After reading a link posted on another thread regarding Merton, and seeing the descriptions of his delight with life and playfulness around, but still respecting, convention, it made me realize how damn serious I am a good deal of the time.

It is amazing to me how adults can actually go through an entire day(s) without being playful. We might indulge in numerous forms of leisure, meditate, pray, do good works, yet remain closed to this spontaneous arousal of the soul.

When I worked as a supervised play therapist for about four years, there was an ongoing experience of initiation into play by my young clients. Sometimes this was rather painful for me . . . like using muscles that had atrophied, and it also brought up a good bit of shame/memories. I had lived in so much fear and humiliation during early formative years that play became almost a hazard, a degree of vulnerabiltiy where other things could enter unbidden. Many of you may relate to this delimma, and how it can distort nearly everything else.

One of my close friend's children, 18 months and 4.5 years, draw me regularly into this strange world, and occasionally I really let go, and when that happens, there is endless energy to engage them; otherwise, it can be really tiresome, probably because of all the energy spent resisting.

In the gospels we get some glimpses of Jesus' playfulness. And, of course, his offering children to his sometimes deadly serious disciples as the entrance into the kingdom of heaven is one of his best wake up calls for the numbed soul. Where he lived and taught was not, for adults, conducive to spontaneity, not unlike Taliban-run Afganistan. And so here we are, most of us probably with a significant degree of leisure on our hands, and we can self-inflict even greater prohibitions than these, seeing as how they are mostly internal.

Have you noticed there isn't much written on play? At least not compared to other ontological themes. It's because you can't point to it, as the Zen Masters are wont to chide their students. But there's always something around the corner of the mind, some unexpected loss of control that spins us in the direction of humor (and sometimes fear at the same time). Thank God the opportunities come regularly, and that we are often the brunt of the show itself.

This is a good topic. I know I don't play enough, but I do enjoy playing at my work and everyday things, however, if that counts. E.g., inserting a humorous remark into a discussion; passing along a good joke; even some of the banter on this board can seem playful. I read Far Side cartoons before bed time and have a couple of calendars with humorous quips I check in with every morning.

It's a hard thing to pin down, but I think "seriousness" is a good word to describe the opposite of play. Then one sees how many are serious in their play, work, etc. Maybe play is an attitude more than an activity?

Yes. More of an attitude. But I still think it largely escapes most adults, perhaps because we assume, unconsciously, that we've seen everything already. Part of this results from maturation, but I've played enough to know this doesn't account for its loss. It seems the less we inhabit our bodies the more obscure play becomes. There's not a lot of room to play in the head. Moments of humor give us a glimpse, but the attitude of play is really a slippery one, as it mostly cannot be planned; rather, it emerges.

Of course, Mr. Rogers was perhaps an icon of play for adults. He got inside "things" and could let them speak through him. This isn't unlike the Focusing process, which gives more room for that sort of creative, receptive dialogue. Musicians might be more disposed toward play, but they're usually pretty serious if it is a professional endeavor.

I've made some inroads re: this receptivity with the four year old daughter of one of my close friends. She would tell us stories, invented on the spot, that involved at one time a secret, invisible friend, and we would all listen. I got to where I would make up stories like this with her, and it really was like falling through Alice's rabbit hole. Not at all like writing a short story - much less incumbered, free flow consciousness . . . things would come to you that were always surprising. She and I would layer each other's stories.

�Since I know nothing at all, I shall simply do whatever occurs to me�. Thus I consciously submitted myself to the impulses of the unconscious. The first thing that came to the surface was a childhood memory from perhaps my tenth or eleventh year. At that time I had a spell of playing passionately with building blocks. I distinctly recalled how I had built little houses and castles, using bottles to form the sides of gates and vaults. Somewhat later I had used ordinary stones, with mud for mortar. These structures had fascinated me for a long time. To my astonishment this memory was accompanied by a good deal of emotion. �Aha,� I said to myself, �there is still life in these things. The small boy is still around, possesses a creative life which I lack. But how can I make my way to it?� For as a grown man it seemed impossible to me that I should be able to bridge the distance from the present back to my eleventh year. Yet if I wanted to re�establish contact with that period, I had no choice but to return to it and take up once more that child's life with his childish games. This moment was a turning point in my fate, but I gave in only after endless resistances and with a sense of resignation. For it was a painfully humiliating experience to realize that there was nothing to be done except play childish games. (Memories, Dreams and Reflections, pp. 173�174)." C. G. Jung

WC said: And, of course, his offering children to his sometimes deadly serious disciples as the entrance into the kingdom of heaven is one of his best wake up calls for the numbed soul.

