Teaching Dharana • Climb, Sit, Slide!
Climb, Sit, Slide
The Path of Serious Play
When we take a child to a playground—or recall our own childhood visits—it’s easy to see that it’s a place of joy and growth, but also of effort and challenge. Kids on the monkey bars are working hard, even as they’re having fun. They run, jump, and play with intensity, and when they leave the playground, they’re transformed—tired, yes, but also stronger, more confident, and more alive. Preparing for a presentation as a meditation teacher can be seen in much the same way. It’s a process that demands energy and focus, but it also holds the potential for deep enjoyment and growth if we approach it with the right mindset. As Paul Reps once wrote, we can learn to enjoy our work as “serious play.”
There’s no denying that preparing a presentation is a lot of work. I see it in those I teach and coach along the way—it can bring up a lot for each of us. Writing an essay or preparing a presentation is very much like a cosmic game of hide-and-seek—you know the presentation is in there somewhere, but you don’t know where it is. Writing about our practice forces us to articulate and clarify what we’re doing in that inner, often wordless space beyond our direct perception. As Babaji often reminds us, the beauty of teaching is that it reveals what we don’t yet know about a topic. This is what makes a teacher so powerful: their willingness to step into the unknown, grow, and emerge with a lesson to share.
What’s funny to consider is that kids love hide-and-seek, yet for us in this context, it can be frustrating. It can be inspiring to know that the yogic tradition actually teaches us that the concealment of the Self within us is itself a cosmic game of hide-and-seek, and that the universe does this not because it has to, but because it wants to. As the Introduction to Kashmir Shaivism explains: “The only plausible explanation for Paramashiva’s self-concealment and self-limitation is that creation is a play or self-amusement on His part.” So how can we flip the script on our approach to the ‘work of presenting’ and align more with our practice as the ‘play of consciousness’ that it truly is?
At the most foundational levels of yogic philosophy lies a paradigm of play. As Paul Reps wisely wrote: “Until it’s fun, better left undone.” The first time I encountered this quote, I thought, You’ve got to be kidding me. If I waited for every activity to feel fun before starting, nothing would ever get done! But over the years, this maxim has stayed with me, challenging me to reconsider how I approach my work. Looking at my life through this lens, I’ve noticed a recurring pattern: when I muscle through something with tension or anxiety, it’s not uncommon to scrap all that effort later and start over. Can you relate to that? Have you also found that the energy you put into a task—your mindset and emotions—matters more than you might think? That if you’re not feeling good about the process as you work, there’s a good chance the work itself won’t hold up in the end?
The yogic tradition nods in agreement, because play and dance are foundational aspects of manifestation. For example, in the Tattvas—the yoga tradition’s map of manifestation, akin to a periodic table or a physics of reality—Shiva and Shakti are described as being in an eternal vibratory dance, a dynamic interplay that gives rise to all of creation. As Swami Muktananda reminds us, “The wise regard this universe as a play of universal consciousness, a vibration of Chitti.” Note that his words suggest seeing the universe as dance or play may not be automatic—it requires ‘wisdom,’ an understanding cultivated through effort and surrender. Our minds may struggle to comprehend this playful perspective, but our hearts can.
But believe it or not, learning to play might take practice for us grown-ups. Sri Shambhavananda echoes this idea when he teaches: “As you progress in the practice, you will experience an internal state of freedom. You will see that the universe is a manifestation of the play of consciousness.” Babaji’s teaching reinforces the idea that freedom and play emerge as we progress in our practice. The image of Shiva Nataraj beautifully illustrates this point. He’s dancing through the flames of his karma, atop his ego, transcending his likes and dislikes— this is what makes his dance fun! His dance reminds us that play often requires focus and effort, just as a child on a playground overcomes obstacles to experience joy.
So how can we start to tap into the joys of “serious play” in our preparation for teaching meditation? How can we start having fun so the work, and our karma, actually gets “done,” so to speak?
One way is to zoom out and see the work of presenting as an experience rather than a task to check off. Consider this: a child doesn’t simply climb up a slide, slide down once, and declare, “I’ve now had fun.” Fun takes time. They climb up, sit, and slide down over and over until they feel different. This is one of the biggest breakthroughs I’ve had in essay writing and preparing for presentations: embrace the whole process and let the fun come to you over time. When we stop trying to ‘get it done,’ we open the door to having fun. So instead of writing with the intention of finishing our topic, we can read, meditate and write with the intention of exploring it.
To find the path to ‘serious play’ and growth, you can try a framework that works for me, and has helped many students in the past, called “Climb, Sit, Slide.” We start like any kid must start on their way up the slide, with the climb. This is the ladder, our preparatory work. This refers to taking time to read about the topic in our lineage texts, to come to Satsang and philosophy classes, and of course to stay connected to your daily practice and the happenings of your spiritual community. The climb also means pulling the material into our lives, asking ourselves questions like, “What does surrender mean in this setting?”
