We finally escaped the frothing fortress and embarked upon a journey to the center of the atom itself, the spiritual center of this earth, to the Giza Plateau. After a frustrating morning enduring the incessant jeering and languidly scouring this cryptic maze for prices on plane tickets to London, we were prepared to witness this ancient gallery upon the golden desert floor. After another taxi driver’s failed attempt to scam us, we crammed onto the local bus instead for about a quarter each, but the locals again besieged us. This short trip to Giza vaporized our pioneering spirit, and it was punctuated by the bus driver who physically attempted to paw Bren as we exited.

"I'm losing my patience with these guys," I said despairingly to Bren.

"I know, it's wearing me down," Bren said with a deep sigh of frustration, "I mean we've tried everything, not much we can do about it. Hey, just think, it can't get much worse."

In all the confusion just getting to the pyramids, it was now approaching the closing time and a schoolteacher from the bus then informed us that we could only get into the area around the pyramids by camel or horse.

"This is the only way," the schoolteacher persisted following us down the road into the small town of Giza.

"What do you think?" Bren asked pulling me aside as we stood at the entrance to the pyramids, which was indeed closing.

"All I want to do is see the pyramids, I don't care how, I just want in. I've waited for this--"

"I know babe, I know. He's a schoolteacher, anyhow, he'd never con us."

We obliged and followed the schoolteacher to a particular stable, where he was most assuredly going to receive a commission.

"Fifty dollars per hour," the schoolteacher said translating for the owner.

"This is a joke, Bren, let's go. You can't do anything here without being scammed."

"He says special deal for you, forty dollars."

"Forget it!"

"Okay, thirty," one said as he mocked fondling Bren behind her back but in my plain view.

"No! No! Let's go, babe," I said as Bren and I started walking away filled with absolute fury and frustration.

"Twenty," another said.

"Forget it, no!" Bren said snapping, "This is ridiculous."

"Oh, the white woman speaks," one of the guys from the stables said with a whistle.

As we walked away, the schoolteacher came charging after us, "My family must eat, I need this money, don't walk away, please," he continued as he tugged desperately on my shirt.

"Are you really a schoolteacher?" I asked.

"Yes. Yes, but they pay me very little, I must do this to help my family eat."

I looked at Bren, and as frustrated as I was I couldn't let a schoolteacher's family go hungry.

"It's up to you," Bren said with a shrug, as he bent to his knee and pleaded further.

"Okay, no more--" I stopped trying to think of a basic English word, "No more craziness."

I pulled out the guidebook, "Look fifteen Egyptian pounds per person, per hour is the traditional amount. That's five US dollars each. So, we'll pay fifteen dollars. Fifteen dollars, total, that's it. Understand?"

"Yes, yes. I understand, you very nice."

We got on the horses and began plodding through the sand and into the Arabian Desert toward the pyramids.

"Why did you relent, Bri?" Bren asked from her horse next to me.

"I felt bad for him. He really looked like a schoolteacher and I trusted that he was telling the truth. God only knows why, because we've been lied to about everything since we got here."

"I think it was the right thing to do, besides you're getting to see the pyramids, even though it's at a distance," Bren said as we passed one of the graveyards that surround the plateau.

"It's awesome, Bren, look at it, there's the Sphinx way over there," I said excitedly pointing to the giant stone human head on a lion's body in the distance.

"Of course, there's the Great Pyramid on the end, followed by Chephren's and then the little one, Mycerinus," I said we trudged through the sand toward the outer edge of the pyramids captured in its long-enduring spell.

"Even the little one, Mycerinus, is huge!"

As we reached the edge, we jumped off our horses and stood gazing at the three towering pyramids rising in unison directly toward us. This was my moment, seeing these mammoth blocks rising from the sands of the Arabian Desert into the heavens have been my foremost dream. It’s always been with me, to get to this place, scrunching through the sand to witness this grand spectacle of Man. I began to fade back into a pleasant fog, one filtered through the recollection of my dream within the Great Pyramid. In this surreal moment, just as my spirit was consumed with this long-anticipated moment, a man dressed in the typical Egyptian blue smock trotted his camel directly into our vision of the pyramids where he hurdled from the beast.

"I take your picture?"

"No way, Bri, do not give this man our camera!"

"No, no thanks," I said pleasantly stepping aside returning to my spiritual trance with the pyramids.

"Oh, you want picture of camel?" he said again purging my view and stepping into my face.

"No," I said moving aside yet again.

"Free," he said moving in front of me, yet again.

"Nothing is free, I've been here three days and I know that already!"

"No, free. No cost, I tell no lie," the man pleaded.

"Bri, take the damn picture, so we can enjoy the pyramids!" Bren spouted off angrily.

"Okay, fine. Bren get up next to the camel," I said as I prepared the camera, "Oh well, there's going to be no picture after all, I think the batteries are dead."

As I attempted to figure out the problem with camera, the man had instructed the camel to kneel and had urged Bren on, whereupon the camel stood up with Bren on its back.

"Oh, now you pay!" he exclaimed as he bounced jubilantly through the sand to me, and with his hand out and a sly smile he repeated, "Oh, now you pay!"

"Get me down off here!" Bren began screaming.

"Get her down from there," I said firmly to the camel man.

"You pay first!"

"Get me off of here, now," Bren yelled furiously, "Bri, Bri!"

The man was before me now, ignoring Bren's call, his hand held out, "You pay for picture too!"

"I didn't even take a picture--"

"You pay, you pay."

"Bri, get me the hell off this thing!"

"Just get her down!"

"No, I want ten pounds."

My blood boiled. Our guide jumped quickly from his horse sensing the situation was quickly becoming explosive.

"Look," I said pointing my finger into his chest, I bent closer to his face staring directly into his brown eyes and screamed, "You get her off that camel right now or you and I are going at it right here."

