Editor's introduction to the first editionChildren play. Light plays on the surface of the world. The play of events rolls throughout time. We play at being ourselves, and our selves play the situations of our life. This book of plays is no different. With few characters and utterly simple stories, Sri Chinmoy creates teaching for the spirit. In the world of these words, we observe more directly the play inherent in our days. With simplicity and trust unclouded by any neurotic mentation, the characters dance with their situation. The veils of past history and a different cultural setting remove any obvious grasp on the characters other than the intended one: see how the rhythm of their lives inexorably leads them towards the unfoldment of their spiritual wisdom.
The language is simple, as befits the clarity of real play, but if we can allow ourselves to enter into the spirit of the game, we become aware of Sri Chinmoy's play with words. They have reference to the varied planes of reality which are always glancing in and out of each other, reflecting the movements of the supreme Play of creation, preservation and destruction.
We find our lives difficult. We find ourselves in situations that are deadly serious, and we discover ourselves suffering. In the midst of this plodding, rare events occur. One phone call among many is laughter and delight. For a few moments in a traffic jam the sun dances with joy on a new world. The people drearily passing on the street suddenly bounce with energy. In these moments, quite beyond our control, we are playing. We have entered into a world where we do not have to control things. We accept the inherent control of all things and merely enjoy our heart's unity with this perfect play.
God dreams. We act. There is no other time but now, and just in this moment we can feel the drift of the Play. It is leading us subtly towards the union with our soul. Sri Chinmoy's disciples act out his plays. By accepting a role, they learn the art of opening their hearts to the play of spiritual reality which is inseparable from the events of our lives.
Sometimes during the evening meditations at the New York Centre, Sri Chinmoy reads his plays to his actors. At other times, a disciple will read, and Sri Chinmoy acts out a related but deeper play on his meditation platform. The words come into the silent room, and the ninety beings who hear them are wrapped in the calm of their receptivity. In and out of different moods and zones of consciousness, the master and his disciples let the play of words glide through their beings, as their beings flow through each other. One hears an exchange of lines between two actors, and it is echoed far inside the heart. The inward Dreamer is awakened and stands in the centre of Being. The Master turns, smiling, greeting God. There is the play of light, the inexpressible soaring of the heart into silence. Words are coming from somewhere: the play is going on. It is always going on. The Master's eyes are weaving with rays of living light the story of all our union. "Play with Me," the soul is saying, "play with my innermost Self, you who are my Heart. Play this celebration of Me with your life." "Yes," comes the assent of being. "Yes, I am."