How I feel after completing The Play: Shakti…

This feeling is a very rare kind of experience for me. I am learning how to surrender my ego while writing. Still learning. 

I feel that the hands and mind are not mine and the words too are coming from somewhere else. Nevertheless, it doesn't mean I am a believer. 

No, I am not. And how can I? I need to be someone to be a believer.

You can call me void or Shunya. However, this word will never define me exactly. No words can define who actually I am. 

I am learning to relax my mind and let the mind do the rest of things for me, yet I remain a silent watcher. I feel that this body which I am using as a tool is not me. I am something else. Something beyond thoughts and feelings from where the life comes, from where the breath comes and goes.  

I have learnt that being an ordinary human being is something extraordinary. 

I finally feel contented to give words to my experience, to give words to that which is not. Some may say now it's time to rest. Stop writing. 

But rest is not for me until I am in this body. 

I know what I am writing will never be understood by all. Not because I am writing something difficult but because people lack patience. They lack stillness. And without stillness, my words will never work on them.

Even in dreams, I feel like writing or walking in old paths. Sometimes mountains, sometimes unknown paths, sometimes someone whispering thoughts in my ear. Most of them, I forget and a very few, I successfully recall. Like this morning, I felt a strong line inside my mind but I forget it now.

But the relics are there.

But the impressions are there.