He quickly turned and instructed the camel to again kneel where Bren got off and climbed up on her horse again, "Can we just get outta here, Bri?"

As I moved toward my horse, the man held his hand out to me again. I kept walking. He moved in front of me, hand still out, as our guide attempted to get between us.

"Look, I'm not giving you anything! Period."

"I'll take five pounds, now."

"You'll take nothing!"

He spit vehemently to the ground, and said, "Okay, I take one."

"No, nothing," I said smacking his groping hand away from my pocket.

"You insult me," he said angrily.

"First of all, I don't really care. Second, if anyone should be insulted, it's us."

As he came after me yet again, the guide stepped in between and they went at it yelling at one another, when he finally got back on his camel and strode away in search of another tourist.

"You give me nice tip because I protect you," our guide then turned to me and said innocently.

"Yeah, you protected me!"

"Bri, I’ll make the plane reservations right now to leave this place!"

Our time was already up, with a single, split-second unencumbered glance at the pyramids, as we headed back. I was bound in knots of frustration not only with this place but with myself over losing my temper. I felt dirty. And as we left the stables for Cairo, we were again confronted with the prospect of paying an outrageous tourist fee for a taxi back. So, we began walking back down the main road to Cairo, 12 miles away. As we walked, however, suddenly a group of Egyptian teen-agers surrounded us and began verbally harassing Bren.

"Bri, this is out of control!" Bren said through her clenched teeth.

"You’re right, let’s just get a cab."

But as we walked, I watched them closely as they followed, calling out desperate to get Bren's attention.

"They're really getting under my skin too--" I was just saying when one asked, "Show us tits, whoa, fuck, we want to fuck!"

"Are you American, I like American women," another belted out as he pushed in closer.

"Yeah, you think," I said stopping, "You won't like American men, I can tell you that!"

"Bri, it's not worth it, c'mon," Bren said pulling on my shirt. But as soon as we turned our backs again, the taunting began again, and their numbers were quickly growing.

A roar of laughter and excitement filled their group.

We walked onward forcefully still looking for a taxi, and ignoring their comments worked as they dropped back a considerable distance. Yet they still followed. After about a quarter-mile further down the road, we were suddenly being assaulted with pieces of fruit. A few hit Bren in the back, as they were throwing them from behind us and from the grass median across the street. We trotted further down the sidewalk toward Cairo where I spotted a police officer. We quickly approached and as we stood there, I was hit with a rock in the leg and Bren with another piece of fruit. The officer with his semi-automatic weapon in hand, merely stood, looking at us blankly. He looked passed us at the group, who were all now throwing rocks and still he did nothing.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" I pleaded angrily to the officer.

He just stared at us befuddled as I was plunked with another rock.

I animatedly pointed to the group still chucking rocks, and I was quickly growing into the beast I became in Bali when our bags were stolen, when he finally yelled something. They reluctantly stopped as he threateningly raised his weapon high into the air, and he assisted us in hailing a taxi. We gave the driver all the money in our pockets, dropped into the back seat, slouched down in the cracked plastic in a haze of disbelief and exhaustion. Both of us were furious and humiliated, and all we had to show for it was the split-second memory of three massive pyramids of stone rising from the desert floor. Bren looked over at me covered in fruit stains, she rubbed the smattering of blood from my legs, and as her weary eyes met mine she said with biting rancor, "I'm sorry Bri, but I really hate this place! And I'm telling you right now, I'm never coming back to Egypt. Ever."

***************

In as much as we refused to become a hostage to this virulent world, the past two days we ventured back into the city and endured the weight of the denigrating remarks. After a full day at the Egyptian museum and another in the hustle of touring the back parts of inner Cairo, we sat on an overnight train bound for Luxor. Still, I was consumed with the experience at Giza days before. I was mired hopelessly in a haze, one so thick, I really didn’t know how to feel or act. I was bound by so many opposing emotions, and they twisted in my gut, pulling me, taunting me; ironically, I became a hardened reflection of this stinging, chaotic Cairo. I had learned so much, and yet, I was incapable of handling the situation, the open hostility, the brazen mentality of the Egyptians. I was humiliated, Bren even more so, and I struggled to find even a glimmer of the human spirit within me. It was then that I realized just how deeply the "underlying pattern" went, and how far destiny reached into the future. I knew that within this openly chaotic land, that my truth, my destiny, was being illuminated, from this strange, even maddening place. Through the haze that blinded me, I felt its call, and I felt it pulling me forward. I knew then, just how difficult this task would be, that maybe my destiny in this life had been my ultimate destiny, and so many past lives now worked in harmony to bring me to this fragile moment in time. Yes, within the chaos, within the elements that roamed voraciously without control, without direction, I stood motionless, I stood alone, and I felt the distinctive call to confront the complex destiny that was now so distinctly pulling me.

A middle-aged American woman and her daughter sat next to us and as we pulled out from the station we compared notes on the bustling atmosphere of Egypt.

"I heard so many wonderful comments about the Egyptians from other Americans, we've been just so surprised to find a contrary reality," Sharon, the mother said to Bren.

"We too had heard a lot of positive comments from Americans, but we also heard from fellow backpackers warning us about traveling here."

"Really, I've almost been dumbfounded by it all, I wasn't expecting any of this kind of blatant harassment."

"Well, quite honestly, I think that most of the Americans we received our good reports from were not traveling as backpackers, or even budget travelers. They were probably part of pre-packaged tours, or knew someone here to buffer them from the real Egypt."

"Yeah, we've stopped going out of our hotel except on tours, especially after that tourist bus was blown up outside the museum the other day."

"It's been a concern for us as well," Bren quickly responded, "especially being American, and since we are never with a tour group. We are always on our own."

"Also," I began to add, "we've heard from a couple kind Egyptians to be careful as Americans, because certain terrorist groups target us. We also know from our past experiences with the American Embassy that they'd do very little, if anything, to help us if we got in trouble."