Then comes the sit. This is like the moment a child sits atop the slide—the work has been done to climb up, and the fun is about to happen, but this moment of reflection is itself a valuable aspect of the whole process. Sitting, in this context, means meditating—literally sitting and working with your topic from the inside out. Of course, we have curated resources to support you in this, but it goes beyond that. Sitting with your topic means reaching into your practice and seeing what is really working for you, and seeing inside yourself what really ‘turns your mechanism,’ so to speak.
The reality is, most of what you read or research won’t truly land anywhere in us. We don’t need 50 quotes in a presentation; just one or two meaningful insights are more than enough, and this is what sitting helps us discover. Meditation provides the golden litmus test, revealing what is real and useful within our practice on this topic. What serves us in meditation is what we can authentically focus on for our presentation. After all, you can only teach what genuinely helps you grow—and in doing so, you offer that incredible resource to your students.
Once you’ve climbed through the material and sat with it, the fun part begins: the slide. The slide is the act of writing—letting yourself flow, unedited and uninhibited, trusting in the work you’ve done and the insights you’ve gained through meditation. This concept is akin to a slide when done correctly: letting the words flow naturally, as though you’re answering a satsang question in the moment, sharing from your heart. The slide doesn’t have to be linear or perfect; it might twist and turn like a swirly slide. It’s the joy of letting your experience flow out, trusting that what you’ve integrated will find its way onto the page.
Unfortunately, most of us don’t always let our words flow when writing, but sort of keep our feet on the edges of the slide and slide down roughly with a lot of self-editing along the way. That’s okay; we all start somewhere. But I just want to plant the seed to say that when you’ve done the work, both in terms of research and meditation, at a certain point you have to let it all go and let it flow. We’ve all heard the saying “dance like no one’s watching”—well, you can also write like no one’s reading. Let yourself speak on the topic.
Even if you don’t consider yourself a writer, think of this process as speaking—speaking to a friend who’s asking for help on this topic and needs your guidance. Communication doesn’t have to feel rigid or formal; it’s about sharing something meaningful in a way that feels natural to you. Thanks to technological advancements, you can even dictate your essay, allowing you to simply talk it out. This can take away the pressure of traditional writing and make the process flow more easily.
That said, studies have shown that writing by hand can have unique benefits, such as slowing down the mind and enhancing focus. Typing, on the other hand, might work well for some but feel too mechanical for others. Similarly, dictation can be freeing for certain individuals but challenging for others. The beauty of this process is that there’s no one-size-fits-all approach. It’s about finding the method that lets you communicate authentically and keep moving forward.
The point is that you need to give yourself a moment to slide! Find a moment to allow the shakti to speak through you, to let it flow and let it all go. Nobody wants to play on a slide that is all ladders. So let yourself slide.
And then, here’s the final part—we do it again! And again! Like a child on a playground, you go back for another round. You read what you’ve written—that becomes part of your next climb. You refine your focus, dive deeper into concepts that matter to you, explore quotes that resonate, and continue to climb. Then you sit again, meditate again, let it all settle, and see what remains true. And then you slide again, letting your insights pour out with ease and trust. You can pick up where you left off, start fresh, or follow wherever the process leads, so long as it feels real and meaningful for you.
In this way, we stop trying to ‘finish our paper’ and put our energy into exploring the topic and playing within it. Sometimes you may have an hour to play, other times just 10-15 minutes—but no matter what, it can be time well spent if you let yourself have fun with the process.
To recap, the maxim “until it’s fun, better left undone” holds a deep truth that resonates not only in our daily lives but also in the foundational teachings of the yogic tradition. At its core, yogic philosophy describes reality as a dance between Shiva and Shakti—a dynamic interplay of creation and energy. Our individual dance through life mirrors this, requiring us to rise above our likes, dislikes, and ego, moving through the flames of our karmic arena with grace and surrender.
Bringing this sense of play into the process of teaching and preparing to teach begins with a shift in perspective. Instead of viewing our presentation process as a task to check off, we can see it as an experience—a journey of discovery. Approach it like a child playing on a slide: climb up by gathering material and insights, sit with it through meditation to see what lands as real, and then let it flow through you as you write. Repeat this process as many times as needed, allowing yourself to feel complete naturally rather than forcing an artificial endpoint.
As Swami Muktananda and Babaji reminded us earlier, it takes effort over time for all of us to transform our work into an experience of freedom and play. Hopefully, by breaking your essay into smaller, repeatable actions—climbing, sitting, and sliding—you can take the pressure off and reconnect with the deeper purpose of teaching: to grow! And the only way to keep growing sustainably is to find a way to make it fun. If we can find a way to infuse joy and play into the preparation process, we create a sustainable path forward. This approach allows us to teach not only effectively but also with vitality and longevity, serving our students and ourselves for many, many years to come.