debit cards or, heaven forbid, dig into their own paltry funds to impress the opposite sex.

“I bought you that bracelet… Wanna go out?”

It is the sole reason why I ventured into this mall in the first place. I must play the game. I must obtain licence through labour to pay other players of the game for use of their property for shelter and occasional hygiene upkeep, thus somewhat aiding their ability to play the game. One knows that they must play the game along with oneself, thus intertwining the lives involved. They must throw their chips in the pot, inherently conceding to the fact that those chips may be lost. Such is the game. Many short stacks, very few winners.

As the slightly hunchbacked, fifty-something dark haired housekeeper scours the overpriced and overcrowded food court for a table to tidy, or a floor to mop, is she aware of the seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against her? She must. Isn’t one subconsciously read the rules of The Game at some point? Moreover, is one even given an option as to what game can be played? What if one is not much of a gamesman, and instead sees life as a cooperative effort? One would say, given the graduality of The Game — from birth to present day — before coming into full view, that it is more or less sprung upon one’s being. While some humans may have created their own little sub-games in their formative years, these pale in comparison and cower in fear to the real Game once it comes along. For it is the reason why mansions are built and clothes are made and bought in exorbitant quantities.