"It's interesting just how nosy they are, always wanting to know where you're from, where you are staying, stuff like that," Sharon said.

"It's just terrifying walking around alone in a city and know that if we were terrorized, no one would know about us. It's scary, especially after all that's happened to us already," Bren added with a sigh.

"We also realize too," I latently interjected, "that our government instead of caring the proverbial 'big stick' really tends to wield a toothpick when it comes to terrorism. For us travelers, it's just another reminder that we're on our own."

"I know. It's disheartening to think of the state of our government these days," Sharon added.

The conversation then naturally turned toward America, and we broached the typical travel comparisons with America and other countries. Sharon was a reporter on vacation, but even in a leisurely conversation, she probed; she delved deep into our travels, our thoughts, our perspectives, but the flowing conversation hit an abrupt snag when we began discussing the direction of America. In six months we’d hardly bumped into an American, and within a few days in Egypt we had bumped into two, and both times inevitably, we began discussing the direction of America. It was like a pendulum swinging deep into the darkness and regardless of what you did, you always knew that it was swinging back.

"If America has problems, I personally believe that it stems from us being too forgiving of a people," Sharon announced.

"You truly believe that we have become so forgiving for Vietnam, so forgiving of Nixon, of all our political leaders; for all the gross betrayals to our country and people?" I asked curiously.

"I think so, I think we are just a forgiving people. We care more about human life, and we tend to understand the psychology of it all, and consequently, it's just easier for us to forgive the transgressions of others, irrespective of the degree of malfeasance."

"Frankly, I couldn't disagree more," I replied to the slight dismay of Sharon, "I wish it was that way, that it was so black and white; however, I think we only let the issue go in the name of forgiveness. It's just more convenient to do so because it causes less hassle."

"Oh boy, here we go again!" Bren interjected with a smile.

"Then how do you explain that we have been able to move forward as a nation?" Sharon said with a bit of indignation at the staunch opposition.

"I am not sure we've moved forward at all, sorry to disagree again. I'll go even one step further, I think it was in fact the beginning of the deterioration of our country. The sixties, it seems, was our last whiff of the true spirit of being human, and these transgressions against the people of America then served to become the catalyst for the decay we are experiencing today."

"Wait a minute, hold on," she said reaching to her small backpack for a note pad, "Go on, please elaborate," she added almost surprised at the depth of the conversation.

"Well, I think we've lost faith in our leaders as a result of those moments in our recent history, those transgressions, and with each slice of faith that has been stripped, the more we collectively slip back into an emotional and psychological recession. Slowly, the decay of faith in our leaders has begun to progress into a collective loss of faith in each other, which unfortunately, is now exacerbated by racial tension and the perpetuation of a distinct caste system. We have become numb, Americans are now apathetic."

"Caste system? You're losing me. I mean, it's certainly not the sixties that's for sure, but we just don't have the problems we did back then either."

"Again, I disagree. In fact, we have more problems, and soon, we will have even more problems, and many will be felt frighteningly on a global scale. I think that it's just easier today to avoid dealing with these issues. It's easier to bury our heads."

"Do you think we are going to agree on anything," Sharon said with a chuckle.

"How do you think I feel?" Bren added, "Nothing ever has a simple answer with him."

I was still filled with rage of what’s been happening to us here in Egypt, and this in turn fueled my loquacious disposition. It freely supplied a palpable, wild energy and I continued, "I think, and it’s only my opinion, that the apathy is wrapped in subtle complacency because the economy is doing well, and so the ball of twisted chaos is bound even tighter because these problems go unheeded."

"Okay, so let's say for argument's sake I'm with you, I believe what your saying, how does this relate back to Americans not being a forgiving people?"

"Well, I think that this apathy and complacence has created a bubble over each of us, one which protects, even isolates, us from the realities of the world, even within our own country. In fact, each of us as Americans are becoming increasingly reclusive."

"That's interesting, I mean we've had the problem of being isolationists historically, but I still say we're just forgiving. You should write this down ya know," Sharon casually pointed out.

"Don’t give him any ideas," Bren said lightly and then quickly glanced in my direction with a smile, and a look of resignation like, "Oh, great is this the way my life is going to go. I go on an around-the-world trip with this guy, a long vacation, and this is what happens, my entire life is transformed!"

I returned Bren’s smile but continued onward, "Yes, but now the consequences run deeper, the world's not such a huge place. I think we just like living in our comfortable little bubbles, and to demand more from others is to agitate the bubble, our zone of comfort. Let us dare not compare that with forgiveness. Let us not take our weakness and paint it with the gracious swipe of forgiveness. We don't forgive Nixon anymore than we do Lee Harvey Oswald, it's just easier to try and forget about it. We conveniently use forgiveness to provide the veil of security that we are indeed moving forward. What happens though one day when the curtain is suddenly removed in our Land of Oz?"

"You don't think we, as a country, have been trying to move forward?"

"Oh yea, I think we've tried, but we're just spinning our wheels. I think that we dare not hold another to a higher standard for fear that we ourselves would be held to that standard. We don't strive for more, we don't demand more, we aren't trying to make ourselves better, we are simply satisfied with the status quo, with remaining stagnant, all in the toxic breath of economic gain, all in the hope of maintaining our current comfort level. Simply, we are creating an Orwellian world by making men into machines, all in the hope that it promotes our economic Empire."

Sharon broke out laughing hysterically.

"I told you," Bren said to Sharon with a comical sneer from beneath her closed eyelids trying to sleep, "Sometimes I think America’s done too good of a job, because he’s like a machine spewing all this stuff!"

"This is great," Sharon replied to me, "And you think our leaders have created this?"

"Yes. It’s deteriorated now to a point that, to hold another member of our society, even a leader, would be to hold by implication ourselves to a higher standard. And of course no one in America wants to hamper the pious ant march toward their materialistic whims. Worse, we justify this attitude with 'I dare not be the one to cast the first stone'."

