SHIVA’S TRANCE
It was like a flight, which, after cruising across the most surreal skies, always arrived consistently and without any landing error, to the place where it had begun; indeed, the place, where it had always been. 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.
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