A priest delves into his dark past in Ancient Egypt
It is a bright cool day in the city I have come to love, I stand in the fresh air outside my little crystal shop and enjoy the busyness of the city. The sunshine dazzles as the crisp air bites into my cheeks.
I sense my client walking up the street. To say that he emanates tension would be an understatement, he is wound up tight. While I occupy myself tidying crystals inside the shop, Bryony, the leaner and sharper of my two assistants, welcomes him.
I notice something unusual. Her bright and easy-going demeanour has given way to something different, she is cold and aloof. Although she has done her job well, I sense there is something about this man she does not like.
She sends him upstairs to my session room and once out of earshot I turn to her.
“What’s with you this morning?”
“I’m not too partial to priests. They give me the creeps.”
His occupation explains his tension. He is concerned that one of his congregation may spot him entering my shop, a forbidden zone in his subculture. But not for him, not today.
I catch up with him at the top of the stairs and as we enter my small session room his eyes widen as he looks at the crystal mandala on the floor, which we will both lie in. His discomfort is apparent, he must need to see me badly.
A bead of sweat runs down his temple as tells me he senses there is some energy present that he can’t put his finger on that is preventing him moving forward in life. The colleagues he has confided in cannot help him and lately he has been experiencing chest pains that are mystifying his doctor. He has been referred to me by a friend.
When he is a bit more relaxed, we lie in the beautiful mandala that will trigger our expanded state of consciousness. We close our eyes and unusually we find ourselves in utter nothingness. Often my client will naturally take us to the key issue that affects their lives. Today we find ourselves in the void and I sense he is feeling apprehensive.
It is okay this is quite normal. I telepath,stretching the truth. In this place we can find out exactly what the challenge is. You have x-ray vision, scan your body tell me if you notice anything unusual or uncomfortable.
He looks down at his body and sure enough he sees immediately what I have been seeing since he entered my shop.
Holy Mary… Oh, no! Do you see what I’m seeing?
Tell me exactly what you see. I do not want to lead him.
In my chest next to my heart I see something, it is shaped like a mummy and has hieroglyphics on it. Why do I feel so afraid?
I know why.
Say out loud after me, “Body I command you show me the moment this came to be here, show me NOW.”
As our movement accelerates, the nothing we are in changes to a blur of images and feelings that could be stars and constellations or lifetimes full of joy and sadness. We are time traveling.
We approach a large stepped pyramid from above and pass easily through the huge stone slabs into a central, beautifully decorated, “burial” chamber, which is so much more than that. It is humid, well lit by oil lamps and I can smell sesame oil. There are two men waiting for us, they look lean and stern. They are totally shaved and appear very clean, each is wearing a white linen robe with a gold embroidered sash.
Rather than travel to a graphic recall generated by the client, we have travelled through time and space, where these men are waiting for us in their current time. They are not spirits, they are not memories, they are alive and they are expecting us.
They speak in an ancient dialect, simultaneously telepathing us the reason for their cold rage. My client is standing next to me, his mouth gaping, he is way out of his depth.
I decide to speak on his behalf, telepathing our ancient hosts.
Please show us when, how and why you placed this talisman inside my friend.
They look at each other, shrug their shoulders and take us to the time and place where this all started.
We see my client as a high priest, a member of their order, respected, powerful, arrogant and flawed. He is a good-looking man, years of focused study in the esoteric arts, combined with an austere but well nourished lifestyle have left him looking quite handsome. He knows it and he cannot resist flirting with the virgin, novice priestesses that also serve in their order.
The inevitable happens and he consummates a relationship with a shy, impressionable young woman. At this point he ruins not only her life, but his life at that time and every other subsequent incarnation up until our present.
Her teachers notice a change in their behaviour and she spills the beans. They are angry with her but surprisingly compassionate. Her punishment is to be expelled from temple in disgrace, her family dishonoured, her life destroyed.
For him, nobody has any compassion whatsoever. He watches in horror and shame his own past life trial and slow, painful ritual execution.
They cut open his chest, moving his still beating heart, pushing the cursed talisman into his chest cavity, while chanting. His screams are not just about the agony he dies in. He is utterly terrified because he knows this talisman will affect every incarnation from now on. Traveling with him in his etheric body forever, destroying any chance of future happiness or fulfilment.
They sew his chest back together and leave him to die alone. The priests are happy with their work, they have rectified an imbalance and everything in their world returns to normal. My client has been cursed.
These Ancient Egyptian priests were really smart. They knew at some stage he would return with a priest or shaman like myself, trying to undo what was done in their time. So they have placed themselves in a trance, entered no time-space and waited patiently for his return.
I have to use all my negotiating skills, learned growing up in a tough neighbourhood where everyone seemed to be bigger, stronger and meaner than me. At one stage I even raise a smile from them. It takes an age to persuade them that his penance is complete. Reluctantly they remove the etheric Talisman from my sobbing client and we depart returning to our present time.
There is some irony in the fact that his present order has recently been exposed in the media for doing exactly what he did so long ago. He assures me he is passionate about ensuring those responsible are brought to justice and punished. The Universe has a dry sense of humour.
He takes his leave and as the shop door closes Bryony turns to me, one eyebrow arched.
“So, did you sort the philanderer out?”
“He has suffered enough.”
“Five thousand years was barely enough.” She smiles.
All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming