Here I sit on an island amid the history of video games at OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) reading a pamphlet on Quakers traveling in the ministry.
Most of the 125 games are silent while people of all ages engage in separate, but complex journeys toward some form of everlasting life. The din of a large screened dance floor, antiquated Centipede and Donkey Kong, and voices create a symphony of white noise in the darkened spaces of electronic imagination.
What is this urge to jump hurdles, float impossibly in the air, and think fast as the constant barrage of conflict and resolution form a strange entertainment built on digital creativity?
I can't help but think of my own spiritual journey standing
between the different branches of Friends and between the wider world and the still, quiet place that is the Light of God in each and all. I am sitting here idle in this world of games, not because I am unwilling to participate, but because I would rather center into the gentle place of witness. My son is enticed by the action and adventure and waits patiently for his turn. When he finally gets his hands on the controls, he says this, "I was pushing all the right buttons, but I just couldn't make it move." This is how I often feel on my spiritual journey when I think I am in control. If I could step into the character on the screen completely, and co-create the world we encounter, it might be some kind of good practice. Trouble with this is that I am so in love with the real thing, as indescribable and kaleidoscopic as it is.
How are we called to witness to the stillness in this active world?
