Then again, He knew a perfect stillness.
When He sat alone, He was in deepest oneness, always. When He closed His eyes in self-repose, a most enigmatic dance presented itself to Him; a dance of Time; where the past and the future got animated as players and themselves entertained Him , like performers in a carnival. It had dawned on Him that He was an eternal witness, and thus too, the realisation that the story of all life, was His story.
Life was like a repeated throw of dice, and He knew, somehow the dice rolled from His hand. But He was not always in control of how the dice would roll.This was the interesting thing:
It was a story whose end was fixed, but the journey itself was always unknown; a completely uncharted flight to a known destination. The play seemed to be in the remembrance of the simple knowledge that all would be well by the end. But no one knew when, not even He.
The challenge was to hang onto the exciting act, with just a vague but comforting belief that though He appeared to be one of many actors, He was also the scriptwriter;
This feeling was only strengthened each time He met his old friends. With each bunch of new acts that would be played out, in all the new stories that came into being, there was a flood of intimations from the past, accompanied by a great remembrance of the power that He Himself was.
~ SHIVA, The Ultimate Time Traveller. A modern story telling of Great God Shiva.available on Amazon as an E book
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