Solitaire as a Spiritual Practice

My Grandma Johnson used to play solitaire a lot. I learned from her how to line up the cards in a neat row of 7 and then transfer them, according to the rules, to the 4 piles of suits, beginning with aces. The gentle slapping as the end of each card recoils from fingers to table is a soothing sound to my ears.

So I’ve continued my solitaire throughout my life. It’s such a convenient way to be alone when I want time to myself; when I don’t want to talk with someone; or I’m tired of thinking too much. And it’s a great way to while away the time when waiting or flying cross country.

I got into playing on my PDA (personal digital assistant!) for that reason. I missed the feel and sound of the cards but the speed of dealing out the cards made up for it. I could play games at lightening speed. I started rejecting games that looked like losers once they were dealt. This way I won quite frequently. It was very rewarding – at the end of a winning game the cards on the screen would do a cascading dance. I’d often call over anyone nearby to see it when I won.

When I was younger sometimes I would cheat, but it became apparent that since only I was playing I was only cheating myself. And with my PDA and computer that was strictly verboten. Not even possible. So I gave that up completely.

After awhile I became more aware of my attachment to winning. I’d get emotionally involved and rail against losing. I decided to practice just playing-- letting it be, very simply, the game as it was. Noticing its form, yet letting it dissolve back into its pile of anonymity-- like the K’aaba of the Middle East or the uncarved stone of Taoism, the shuffled deck undealt. Thorough shuffling became a ritual of my religion.

Some games would die quickly and early, while others would go almost to winning but then have a fatal flaw that I could see but do nothing about. Some would be winning. I saw how sometimes I gave up too easily. I learned tricks to open up a corner into a doorway. Each game became a relationship reminding me of the various trajectories of life and how to work with them. And how to accept them when there was nothing else to be done. Solitaire serves me well.