That's a wonderful observation.

Phil said: It's a hard thing to pin down, but I think "seriousness" is a good word to describe the opposite of play. Then one sees how many are serious in their play, work, etc. Maybe play is an attitude more than an activity?

Seriousness may indeed be the opposite of playfulness, but even people who are engaged in serious work will integrate playfulness and humor into it. One need only look at the banter of the astronauts in their spacecrafts. Playfulness and humor are ways to relieve stress, build relationships and to just take the drudgery out of the task at hand. But we're all different. Be playful when you feel playful. Be serious when you feel serious. In the end (clich� coming), just be yourself. Some people are naturally playful and funny and we may feel the urge to compete with them. Don't. Just enjoy the show and remember that the so-called "playful" people are the ones most often found written up in the obituaries, usually having something to do with a hang-glider accident.

I think one thing to keep in mind is that we often opt to be "serious" and to squeeze our natural personalities out of our lives because we've been taught that if we want to be taken seriously then we must, of course, act seriously. There's a lot of truth to that. Lightheartedness in certain contexts will be interpreted as something else. Playfulness thrust into a job interview, work proposal, or consultation for a bank loan might be interpreted as being "unserious", irresponsible, or flakey. (This is so subjective, though, for a little humor will work to break the ice and "humanize" one's self to the other). Putting a tight leash on our playfulness is a social game we must play and I fear we've probably all learned to play it too well.

I think WC has said before that it is good to set aside times to play, to sort of get the hang of playfulness and to exercise those muscles. That may well be, but I'm hesitant to compartmentalize something like that. It's just not something we're going to be able to turn on or off for that one hour, three times a week, as if we're going to the gym. But I would recommend, if one wishes to increase their playfulness quotient, that we notice how many times a day we don't do something playful or humorous. That's the real ticket because you'll see you don't really have to do anything special. You don't have to make any unusual efforts. It's already there just waiting for you to not snuff it out when it appears (maybe WC has some techniques on how to avoid this that don't include using a Whoopee cushion). I think we habitually and unconsciously do so either because we're afraid of offending someone, afraid of looking stupid or frivolous (that is, protecting our images), or are just uncomfortable exposing our inner selves like that. (I've got my hand WAY up in the air on that last one.) I tend to think that Phil is right. Playfulness is a state of mind but, as God is my witness, it is also our natures.

And I think it's also helpful to keep in mind that there are different kinds of playfulness. We shouldn't automatically define playfulness as the loud, brassy stuff more reminiscent of Bozo the Clown. While there's certainly nothing wrong if someone bubbles forth with mirth at the rate of Jim Carey, neither is there anything necessarily wrong if someone's style is as dry as hot sand on burnt toast. I, for one, usually prefer it. I'll take quality, not quantity, any day. I'm a big fan of British understatement or that old-fashioned 40's-Bob-Hope-manner where a simple look from an accomplished actor could bring down the house. It wasn't necessary (even if they could have done so back then) to let loose with a stream of four-letter words as they do nowadays. I think too that playfulness can be quiet, reserved, gentle, or restrained.

WC said: Musicians might be more disposed toward play�

No, they're more disposed to drinking themselves to an early death (playfully, I'm sure). It's strange that alcoholism seems to run rampant in the arts when it is through the arts that one may be most expressive. What's left to be repressed and cause one to drink? On the other hand, I think people are in the arts both because of their nature and they're nurture (especially their nurture maybe). Perhaps they can't express themselves fully or safely anywhere but on the stage, on the page, or on the canvas. The rest of the time is an eternal hell that must be escaped.

What I've learned about playfulness comes from my friends' children, and several years of doing supervised play therapy, besides whatever I was able to retain from my mostly sordid childhood. Apart from this, I can say, and others would say of me, that I'm not lacking a sense of humor. And while the impulse is certainly spontaneous, there are many censors/habits of attention in place that minimize this unique expression.

