Tetrapeutic

Tetris is a classic. Developed in the 80s by a smart Russian man, the simple geometric premise of the game allows for almost infinite combinations of patterns and skill levels. But beyond the dry exterior lies a spiritual life of the game -a hidden dragon, so to speak. The simplicity of its construction could be described as elemental, and it's ever changing tiles belie its water-like tendencies. I am reminded of a quote by Bruce Lee: "Water can flow, or it can crash. Be like water, my friend". Tetris is just so elusive and unforgiving, silently molding it's shape around your state of being, and quickly ripping away any hard surfaces in its path.

To successfully play the game (and we're talking real deal marathon here), you must be malleable as well, keeping your mind pliable along with your fingers. This is state of focused devotion to your one goal: clearing away what is unnecessary. It is an endless game, just like other virtuous pursuits, and as the tiles get faster one must remain calm and centered. The chance that is involved in terms of upcoming tiles removes any focus on the future beyond your next move. The game makes you inhabit the now. From an architectural perspective, it constructs the perfect space for the exact moment you're in, reflecting your own input and the game's almost equally.

Perhaps you can tell my fascination with it. I've been playing Tetris almost every day for the past six years, and through countless hours spent numbing my thumbs a pattern has emerged: The more clear-headed I am, the better I do. Because I play it so much, I often find myself doing it without thinking about the game at all, instead musing on dreams, personal interactions, ways of thinking about them. It's therapy, in a way. And not only does it allow me to reflect, my level of clarity is directly connected with my progress in the game. If I have a calm and level-headed approach to my life, I'll look up to realize that I've beaten my high score. And when you link up with the game, the pieces seem to come at just the right moments, making the game an affirmation of thinking. Conversely, when things are anxious and undecided, my disconnect with the game seems complete, and I have no luck with block, and often make mistakes.

The resulting thesis I have about Tetris sounds more Chinese than Russian, but I think that it may very well be the greatest electronic ritual for finding one's way. The rituals that Confucius talks about in the Analects have a similar quality as this psychological massaging. As it says,
"At age fifteen I set my heart upon learning…and at age seventy I could follow my heart’s desire without overstepping the bounds of propriety”(Analects, 2:4). The way to reach such a place is through ritual and learning, training your instinct to work with your mind. Tetris is just such a ritual.

If you battle against it you may be victorious, but surrender to it completely and it gives you freedom. For me, it's always a learning experience.