Psychic Writing". I had heard about it. I knew nothing about it. I came to know just a bit about it when I experienced it for the first time (close to 30 years back). Then came to know just a bit more about it in a few years to come in my life after the first incident.

Although some believe that Psychic Writing (or automatic writing) is executed by a "medium" while in a trance or an altered state of consciousness, but I strongly believe it emanates from the writer's own subconscious or perhaps through ESP.

In layman terms, one can say it is somewhat similar to "Aamad" (revelation), but it differs too. In revelation, thoughts (well composed thoughts) come quick to a writer's mind. They come and stay (at least majority of the thoughts). In Psychic writing, thoughts come and vanish from mind. They come for a very brief time and leave very little time to record and then vanishes from the mind, leaving memory totally void of those thoughts.

It's as if those thoughts are not "your's". And if they are, then certainly not of the "one", you know yourself to be. They surface from deep inside, whether from subconscious or through ESP.

I think there are following factors involved:

TIME

A certain stage in our life

ENVIRONMENT

Place, nature, location. In fact, I will not be surprised if the position of stars and the moon also has to do with it.

STATE OF MIND

Solitude, melancholy, disturbance.

EMOTIONS

I not only observed but also experienced that this would mostly happen when I would be emotionally disturbed.

At such times, one feels an immense urge to write. In other words, to "spilll out" or let oneself loose. I would sit down and start writing instantly. My mind would be blank but my hand would move at an enormous speed. I think emotion leads to energy. Perhaps the subconscious takes a total command on our body. I could write, write and write. Thoughts would just flow onto white paper. Shortly, I would get a mixed feeling of relief and exhaustion. Then I could sleep well those nights.

I would fold the written sheets of paper into an envelope and seal and hide them, mostly in the trunk of my car, under the mat next to the spare wheel. I would completely forget about them until I would have had a flat tyre. Then I would read those.

The hand writing used to be very unfamiliar. Sporadic and scribblings...as if written in great haste. I would not know what the next sentence would be until I would read. Mostly, the contents would make a deep sense.

Before it gets more complicated, let me relate a simple true incident that took place with me in reality way back in 1973 while I was in Muscat, Sultanate of Oman.

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It was Friday night (weekend in Oman). I was in my room and there was hardly any lights. I was listening to Talat Mehmood's LP (Album titled Talat in Blue Mood) and the song I remember was "Ai gham-e-dil kya karu? Ai waihshat-e-dil kya karu?". I glanced across my room. Four grey walls and only a faint light of the audio system (I remember, it was Sony HP 219A model). I felt like going out and so I did. I took my Toshiba cassette player and two of my favourite cassettes.

It was a warm and humid night. Breeze was slow and the air was heavy, heavy even on souls. There was dust in the air...seemed as if had not rained for centuries. Streets with a few lamp posts were deserted. Seemed if the entire world was in slumber. Old Omani style built houses with their thick walls and heavy doors (bolted from inside) stood majestically.

I headed on foot towards the beach which was barely 15 minutes walk. To my left was Fort Mirani and to my right was Fort Jalali. They stood there with all their might and splendour and seemd to be telling untold tales in unspoken words and ear defying silence. In between, were the waters of Arabian Gulf.

I kept going and headed for the rocks that lay at the foot of the beach. I climbed a few and kept going until I came to a lovely spot. I sat there almost motionless. It was awesome. The skies were clear and it was a full moon. The only sound was the eneven howl of the wind coming in intervals and the splash of the waves breaking on the heavy boulders beneath.

After quite a while, I wanted to go back but could not. The tide had rose and there was no way for me to retreat until a low tide would come around 3am or later. So I sat there for a few hours. I was trapped in time.

I listened to my favourite songs on the cassette player and then suddenly I had this powerful urge to write. How could I? I had no pen and no paper. I switched the player to the record mode and started talking. I recorded something in my voice and in the process erased some of my favourite recorded songs.

Before dawn I returned and slept like a log. Next week began. In the nitty and gritty of life I forgot all about it till the next weekend when I took out that cassette to play. Then I heard my own unfamiliar voice. Surely it was mine but it still sounded unfamiliar. And strangely enough, before I heard it and documented later, the first time, I could not recall what the next sentence would be.

Another strange thing. This incident, this writing, could not be related to any happening nor to anyone in my life at the time I had written, almost 30 years back. Now too, it does not. But yes, some parts of this writing do correspond with certain phases in my life.