It's easy enough to get in touch with these censors just by watching re-runs of Mr. Rogers. Now, some of these censors are useful, since such spontaneity would not often fit the workplace, or many adult transactions. But you might actually watch a Mr. Rogers rerun, and let yourself participate fully, since he was always prone to engage the viewer. You'll probably get in touch with the raw edge of play, and notice from this there are various depths of play, some below our awareness, for whatever reason. The reasons aren't so important, but memories from childhood may come into awareness as one allows this receptivity, either as images or bodily comforts/discomforts. As you notice any discomfort (there's often, but not always, a bodily location), without needing to analyze it, consider utilizing some features of the Sedona Release Method in order to stay present with your experience:

"Could I allow this feeling?"
"Could I welcome this feeling?"
"Could I let go of this feeling?"

If the feeling is distinct, then naming it can help, although sometimes, in my experience, there can be several lumped together. If there is resistance to letting go of any discomfort, then the Sedona Method suggests:

"Could I allow this resistance?"
"Could I welcome this resistance?"
"Could I let go of this resistance?"


Playfulness puts us in touch with our inherent loveableness/goodness, which in psychology is a pre-operational, or pre-cogntive aspect of the embodied experience. As such, adults often don't notice it on the radar screen, since it doesn't conform with the controls we depend upon for our sense of safety and conscious identity. And so while playfulness cannot be contrived in any way, we can dispose ourselves to it, since the impulse is always lurking, and seeking a way around our censors.

Here's another way to contact the impulse of play, and provide it a supportive form that is more natural to it via activity. Yes, play is more of an attitude, but it often leads to activity or expression. So here's an expression that may not only fit, but engender the response and contain it long enough so that the impulse can unfold in a more obvious, sustained way:

I noticed the dynamic of play more substantially early on while being trained by my supervisor in play therapy, but the moment caught me completely off guard, and wasn't in the course material, unfortunately. It happened when I was cleaning up after a client's session. After the end of each session, you could go back and take notes just by looking at what was left of the room. I'd usually do this, then quickly put everything back on the shelves to prepare for the next client. On this particular evening I had no more clients scheduled, so the clean up wasn't going so quickly. As I was picking up the wooden blocks I began to build with them, rather unconsciously, but almost like a kid who'd been watching another kid play and now had the chance for his turn. This wasn't a conscious thought at the time, but in looking back I can see that was the case. What was most compelling was that the energy/attention for what I was building was much more a bodily response than a mental one. It was like my body and the blocks were having a two way consversation, and mostly beneath my conscious awareness. I was being pulled into the visceral, imaginative world of play that I had just observed my client exploring.

I couldn't have predicted where the next block would go. There was a definite "not knowing" at the usual level of understanding or conceptualizing, but another knowing that was full of suprise. Where I'd put the next block wasn't based on the usual ideas I have within an activity that starts at point A and moves linerally, at least not within experiential awareness. The blocks were almost building themselves, and in this way became alive. Textures and colors and shapes and smells were more vivid, and then I realized what I was doing and stopped, fearful one of the other students would notice me through the one-way mirror.

But I noticed a could fall back through Alice's rabbit hole fairly easily just by picking up any of the play material and waiting for "it" to engage me. This so intrigued me that I asked another student to join me in the play room. I had stumbled upon the inner world of my clients, like a man with a map looking for gold, and once finding the vein, doesn't need the map anymore. I took the rather awkward step of asking this other student to just watch me for 5 minutes like she would any of her clients in the playroom, just being with me as I re-engaged this play consciousness. She did, and I didn't dissolve into a shame puddle on the floor like I expected. Then I asked her if she would like to try, and she accepted the offer with less reticense than I would have. Nevertheless, she was suprised at what she found as well.

I don't offer any of this as psychotherapy, but just an experiment in self-awareness. However, anyone considering therapy, or already in it, might discuss the possibility of play in the session. In my experience as a client, it can engender some of the bodily intelligence that is often submerged/untapped in talk-oriented counseling. A specific way of engaging therapeutic play is via Sandtray therapy, and although most therapists utilizing this have some specific training, if your therapist is open to it, you can explore it together, since the materials are relatively inexpensive. A tupperwear tub and some miniatures and "play sand" are the place to start. Of course, as trained in certain therapeutic modalities as a therapist may be, he or she may not be familiar with this unique environment, or may even regard it as a waste of time if they can't imagine how such activity could be beneficial.

