Play as Devotion

The soft murmur of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, the play of sunlight creating fleeting patterns on the ground, invokes a sense of playful longing that defies rigid structure. It's an invitation to explore not with an agenda, but with curiosity. I've been thinking about play. Not the kind that comes with rules or points, the kind you schedule in between work and chores. I mean the kind Rachel Pollack was pointing to when she said, “To learn to play seriously is one of the great secrets of spiritual exploration.”

Years ago, I made that shift. When I first began my solitary practice, it was regimented—the same chants, the same gestures, the same incense and candles. But when I let go of control, one night under a moonlit sky, I allowed myself to be drawn by the sound of rustling leaves and an unplanned dance with the wind. This change was quiet at first, almost imperceptible, but it expanded everything. My rituals deepened, my magick felt alive in ways it never had before, and my practices took on a richness I hadn’t imagined possible.

Play became a serious practice. It was about paying attention, listening, noticing where the energy of a symbol or a story might lead me, and trusting it. It required patience and presence. I remember one evening, sitting quietly as the shadows lengthened, when time seemed to dissolve, leaving only the rhythmic drum of my heart and the soft caress of a cool breeze against my skin. In that suspended moment, the world around me faded, and I was entirely consumed by the sound of leaves whispering secrets. There were times when I felt vulnerable or uncertain, but that vulnerability was precisely what made the work feel alive. The sacred stopped being a set of rules or a destination and became a living conversation.

Since then, I have come to see that play is not a distraction from devotion. It is devotion. Showing up with curiosity, letting imagination guide the work, allowing the unexpected to enter, that is what opens a spiritual path. There was a time, however, when I doubted if this lightness could truly hold depth. I remember sitting one night by the flickering candlelight, wondering if I was being too whimsical, perhaps even naive. That doubt shadowed my practice until I embraced it as a part of the process. By acknowledging the uncertainty, I found that leaning into it strengthened my devotion, turning hesitations into opportunities for deeper engagement. This approach made my rituals, my magick, my writing, my life richer and fuller.

Rachel’s words remind me that the heart of spiritual work is not always solemnity. It is attention, engagement, and willingness to be changed. To play seriously is to invite the sacred into everything we do, not as a distant goal, but as something immediate and alive. To encourage your own exploration, try lighting a candle and following the first image or thought that delights you. Let this be an exercise in serious play, a step towards integrating playful curiosity into your spiritual practice.