Spring 2000


This is the second part of a continuing series. I would like to brief the readers on a different history of Egypt before we continue. Edgar Cayce, in his psychic readings, dated the construction of the Great Pyramid around 10,500 BC According to him, the Egyptian civilization was present many years before due to the influx of many of the Atlanteans who had fled into this area as the destruction of their continent appeared evident due to misuse of their advanced technology. About this time, a priest was born just north of the state of Egypt with many psychic and seer abilities who foresaw a great culture being established along the Nile region. Ra Ta, the priest, and his people invaded Egypt overthrowing the ruling class while establishing many new economic, social, and humanitarian reforms. Many new temples were constructed to bring the people back to the worship of the one Creator. These including the Temple of Beautiful, the Temple of Sacrifice, and many temples that aided the awakening of human consciousness and awareness in the creative aspect of the individual spirit.

After much turmoil with Ra Ta being banished and finally returning to Egypt, the idea of the Great Pyramid was born. The architect was Hermes Trismegistus, in Egyptian lore, a god of great accomplishment . It took 100 years to complete and was not built with sand ramps while slaves pulled the stone blocks over wood poles as archaeologist have guessed. According to Cayce, "stone was moved much the same way iron floats on water". Also, according to Cayce the tools and machines that help build the pyramid will be found in a tunnel between the Great Pyramid and the Sphinx, when mankind is ready for the information. This seems to indicates a need for a shift of consciousness from our present state of being to a much higher evolution.

The story of the early Egyptian culture can be found in many of Edgar Cayce’s readings or in the book Edgar Cayce:Origin and Destiny of Man . I, for one, accept Cayce’s contention of the building of the Great Pyramid, not because it is way out in left field and sensational, but because it makes more sense than what Archaeologist’s are telling us. When other disciplines are brought in to study Egypt; astronomers, machinist, architects, geologists, the more in doubt the present day archaeologist’s theories become and the more they begin to parallel Cayce’s time frames. Secondly, going out on a limb, I know I helped build the pyramids and we never moved the blocks the way they said we did. We weren’t that stupid! With this in mind, we continue.



The infamous EgyptAir Flight 990, which six months later was to crash into the Atlantic, arrived in Cairo around 4:30 on a hot Sunday afternoon. It was May 16th. Our soon-to-be spoiled group collected our luggage as Ahmed Fayed, our guide, pulled the first of his many strings to get us preferential treatment. While the remaining passengers of our flight lined up to go through customs, Ahmed sought out a high ranking customs official who looked at our closed bags stacked on a trolley, looked at us, exchanged quips and brotherly pats, then escorted us to the door. This was done in ten minutes or less. We drove around the airport for a short time while waiting to pick up a German couple who was to be a part of our ARE group.

From the airport, our new air conditioned bus journeyed through the city of Cairo making it’s way through bumper to bumper traffic rarely exceeding thirty miles per hour while I clung tight fisted to my seat admiringly as cars and horse-pulled carts merged and flowed dangerously close, ever conscious of each other and, to me, ever conscious of the grace of God. How they drove here without any defined lanes, without any accidents, without any stoplights, was a miracle by itself!

