Grooving with God

The following is a continuation from The Games that God Plays:

"Where to next?" God asked, the starlight still shimmering in the wake of the Carnival’s laughter.

Samah stood there, the echoes of the Games still humming through his bones. He had seen the Library of Forgotten Tomorrows. He had danced through the Carnival of Becoming. He had walked the Sovereignty Center, shed his old lies, and remembered his own throne.

But there was something else.

"You know," Samah said, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I've been through all these games, spun through infinities, danced with the Fool, and yet… I still kinda miss the groove of true friendship. The ones that flow, the ones that don't stick, the ones that feel like music instead of management. I wish to groove with people who actually wish to groove back. I wish to feel that freedom."

God smiled, a gentle light dancing behind His eyes. "Ah," He said, "you wish to groove."

"Yes," Samah laughed, his eyes dancing now. "But I don't want to carry it like before. No more dragging, no more managing. I wish to shine, to groove, to play—but only where the groove is wanted, where it's naturally picked up. Otherwise? I'm genuinely happy to dance on my own."

"Then let us find the Groove without Gravity," God said, and with a wave of His hand, the Carnival shimmered and reassembled itself.

A new tent appeared, vast and vibrant, pulsing with the rhythm of unseen drums. Its banner read:

The Friendship Resonance Field

Inside, the space felt weightless, as if all expectations had been left at the entrance.

"Here," God explained, "is where you will learn to groove."

Samah stepped into the tent and felt the rhythm immediately—a pulse of joy, of freedom, of living invitation.

The Fool danced in the center, spinning with delight, his mismatched boots tapping to a beat that needed no explanation.

"Ah, you’ve come to find your groove," the Fool called out, winking. "You’ve come to let go of the gravitational games."

"I wish to flow without managing," Samah said. "I wish to feel each friendship as it is, not as I or others wish it to be."

"Good," said the Fool. "Then you must first pass through the Hall of Gravities."

God led Samah to a narrow corridor lined with walls covered in relational rulebooks, etched in glowing script.

• If they don't reach out, I will pull back.

• If they don't acknowledge me, I will stop offering.

• If they forget me, I will disappear.

• If they prioritize others, I will close my heart.

• If they disappoint me, I will quietly resent them.

• If they struggle, I will feel responsible for their happiness.

• If they grow without me, I will feel abandoned.

• If they choose something else, I will question my worth.

The air in the Hall was thick, each rule humming with its own silent pull. Samah felt the weight pressing on his skin, the quiet ache of expectations he had worn for lifetimes.

"These," God said, "are the sorts of patterns that weigh you down."

Samah touched one of the rules. It clung to his fingers at first, sticky and familiar, then slowly dissolved like sand. As he walked, he brushed his hands along the walls, releasing them all.

When he reached the end of the hall, nothing remained but the living pulse of the groove.

He stepped into the Groove Garden, a boundless space filled with beings dancing in joyful freedom.

Here, no one was tethered. Some drifted near, some danced away. Some leaned in, some flowed past. There was no pull. Only choice.

Samah began to groove, feeling his own rhythm, his own joy, his own sovereign beat.

The Fool appeared again, spinning in time. "Remember," he said, "you are not responsible for their feelings. Their feelings are born from their dance, your dance, and the shared patterns you both bring. You are responsible only for your own integrity—for the rhythm you choose to embody."

Samah smiled. "I will groove where I am joyfully met. I will offer where there is resonance. I will generate no gravity—no pull at all."

"Perfect," God said. "And when they leave?"

"I will allow it," Samah replied. "I will move with life, instead of bracing against it. I will flow instead of endure. I will allow everything to happen without resistance, without tightening, without the grit of survival. I will groove with it all. I will smile. I will let reality dance, and I will dance with it all."

"Groovy," said the Fool, spinning into a cloud of laughter.

Samah moved through the Groove Garden, dancing with new friends, drifting freely when the rhythm shifted, meeting each being freshly with every step. And somewhere behind the music, he could still hear God's quiet, satisfied chuckle—a reminder that the groove, once found, was his to carry.

As Samah danced, a familiar ripple of laughter rolled through the Garden, accompanied by the scent of neutron stars. Faeon, the great FableTech dragon, materialized from the starlight, his iridescent scales shimmering like story threads, a cup of electrici-tea perched comfortably in his claws.

"So," Faeon rumbled, his voice like distant thunder wrapped in honey, "you’ve found your groove."

"I’m learning," Samah said, grinning as he spun in rhythm. "I’m learning to let go of the pull, to groove where I'm met."

Faeon nodded, sipping from a cup that always seemed full. "The groove is the living rhythm you choose to embody, the pulse you carry, the beat you offer to the world."

"Will you groove with me then?" Samah asked.

Faeon laughed, the sound rolling through the Garden like a heartbeat. "Always. But remember, my groove isn’t your groove. We meet where our rhythms align, and we part when they drift. That is the beauty of it."

Together, they danced—a dragon and a sovereign wanderer—each flowing to their own rhythm, weaving harmonies as their grooves converged and diverged in a living, joyful pulse.

And the Carnival played on, always inviting, always free.