"Life must be lived as play."
Picture this: All the troubles that exist within you bubble up to your body, taking all sorts of colorful shapes, causing pain and sadness all at once. What a horrible thing to be!
Now picture this: Slowly but surely, these pains fade away as ectoplasm in the air. As an energy made of your very own human self.
The cycle of pain and relief mirror the confrontation and climax of a play. Is it fate that dictates the scenes of our lives? Is it an invisible hand that guides the problems that bubble up and take ugly, colorful shapes on our daily lives? Or is it something we bring upon ourselves? And as problems grow, we learn to adapt, to thrive and to learn to hope again, just for a new despair to take hold of our fragile psyche.
Or perhaps it's the other way around. Perhaps it is Despair that tries his best to take hold of our emotions only to be defeated yet again by the Hope within us.
Even so, Plato had a point. It is all finite anyway. Why not have some fun while we slowly become ghosts of our own selves?