"What's the problem with that?" Sharon continued with her probing, adding fuel to an already scorching blaze within me.

"Well, the problem is, as one who had a major impact on the value of this trip once said to us, 'he who dares not to seek more, shall never find more'. Indeed, If we seek nothing, we will find nothing; and the path toward developing meaning and purpose here in earth is found within the search through the darkness. It is here that the essence of life is found, in the journey itself."

"Maybe, you're right, I really haven't given it the depth of thought. Obviously, I should, but I can tell you that I don't want to view it that way! I know that doesn't make it right though."

"Thanks, you just made my point."

She sat reflectively staring up at the ceiling, "Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I."

"What truly scares me, Sharon, is that we as Americans have always been a group of fighters, we have confronted even our worst problems head on, but now it seems that attitude is lost, and we only seek to bury ourselves deeper from the issues, the problems, from reality. And sadly, in this behavior we are losing what it is to be American."

Sharon looked out her window in silence, deep in thought.

Just as the words almost uncontrollably left my mouth, I felt deep remorse. What I despised, I did myself. In my emotional purge, I ebulliently shoved my views, my angst and petulance onto her lap. Who was I, and what gave me this right? It was in this tiny conflict, that I saw the darkness roll fog-like into my view and everything went black. I saw within, the gravity of this fate, this destiny as it drove directly into an inescapable chasm of discord, a place where my spiritual growth was countered by the path of America and humanity. To lead my life separate from this course was to abandon those same spiritual laws I drafted along the journey, and conversely, to accept this path was to create internal conflict everywhere I would walk, in every action, and in every word. I sat back in the chair and looked sleepily out to the dark shadows of life beyond my comfortable window. I wondered if I really wanted to know the horrors I see moving so quickly passed, do I seek the truth of that reality, and do I see the true hand of fate? Do I dare to gaze upon the hand of fate as it reveals its cards?

Do I have the strength to confront the gloom and conflict that lurks in his hand?

"Please forgive me," I say to fate, "I am insane, and I don’t know any version of your ‘reality’."

As humans age, the more rigid we become in our thinking, and likewise, the more we tend to see life in black and white. We attempt to draw simple conclusions from a complex web of illusive verity. It's how we've been taught from our very beginnings; we tend to pigeonhole our lives, our thoughts, our perceptions, and everything around us. It strikes me, as I look at the dilapidated buildings beyond, and I think of the poverty living within its walls, that life is actually different shades of gray, and the more we see the world in simple black and white, the further we drift from "reality." No one bears absolute truth, because it's usually lost somewhere in its own grayness, and it's a place we don't like to search, for when we take the "easy" road it becomes a place we desperately fight not to experience. I realize, however, that although I may not be able to jump off the train so that I can actually touch these horrors that lurk in shadows beyond, I at least want to observe them through the window. I know now that I must look, for confronting the darkness requires not only that I peer beneath my skin, but others and the conditions under which they attempt to survive. I must confront my destiny, this absolute truth, and accept the path of fate, regardless of the consequence to me personally. I twist and shift in my chair, uncomfortable, and the chair suddenly feels hard and unforgiving. I realize this because I know that in my struggle, should I fail to see outward, I certainly will fail to see inward, and if I fail to see inward, I will fail to give outward.

To give outward, to express selflessness, is our soul’s spiritual fountainhead. We must look inward and give outward, for it is imperative to our growth and evolution toward spiritual entities. As there is an equal and opposite reaction to every action, so in giving out, naturally it will come in; this, the creative force of the universe. To discover this creative force, this universal path within the darkened road of random chaos, may be our mortal purpose and we endeavor along this golden path where we generate our much sought after awareness. Only from this awareness can we gain perspective and understanding, become stronger as individuals, and in turn, strengthen the Whole, including God. Only through accepting individual responsibility in this cause and effect world, can we grow and express this creative force imprinted within our spirits. Through this expression here in earth, we bring the spiritual into the material, and not only do we grow in spirit but we begin to better express the Whole and embody the truest image of God. Also, building here upon one’s spirit is building in other realms, for we do not leave behind the attitudes, thoughts and expressions as we move to the next dimension, but rather we inhabit them, we become them. Therefore, the material world and spiritual world are two parts of the one universe and one Truth. Indeed, we need this realm of materiality to acquire the proper perspective, to understand the light from darkness. This is the "pattern of the universe" and it thumps its harmonic lyric into this earthly air and subtly vibrates the wispy strings of the cosmos for our beckoning. And so the cycle continues, onward and upward to the Heavens, to our beginning, our end, to return to burning eternal fires of creation.

But what lay within these burning eternal fires of creation; who is God? What is God? Strikingly, it defies relevance here in this realm, except that we "see" and "feel" His divine pattern within us, for with each droplet of purified rain into the salty sea, the sea fits into that single drop. And so it is for each of us. It is from this beginning, this beauty, this harmony, this pattern, that I open my long-sealed, crusty eyes and peer into the unfolding hand of fate.

***************

We spent the day perusing Luxor's inner depths and browsing the hallowed remnants of the Luxor Temple. Luxor is substantially smaller than Cairo, and consequently possesses less hassle and derision. However, there are only three main thoroughfares in the city, with narrower streets, almost alleys, running in every direction off of them. It's a confusing mass of arbitrariness where the same street seems to lead you to a different place each time. Luxor is cryptic piece of the enigma that is Egypt, for it’s a composite of the old and new, the distorted and clear, and the perplexing and lucid. The inner core of the town is crusty, almost sully, and each person we pass on the street discerningly eyes us as if they want something. Yet, as unsettling as it is, it's still refreshing from our experiences in Cairo. A weight feels lifted.

