Today, I’m heading off on a new direction in my game making. I don’t know exactly what it will look like, but I do know that it feels a good deal like “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver-
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Yes. I will love what I love.
I love a playground game of kickball.
The game where we run around with buckets on our heads screaming gotta catch-em-all but first have to draw a circle with the green chalk then run and touch the brick wall.
I love a game where a room full of 200 people shout directions to guide our ship towards magenta forkfuls of spaghetti that lets our collective work fully express the confusion and elation in the air.
I love creating creating creating-
not just games but novellas and improvisational klezmer and ten claymation short films using every creative force within myself because who the fuck said,
“Stop doing that. Don’t do that.”
And I love a game where you hike atop the red rock jumble of your thoughts and Dig-Dug past your fears to sit in the molten-hot core of your self.
And from there, I will tell you of my despair.
I will make you a game about building a joyous and whole world of a relationship while dealing with the ubiquitous horde of chronic sexual pains. About defending yourself against news of Black Hawk helicopter crashes with a brother deployed in Afghanistan while simultaneously pulling pulling pulling up emotions out from behind a lifetime’s worth of defenses. About maintaining and strengthening relationships across space and time as both move outwards and onwards, not caring that I want to stop and pause and grab hold for just a second because where has the top canopy layer of our family tree gone and who is tying it together?
And, so, in this moment when the world is offered to my imagination, it becomes a game about joining these geese.
Of not just climbing up the crumbling rocks to the top but of walking to the edge and looking down. Of peering out over my shoes at the clouds and the geese and the stomach-turning and absolutely endless depth of possibility that life could be. Of the offer to jump.