
Review of Snakes and Ladders
Friday 15th March 2013
Summary
Snakes and Ladders is a contemplative, gently unspooling meditation on ego, growth, self-acceptance, and the challenge of human interaction. Using the metaphor of the classic board game, the poem explores the ups and downs of spiritual evolution, emotional maturity, and the dynamic interplay between personal truth and collective projection. It offers a clear-eyed yet compassionate view of the messy, nonlinear process of awakening—not only within oneself but also in how we relate to others who are still tangled in ego-defence and denial.
Rather than condemning these egoic behaviours, the poem offers a humane, realistic, and spiritually mature perspective, gently encouraging acceptance, forgiveness, and patience—while never backing down from the uncomfortable truths that must be faced on the path to self-knowledge.
Central Metaphor: The Game of Life
The title and imagery draw on the childhood game Snakes and Ladders, which becomes a powerful symbol for spiritual evolution:
“The snakes and ladders / On the checkerboard of life / Ego and humility, strength and vulnerability / Up and down, turn around…”
Here, the ladders are the moments of growth, honesty, and ego-transcendence—while the snakes represent pitfalls: projections, pride, resistance to change, and ego-identification. The poem reminds us that the path to wisdom is non-linear, full of setbacks and breakthroughs, as we oscillate between moments of awakening and regression.
But crucially, there’s no shame in this movement—it is part of the human curriculum. The poem acknowledges that even the most spiritually evolved individuals are not immune from egoic pitfalls:
“For no matter how elevated a consciousness / Or how lofty an ideal / …One cannot escape the pull, the lure / Of a human ego”
This recognition is what gives the poem its emotional authenticity and groundedness. There’s no spiritual bypassing here—just a mature acceptance that this is what it means to be human.
On Ego, Honesty & Projection
The poem takes a compassionate-yet-uncompromising stance on the nature of ego, especially in relation to truth-telling and interpersonal dynamics. One of its key insights is that when people lash out, reject, or act inauthentically, it’s often not about us at all:
“I think, if one loves and accepts oneself enough already / One doesn’t need to take the dark moments / Of others personally…”
This is a hard-earned truth—the wisdom that comes from inner stability, from no longer needing validation from others. It presents self-acceptance as a protective buffer—not to hide behind, but to move through the world with grace, clarity, and compassion.
The poem also repositions brutal honesty as a necessary force. It doesn’t glorify confrontation, but it questions the cultural expectation that awakening or leadership must always be “sweet” or comfortable:
“…brutal honesty / Can be an unwelcome on-the-spot light / An overly bright intrusive floodlight / That ruffles the feathers of the comfort zone”
This idea—that awakening can feel intrusive, even hostile, to those deeply embedded in egoic narratives—is not only accurate, but also refreshingly non-judgemental. There’s no moral superiority in the speaker’s voice, only recognition of the universal struggle to reconcile ego’s need for control with the soul’s hunger for truth.
The Role of Compassion
A key shift in the poem occurs toward the end, where the speaker reflects on their own need for patience and self-forgiveness:
“And so, I have to be more patient and forgiving / For if I can be more patient with myself… / Then I can extend this as compassion / To the processes of others”
This is the soft centre of the poem—the heart space that makes all the earlier analysis, critique, and discernment possible. Without this recognition, the poem might risk coming off as spiritually aloof or emotionally distanced. But instead, it circles back to humility and unity—acknowledging that everyone is doing the best they can with the tools and awareness they have.
The line:
“Figuring it out / Can take a few hundred thousand light years / And lifetimes…”
…is both humorous and deeply poignant. It evokes the vastness of the soul’s journey, reminding us that this work of learning to love the Self isn’t fast, linear, or easy—but it is eternally worthwhile.
Language, Tone & Structure
Stylistically, this poem is one of the more conversational and accessible in the collection. Its flow is easy, its tone observational yet personal, and the rhythm follows the logic of thought in real time—a musing mind connecting ideas as they naturally evolve. This makes the philosophical content feel grounded and embodied, rather than abstract or didactic.
The poem blends spiritual insight with playfulness (“touch the ground, in, out, shake it all about”), empathy, and self-awareness—which gives it a kind of psychospiritual realism. It’s neither overly sentimental nor coldly analytical—it walks the line between heart and mind, like the very balance it espouses.
Final Thoughts
Snakes and Ladders earns its place in the collection as a quiet powerhouse—a poem that doesn’t seek to impress, but instead to reveal a truth we all live, whether consciously or not. It’s a balm for those who feel isolated in their spiritual or emotional journey, offering the reassurance that backslides, confusion, and projection are part of the process—not signs of failure.
It also serves as a gentle call to action: to train the ego, not shame it; to speak the truth, not sugarcoat it; to forgive the projection of others by first learning to forgive oneself.
In the arc of the collection, this poem brings a vital integration point—a kind of pause and reflect—before the next inevitable leap forward. It reminds us that the true measure of growth isn’t how high we climb, but how often we return with compassion, both for ourselves and for others still climbing beside us.
A keeper.