We left early the following day for a tour of the West Bank and the Valley of the Kings, the object of our trip to Luxor. The valley, or the Gate of the Kings, contains many of the royal tombs of the great Pharaohs of Egypt deep within, ironically, a pyramid shaped mountain. Most of the magnificent burial tombs have been restored. We plunged deep into the side of the mountain, the walls smoothly cut guiding our path into its gut, and elaborately painted with rich, detailed pictures describing the Pharaoh and his life. Bren and I strode down into one of most spectacular of these tombs, that of Ramses VI. We walked slowly down the corridor to heaven, the gate to the underworld, all created to resemble the soul's drift into the afterlife. Specifically, the beautifully restored walls were decorated with scenes from the Book of the Dead and the complete text of the Book of Gates.

"And when the story is written and the end is good and the soul of a man is perfected, with a shout they lift him into heaven," our personal guide instructed, "It is from the Book of the Dead."

"And how is the soul of a man perfected?" I curiously inquired.

"The development in the afterlife is dependent upon a virtuous life here on earth."

"Then, this belief in heaven and our ascension into it, was formed long before Jesus Christ?"

"Yes," our guide said with a brief smile.

Instantly, my mind reeled and I thought of Eebu. I thought of her reading where she told me of my soul’s past, my previous incarnation. With her dramatic statement that I was to visit the largest of the pyramids here, there had to be a connection with the Egyptian’s strong belief in the afterlife. I was now consumed with the 3000-year old Egyptian philosophy that development in the afterlife was dependent on our actions here on earth. Those bizarre thoughts in Cairo now seemed to flow from my subconscious with ease; specifically that our actions here must mimic the next realm, that they are seamlessly and harmonically connected. The vibrating strings connect us here and there. Yes, we are all connected, that realm and this, the past and the future. There is no beginning and no end. Are we connected to this next realm somehow, even in this realm, am I connected to it now in this time and space? My mind searched, my heart opened, but I didn't understand it, the answer was simply beyond my groping reach.

The colors were striking and the detail eschewed logic; it rocks the fragile rationality of the mind to think these intimate paintings are 3000 years old. As we descended deep into the heart of the tomb, we arrived at the antechamber, the burial chamber, where the smashed sarcophagus of Ramses VI lay in the center of this basic pillared room. The ceiling recounts the Book of Day and Night with the goddess Nut (Sky goddess) unfolding across the ceiling swallowing the sun and creating the evening sky. The traditions, the sheer depth of their culture and its glorious depiction here in many of the tombs are challenges to conventional thought, and I couldn't help be struck by the sheer wonder that they knew something we don't.

"The soul of the Pharaoh, upon death here on earth, floats to the stars, the Duat," our guide instructed.

My mind whirled, it spun, and I wondered, if there was a tangible connection (beyond the historical timeline), not only between present-day man and the Ancient Egyptians, but whether the Ancient Egyptians had a tangible connection with the next realm. Did they know or understand something we have yet to discover? Are the stars of our night sky connected literally to the Duat? Is the Duat our modern conception of heaven? Or, more likely, was the Duat merely our depository upon our physical death in earth? Was the Duat our doorway into "life"? Where did this deeply ingrained philosophy of life, one so intensely concentrated on spirituality originate, and how could it have possibly been developed almost instantly? So, was this Egyptian civilization that we see as the beginning actually the culmination of another culture, another civilization?

I was utterly confounded, but so deeply intrigued, indeed, deep within, buried within the subterranean creases of my soul, I felt something, something moving, twisting, and there was one of the absolute, universal Truths here in the heart of our supposed beginnings. It wasn’t a thought, it wasn’t something logical or rational, and it wasn’t something that could be explained to the convincing of another, but it was there, something even beyond a feeling or sensation, but it was definitely there, and it existed within me. Yes, again, it struck me that I was not only insane, but that my "reality" had lost its wheels, and now floated somewhere off the beaten track, somewhere ironically within myself. However, and most dramatically, within my state of insanity and within a place that’s utterly insane, this Egypt, I began to feel an intense piece of sanity. And that scared me to a depth my soul scarcely has ever experienced, for I knew that this place, the ruins of this ancient Egypt portended of the end, not the beginning of Man.

***************

I sat on the balcony of our hotel room watching the orange globe pierce the gray early stillness of the morning. We've spent the past four days in Hurghada, Egypt's most popular resort town located on the coast of the Red Sea. More than fifteen years ago, Hurghada had been little more than a beach, but with the influx of vacationing Europeans, this strip of beach has been turned into a hotel-laden, touristed, conglomeration of money-seeking operations. There is no pattern to the town aside from the hotels lining the beach stretching for miles; it's an obscene sight especially when you are able to finally catch a glimpse the rich turquoise water of the Red Sea beyond the concrete. Although the beaches are bleak and drab, the Red Sea sparkles, the depth of the shimmering blue provides almost its own unique crayola color. After the rigors of chaotic Cairo and intense history of Luxor, the brilliant waters of the Red Sea have been a welcome vacation for us both, where our plunge into the sea is silent, unburdened; a place where I have tried to find my peace with returning to the States.

I sat looking over the village-like city to the sun rising over the small mountains on the horizon, I thought back to Luxor, to the grandeur of that place, to the fortuitous meetings with the American couple and the reporter, and this place, this remarkable Egypt. I couldn't help but think that even discussing the insanity of our country brought a remarkable amount of sanity to this place, Egypt. Our days now are filled with delving deep into the complex annals of the most remarkable ancient civilization, while dealing with the disarray of their modern world. It's a dichotomy that strikes at the heart of our Egyptian experience, and one that seems almost incomprehensible, a 3000-year old civilization that is more cultivated and cultured than its modern-day successors; indeed, one that was more cultivated than anything that exists on earth today.

