Outlaw magic is electricity, sublimity, grandeur.
It’s the fire of god, the breath of life, the orgasm of the universe. It’s the magnetism of non-attachment which is fully engaged at the same time that it’s fully non-grasping.
To touch it, you only have to do the hardest thing in the world. To wield it, you only have to surrender. To let it course through you, you only have to die.
You have to die to the finite game you’re playing with such great seriousness: the fight for security and comfort and the approval of others. You have to drop the story you’ve got about how you’re out to prove something.
No matter if you win or lose in that finite game — no matter if you end up with your security and your comfort and your respectability, you’ve lost as long as you’ve taken it seriously.
You’ve lost because the seriousness crushes everything true in you.
It either inflates you or it deflates you. But either way, you’re sunk. The most inflated finite player in the world is still not free, she’s bound by the game she’s attached herself to.
Because she’s not free, the finite player is empty of passion.
Passion is the province of the free. To be impassioned, youhave to touch other people and liberate them. You can’t liberate anyone if you’re regarding everyone as a competitor in the game. The intimacy of touch requires total unconcealment. Unconcealment is the one thing that the finite player cannot afford, because it kills her seriousness and wakes her up out of the game.
To be serious means you suffer if it looks like you’re losing, and you exalt if it looks like you’re winning.
To play the finite game with seriousness means you try to make finite ends mean infinite things like approval and love. It means to place limits on approval and love, to constrain them.
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