Homeyer and Sweeney have a good bibliography in the back of their manual: "Sandtray: A Practical Manual." There is also an appendix for locating sources for miniatures, and their manual goes into the selections at length in terms of categories that encompass the common themes of the inner world.

What I've learned about playfulness comes from my friends' children, and several years of doing supervised play therapy, besides whatever I was able to retain from my mostly sordid childhood. Apart from this, I can say, and others would say of me, that I'm not lacking a sense of humor. And while the impulse is certainly spontaneous, there are many censors/habits of attention in place that minimize this unique expression.

Yes, children are surely the root source of playfulness. I think I get along with kids so well because they�re like dogs. They�re not smart enough to know how flawed I am. They just love you if you love them back, no questions asked. And they have no hidden motives -- at least any motives that are hidden from adult eyes and that are any more complicated than wanting a piece of candy, permission to buy a toy or just wanting more love and attention. They have not yet learned to become complex, thank goodness. Hopefully all children will not have learned the necessity to put up walls between their innocent selves and the often predatory world around them.

We surely learn about ourselves and about playfulness by observing the masters of that craft, children. We learn how much we�ve buried and perhaps there is hope in that. There is so much to uncover.

Tag, you�re it, WC.

What I was really aiming at in my last post was the surprise of discovering play in a more visceral way than I had known it before, even when supporting the children in play therapy. It was like a veil I could only see through partially prior to that time. And I discovered it as an adult, proving, to myself, that it isn't an operation of childhood, but a human inclination. I know that much isn't news, but the visceral depth of play was new to me, such that former experiences of play were viewed henceforth as mostly leisure. It was a real engagement, almost a meditation, but with no contrivances to change anything or be different. Perhaps what I'm meaning to say here is that I was surprised how easy it was, and how I'd missed it before that moment with the blocks.

So my encouragement is to get one of those plain wooden sets of blocks, which are hard to find these days with all the plastic stuff. The basic wooden blocks that don't fill in one's imagination have a kind of primitive feel to them, and seem to allow the "not knowing" space that is filled in with this creative dynamic of pre-reflective connecting - where the inside does the "work" for you like a guest that's been waiting to show you something for years. Close the door, shut the blinds, and sit on the floor and just let yourself be pulled into this . . . . whatever it is.

And the return to my complex adult world was more filled in with the life of things that often disappears when this particular way of being isn't engaged for long periods of time. It is a relief to know there are ways of "uncovering," as you said, without having to dig around in the mind like an archaeologist.

And I discovered it as an adult, proving, to myself, that it isn't an operation of childhood, but a human inclination. I know that much isn't news, but the visceral depth of play was new to me, such that former experiences of play were viewed henceforth as mostly leisure.

Somewhere along the line our life orientation changes from a sense of adventure (childhood) to a sense of duty and sometimes drudgery (adulthood). My heart goes out to those who have had pieces of their childhood stolen from them. Play may not exclusively belong to children but that is the one time I think we are best suited for it. By necessity as we get older we gain more responsibilities and thus more time is spent arranging that small matter of survival and perhaps the raising of one's own children. Childhood is that one time when one's inherent incompetence at adult tasks comes in handy. We play. I hope you and others can get back something that, for the life of me, I don't know why is thrown away by so many so readily in a rush to become something called a "serious" adult. I sometimes wonder if the attention we give to our egos, status and self-images if a fair trade for the unadulterated joy that we give up viewing life through the eyes of a child. In some ways I'm so very glad that my development was arrested. I'm not sure I could have survived the full transition to adult or would have wanted to live that life.

My basic belief and orientation is that childhood is not a stage we pass through and then leave behind; no more so than grade school is a stage we pass through in order to learn English and math only to forget them later. We ought to, just like our command of English improves through the years, become better and better at playing. Truthfully, some of us do but I think the vast majority don't. We try to take on the roll of adult as defined by the culture. As some point, as I intimated earlier with the adventure/duty duality, we decide that kid-stuff is inappropriate and something that belongs to the past. If we do play then it must overtly look like an adult form of play. And note that I'm talking about "normal" people, not people for whom childhood may have been traumatic or interrupted. We screw up our adulthood by being unnecessarily buttoned-down but I can only imagine how tough it must be to never haven been given the chance to give childhood a good full run.