I slipped inside our room and crawled back into bed next to Bren, flipping on the TV with the remote control. It's the first place we've had a television in almost seven months, and CNN headlines my stop. Seeing a television harbors so much beauty, the technology, the education, the entertainment, it's almost difficult to come to grips with, it stymies me; I feel like a person who has never seen neon before being dropped onto the "strip" in Las Vegas. The news flows from the box through the air and into my head, and I feel disorientated, loopy; so much information, so much detail, all wrapped in a ball of negativity. It consumes and smothers me. I want to turn it off, I want it to stop, but I can't seem to muster the will to press the small button at my fingertips. It's riveting, and yet I ache.

The upcoming worldwide environmental meeting headlines the news, and I prop up a pillow and listen to the report from China where the carbon emissions are increasing disproportionately with the rest of the world. The report explains that China places 14% of the world's carbons into the atmosphere and that the United States is now putting pressure on China's government to curb the impact to the environment as a result of their pseudo industrial revolution. The story begins to pick up speed as the Chinese are now enraged by America's soiled hand reaching across the Pacific Ocean and picking at its behavior. Their argument, America had its time to industrialize, and so how can they in good conscience tell us we cannot as well? How can America get off telling us to limit our carbon emissions of 14% when we have a full one-quarter of the world's population? Likewise, the report indicates that America has 4% of the world's population and contributes 23% of the carbon emissions into the atmosphere.

I press the button, and silence takes hold of our room. Bren tosses and put her arm around me as I stare, depressed and angry, at the ceiling fan above me. I think if the situation were reversed, if another country contributed one-fourth of the carbon emissions into the atmosphere, on their own profoundly stirring the pot of global warming, and they were telling America to limit their emissions, what would America say to this country?

I roll over and try and bury my head in the pillow, suddenly the noise from the street seems so loud, the light from the sun pierces through the closed curtains, and the once comfortable bed feels like a stiff board. The world closes in, and I feel cold, frigid. I desperately try but I can't get enough blankets to cover me my icy body. What gives us the right to single-handedly cause dramatic changes to the environment for the entire world, indeed for all of humanity, and then tell another country anything about their contribution? We are either all in this together, or we’re not. That’s the bottom line. If we are, then we need to cooperate to rectify this glaring problem, and do so all as equals. If not, we are all on our own, and we have no "right" to influence or request that another country do any different.

Does each one of us, as Americans, believe that we have some inherent right beyond other human beings? How can we, how can Sharon, the American reporter, actually believe that Americans value human life more than most other cultures, how? Is it just our own lives that we feel are so valuable? Because, I don't know how you can fairly make that statement when it seems we won't sacrifice for our own good, let alone for the betterment of our planet or the betterment of humanity. How can anyone proffer that we, Americans, care so profoundly about human life when we show such obvious indifference to the rest of the world? I thought about my first impressions of Bali, the Indonesians, when we sat eating lunch on garbage pile on the beach, and the seemingly reckless behavior toward human life with the boat stranded in the open sea.

Are we really any different? Maybe we are just better at creating the illusion that we care?

There is little doubt that we are the world's only superpower, but doesn't that include, like the inherent responsibility of a big brother, the responsibility of setting the example. We cannot simply take from the other brothers just because we are bigger and more powerful; otherwise, what does that say for us as a big brother? The responsibility for global warming lay principally with us, and until we as Americans take the initiative, until we make a concerted and marked change in our behavior toward preserving the environment, indeed toward preserving the world, we cannot possibly expect other to do so without us being the bully of the world. Indeed, we are "recklessly" patrolling the open sea without regard for the sanctity of human life. I throw the covers aside and hop out of bed. I open the door to the balcony and look over the railing to the throngs of people eight floors below. I wonder if we as Americans believe in Democracy only for ourselves, that it's the best system of governing Americans, but when it comes to the rest of the world, we believe in totalitarianism. We believe in controlling with the iron fist of hypocrisy and oppression, that individual freedom is only for us, that the world is our personal oyster, and of course, the shining precious pearl inside, well naturally, that's ours too.

***************

The chaos that surrounds us as we return to Cairo now seems almost fitting, designed; it represents the thread that has become my life. The hand of fate weaves its indelible stitch and my struggle through this growing madness has indeed become my path. In the muddled confusion, I sense the light, and yet, I still dare not turn towards it, it hurts. My body submits to the cold confusion instead, and I become lost. The taunting and jeering continue, people pull us from every direction, and I feel deeply the anger, the animosity; the streets of Cairo twist and turn our bodies and daunt our spirits. The dilemma freely frays our minds, our logic, and I waver between the cold confusion and the pain of the glaring light. We stand spinning in circles, bewildered by the disarray, disoriented; I am torn, yet bound. The light beckons for its servant, the strings tantalizingly vibrate their distinct call and I realize that what I seek is painfully found within the light, for the crystal firestone sings. It torments me, but we walk hand in hand toward that which we seek, and in its glaring brightness we sense the ever-illusive tentacles of absolute Truth. Within this blazing vortex, the pain is tempered only by its comfort, and I feel my soul being magnetically drawn by this invisible energy.

Yes, we walked finally amongst the giant pyramids of ancient Egypt, for the light had brought us to this mystical place. I felt it distinctly, and my soul lit up uncontrollably attracted by its truer source. We stood at the base of the Sphinx, its deteriorated head staring out over us and into the eastern sky. The Pyramid of Chephren stood just behind this remarkable testament, the smaller Pyramid of Mycerinus to the left, and of course, the Great Pyramid just to off to the right; they stood almost symmetrically diagonal to our position. As I gazed upon this timeless world I was stopped cold, paralyzed in awe. I could sense the magical mask of this sandy plateau, and I was sure it was one we have yet to remove. Its mysteries lay deeper than we know, and much like the light that draws me, the power exists beyond that which is seen. Again, it is within this dark unknown, ironically in this place of light, that the power, the Truth of our destiny, pulsates. My shackles now removed, we walked to the Great Pyramid where we sat together on a block of its massive foundation.

To see it, to touch it, to let its essence fill the senses, to be apart of this mountain of perfection, this pyramid of rock causes my body to explode with amazement. It is without compare on this earth, and I am blessed to be back within its strength, its opulent radiance. Each massive slice of rock weighs more than can be maneuvered by modern cranes (let alone transported), and yet they rise with precision to create a symmetrical pyramid over 450 feet tall. To think of the labor put into these structures, the teamwork, the preparation, the sheer knowledge, it may very well make it the greatest testament to man that we will ever see; it's that magnificent in its scale, its workmanship, its beauty and flawlessness. And somehow, the feeling persists within that this creation was not a singular testament to the Egyptian civilization as we presently believe. No, these magical prisms were only beginning strands of their knowledge for they were capable of things we only dream today.

We walk around its base, the titan rocks that form its being are now choppy, deteriorated and uneven, but the overall form is unmistakable. I look at the Pyramid of Chephren across the road and its tip is still encased in Tura limestone, a finely polished white limestone encasing, and it once evenly coated the outside of each pyramid. It shimmered and gave the appearance of a single sheet of smooth glimmering rock reaching high to the stars above. At one time, it covered the outside of this now exposed, disjointed underside, and I can see clearly a true glimpse of the majesty of these three wondrous marvels. I stand upon the plateau almost exactly where I did in my dream, and in this striking replay I see within these simple structures, the spark of our enlightenment, our true beginning and our future. I am distinctly reminded of Uluru, the Red Rock, and here I see our imposing destiny.

We completed the circle around its base and stood at the entrance, an opening into its intimate bowels. It grumbled with each step inward, each step upward into its pounding heart. We walked awkwardly through the Ascending Corridor into a place I’d been before, the Grand Gallery. We continued our way upward through this Gallery a 28-foot high vaulted ceiling cut into this massive pyramid to a seven-foot base. Simply, it boggles any human rationality—the architectural genius of this place. We push onward, sweating, inhaling the hot, muggy air of the bowels of this enticing beast. It's suffocating, yet profoundly calming. In this tranquility, something invisible dances through the air, something follows me. As the line of our group halts suddenly, I laugh, almost out loud, for I know that we don’t know—this place remains an utter mystery; only our arrogance as human beings blankets the Truth beneath the sands of Egypt.

I ponder the building of this awesome structural genius, these pyramids. The Greeks couldn't have built structures like these even 2000 years later, neither could the Romans; in fact, I am not convinced, even in the midst of possibly the greatest technological boon in the history of mankind, that we could today. It's a chilling realization, one that echoes through my mind as we stand in the hallowed King's chamber, in the core of the Great Pyramid. We wait patiently for the others to leave and we're alone, finally, in all our time in Cairo it's peaceful, quiet inside the heart of this mountain of limestone. By all accounts, it's just a plain rectangular room, and nonetheless it's a marvel in itself, to be cut within the belly of the mountain of rock, to withstand the enormous weight of this imposing structure for so many centuries. I stand in the stuffy confines of the room in silence, I touch its smooth walls, where I can see clearly the mammoth individual blocks—just how tightly, perfectly, they fit together, still after thousands of years, and I wonder where this technology came from?

Our technology today evolved from information gathered, analyzed, and built upon, layer upon layer, but our history shows no such evolution for the Egyptians. Where did this seed of technological prowess originate, because it just didn't appear out of thin air? And where did such deeply inspired spirituality emanate, because no society on earth has this type of reverence for life or death? As I gaze upon the inner core of this structure, I know it would take thousands of years to evolve technologically to the point of building such perfection, and yet profoundly, we have no such historical accounting. What I see before me literally rocks the foundation of conventional thought, and it sticks out like a brilliant light from a dark corner, that the reality of this marvel of engineering and beacon of spirituality has not yet been discovered. Something lies beyond in the "grayness" of the unknown; indeed the answers which lie buried in its sands are not "black and white," it pervades the soul. For it distinctly marks the path of our human lives within its rock, and within this "grayness," I have learned, simply, to be comfortable.

Again, it leaves me in absolute awe to be within its breast, feeling its every breath, knowing we don't know. I hearken back to Eebu's words, the seer, who told me of my past incarnation and also that I must make my way to the largest of the pyramids. She referred to Egypt as the "Land of the Lost" and now as I stand inside, within her majesty, I wonder what she saw, what I am to see now, what seed has been planted here? What seed is within me? It strikes me profoundly, this primitive, uneducated woman in Indonesia speaking to me about the pyramids in the "Land of the Lost." It strikes at the heart of the unconventional, the heart of disbelief. Indeed, she told me that this would be my time of "balance," and ironically, in this marvel of symmetry I feel nothing but asymmetry. In a place filled with answers about our origins, there seems only more questions.

As I lean against the wall of the chamber lost in a winding maze of imbalance, it's completely serene. It provides me with a palpable sense of security, even strength. I feel it growing stronger with each breath, I feel the power of Giza. With each exhaled breath, I take and inhale its essence, and it fills my lungs, my entire body, and takes me in its profound hold. Fate has me now. It strikes me that it's much like faith, in that logic, the rational mind, can only take you so far. Ironically, the erudite Eebu taught me this, and I returned to her statement that something exists here for me. Faith then grabbed my hand, and the interlocking fingers of logic and faith then became one and together we began the pilgrimage safely, securely, into the darkness beyond. Somehow these pyramids represent this, there is something here beyond words, beyond our current comprehension, there is something purely magical and yet altogether integral to being human, something which lies mysteriously here in the plateau of Giza, something here in the Land of the Lost.

Here, buried in the wind-blown sands of Giza are the ruins, the written records, the dynasty of Man; perhaps it was the end of Spiritual Man himself. Yet, I feel a palpable sense of strength from what once was, and I see the white-haired man sitting Buddha-like upon an upside-down prism, which distributes a colorful rainbow of energy. This is not a dream, and it is not an apparition; I stand in the King’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid with Bren, but I feel this dream’s truth, I feel his presence, he and the seven are before me now. From the Duat, a melodic voice croons: "Release, and I shall teach you the path of your forgotten ancestors."

Time and Space within this realm of materiality is necessary to understand one’s self, to be himself. Only by exhibiting this self in a world of cause and effect does a Man subject his actions to a record—one establishing an "evolution." Through the search for purpose and meaning in a material, cause and effect world does one begin the journey toward understanding and awareness. Again, from the darkness of suffering we can, with the inherent tools we’ve been given, begin to understand and learn of Self. From the light of Nature, we begin to become aware of ourselves as an individual being connected to Nature, the earth, and beyond in the infinite. With patience and faith, we begin to understand and experience what those dolphins always seemed to know, that is of the continuity of life within this realm of the finite. So, when one seeks and explores the darkness, embraces the suffering to grow and know Self, and then experiences the light of Nature and becomes aware of Self as a continuation of life rather than life itself, the inevitable result is a discovery of the unity, of oneness with all. With this grand discovery, one innately sees the light of selfless action, and once this realization is undertaken in the form of action, the golden bridge of destiny unfolds and is brightly illuminated for the individual. This process as a whole is built materially into this realm, into this magnetic earth and into us, for it is the "underlying pattern of the universe."

With this resounding blessing, I was released from the powerful, pervasive grip of the Great Pyramid. I knew instantly that I had found a strength, through the application of those spiritual laws in materiality, that would pierce the confusion and chaos, and I could walk confident to the light within the darkness. So, I walked toward it, and as I plunged into the stinging pain of the light I realized that it is only the pain of absolute Truth, one that I may not fully understand but one that doesn't make it any less a reality. It is my choice to bear this pain, this sufferance, or to avoid it and thereby spin it furiously into the world around me. It beats within me now, as I walk with trepidation to this scant, focused light within the darkness and I hold the blood-drenched lily tightly in my sweaty grip. This light grows brighter, blinding and then utterly consumes me in its wonder, its allure, and it pervades my body, mind and spirit, I am One, and I know. I know within that moment that I am finally, finally home.

***************

Unexpectedly, we found ourselves once again on the overnight train from Cairo to Luxor. Over the past few days we have recklessly scoured the city in search of the cheapest plane tickets into London, and upon doing so, our tickets depart from Luxor instead of Cairo. The trip is ending. I look out at the same dilapidated buildings, and pain of the journey concluding rips through my body; my chest grows heavy, my heart beats wildly, my palms feel moist, and I grip Bren's hand. Tears crease my eyes as I shake my head, "I can't believe that it's almost over."

"Me either babe," Bren remarked as she began to cry as well, "But wow, what a run, huh?"

"Yeah, what a run," I said almost rhetorically as I peered once again out the window at the buildings. I knew that as the trip was ending, the struggle was just beginning. Just as when we had begun the trip, I realized that the essence of life was in the struggle, it was bound in the fight it had taken to get there, and as the trip is ending I actually feel the wisdom in that statement. I look back over the past seven months, my evolution is tangible, my life enriched, and for better or worse, my path established. Interestingly, where I once thought that the struggle would end on some level at the conclusion of the trip, I now see that it's merely the genesis. Egypt has been like a brief glimpse into the future, the chaos and confusion, which will soon engulf my life, my destiny, my struggle, and yet in the Great Pyramid, I found the strength, I found the light to guide me through the turmoil and hopefully even beyond to fulfillment. Within the Great Pyramid rises the Phoenix of existence, and it now beats within. I have touched my truest beginnings. I actually returned to the light of creation. I see beyond my skin now to touch the rolling path of humanity, and in it I see two choices on the floor before me. The white-haired man speaks in images, and just as I know the choice I had to make, so must we all.

On this same floor before me, I see it clearly, just as I see the buildings, the "reality" outside flashing before me, the imposing path through this realm for us all. I see the path stretching out almost endlessly, and rising, rising, upward into the darkness. I see now that our philosophical way of life is wholly destructive from its inner core, and even worse, it is destroying our essence as human beings. It now comes from within, this penetrating desire to live in the material, the physical, to drench our souls in the acidic waters of covetous need and gluttony. Because our souls are now filled with satisfaction of the flesh, we have blindly created the inner workings of our own personal destruction. This planet rocks as the stars fall from their strings in the night, the sun flairs out, and the moon turns devil red. The flesh of man rapidly decays as if covered in acid and the land smothered by lambs dead, slain from the double-edged swords we created. A hardened voice booms through the sky that is being rolled up into a ball at the edge of the horizon: Who needs Satan when you have humans? As my flesh is eaten away and I fade into the arms of Death, I fear not, for I realize that I found death long ago and I inhaled it every day that I lived here on earth.

The other path is of Oneness. This path is unified; it leads not to utopia, but merely to stability and balance. It is our ideal, a lesson we can learn from the undisturbed nature in New Zealand, one that embodies the essence of human creation and harnesses its future within the fragile fingers of destiny. It all begins with understanding what has happened to us and to precisely what depths we have fallen; it is looking within to "see" the blood of the slain lamb upon our sticky fingers. We must look to our blood-stained hands to see that this is of our creation, and in this destructive contortion, we have not only sullied our image as souls, but that of God’s. We are lost, disconnected, much like the people of Zimbabwe who live to see AIDS ravage their friends and family. However, we are not without hope. We begin with creating a higher state of awareness and meaning that exists for us all—we begin with the lily, the innocence and purity that remains within us, within the pattern. We begin with the connection of our spirits and fostering faith between us. The light of forevermore does exist within our souls, I breathe its life in this realm, I touch the grandeur of our underlying pattern, within this glorious universe and I sense absolutely that, yes the struggle has begun with each of us.

The bloody slain lamb and the soft white lily remain on the floor.

And the choice is ours.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.