Within an hour, we were within sight of the Giza plateau which yielded probably the most photographed wonder of the world. Even from a distance, the pyramids hold a sacred mystique and magnificence that fill your heart with a sense of awe and puzzlement. Intuitively, you have a feeling that they were built by a highly evolved race and our present day theories are at best laughable and degrading to our intelligence. Soon we were at the Mena House, an exclusive 1100 room hotel. It’s large swimming pool and tropical courtyard were less than one-half mile from the Great Pyramid. I was assigned to share a room with two others in the main building on the second floor. It had four balconies to view the Great Pyramid and the main street below, a bath and a half, a dining room , two bedrooms, and a living room with a television and study desk. I immediately showered, feeling so very human from the eleven hour non-stop flight and knowing it had been way past the guarantee on my twenty-four hour deodorant. Our group met for supper in one of the seven restaurants of the hotel that was to be our regular meeting place from then on while we discussed our itinerary for the next day. It was a day that I had waited for since I first read about the Great Pyramid. That evening, I couldn’t sleep even though logic stated I was tired; jet lag, sleeping upright in an airplane, time change, long hours. At 3:30 am, I turned on TV to the BBC channel, then to a local network. I have to admit I’ve never really cared for the British accent, even though I butcher one now and then when I’m acting silly and I couldn’t understand the local tongue. So I took an hour to do some yoga and then meditated to relax. Finally, I fell asleep for an hour or so, only to be awakened by the sound of the Muslim prayers over a local bullhorn greeting the dawn of a new day with thanksgiving to Allah. After breakfast, our group met outside the lobby of the hotel, piled in the bus, turned right outside the hotel complex, passed a few waving guards at a nearby gate, drove up a short incline to waa-laa, the Great Pyramid. Motionless before us erected on a bedrock base , 2.2 million blocks of stone stacked 484 feet high, 785 feet by 785 feet on a square base, taking up some thirteen acres, stood the last remaining of the Seven Wonders of the World. The stones comprising this edifice weigh between 2 1/2 tons to seventy tons. Our cameras worked overtime getting all the desired angles, zooming in to capture the entrance, zooming out to get the apex, in the meantime reminding each other to close our astonished mouths when posing for pictures. The rest of the morning and some of the afternoon was spent walking around the various temples and sites located near the Great Pyramid and, most important, getting our entrance pass to spend three sacred but intimate hours inside the pyramid that evening. Our group had voted to wait to eat a late supper making our time in the Pyramid a priority. I, myself, had taken some other precautions Since I was sure that I possessed the world’s smallest bladder, I was careful to ration my water prior to our evening affair. Once the entrance gate was shut, we would be locked in for three hours. If we came out early, we couldn’t get back in. I didn’t want that or to be squirming around in agony with a full bladder. It was shortly after dark when we pulled up to the north face of the Great Pyramid. The entrance side was lit up from the bottom to the top. An evening laser light show would soon start on the opposite face of the pyramid. We zigzagged our way up the carved stone path to the entrance which was about thirty feet above the base. There were twelve of us now as we had picked up two other ARE members from another tour group who had paid extra for the privilege that was included with our package. The guards, some clothed in white with dark rifles strapped to their sides, others in their long flowing gallaberos, noddingly smiled as we went inside, probably wondering what the Americans thought the big deal was. Once inside, the atmosphere noticeably cooled and became more humid. The sandstone passageway was well lit. I ran my hands along the walls feeling the course texture and wondering if this was really happening.

Our group proceeded another sixty feet into the interior coming to a three-pronged fork along the walk. Being familiar with the schematic drawing of the interior, I chose first to take the fork to the left entering the descending passageway that led to the Pit, a 25 foot by 35 foot room fifteen feet high located about 30 feet below the base of the pyramid. To get to the Pit, a 230 foot descent at a fifteen degree angle had to be traversed first. This passageway was three and a half foot square with two by four lumber steps nailed on a plywood floor. Having to slouch over made the trip arduous. Half way down I stopped to rest. My paranoid mind began to consider the million pounds per square inch pressure on the ceiling from all the weight of the stone above me and wondered, after all these years, what happened if it gave in now. My logical part answered that I’d be crushed flatter than a pancake so why was I even considering it. After about a ten minute descent, I reached the bottom gratified to stand erect again on level ground and a little warmer from my adventure. Craig Batson, one of our group members, had proceeded before me. One part of the room was cordoned off and a passageway continued well below groundlevel. No light shown here so we couldn’t see how deep or far this part went. The rest of the room was nothing extraordinary. The ground rose gradually from the entrance level to the back creating a gradual rise to different floor levels. This room looked unfinished and rough. Several bedrock chips were scattered along ledges that had been created by unfinished carved walls. I picked up one and put it in my pocket, perhaps a souvenir for a friend back home in Kansas. After Craig left, I stopped to listen to the sound of total quietness. My mind felt expansive, relaxed, stimulated. Six billion people on the planet and I was only one of twelve people taking up the energy of the Great Pyramid. What a truly special and grateful moment that was! After about twenty minutes alone in the deepest part of the pyramid, I started back up. I couldn’t help but think symbolically that the Pit could be associated with the Dark Night of the Soul, and how, through our darkest hour of emotional despair, we seem to descend into a deep undiscovered cavern or recess of our soul.

I finally made my way back to the entrance of the descending passageway. Turning right found me back at the fork. Looking up, I could see the safety railing placed at the entrance of the Grand Gallery. Directly ahead lay the entrance to the Queen’s Chamber, another three and a half foot square passage. Getting down on my hands and knees to save my tired back, I crawled the next thirty feet into a room fifteen feet by twenty feet. The Queen’s Chamber was fitted with large monolithic blocks that extended the full width of the twelve foot high ceiling. In the center of the east wall was a small cutout that receded some fifteen feet and then abruptly stopped. The small structure resembled a miniature Grand Gallery. The remaining walls of this chamber were built with giant stones fitted tightly against each other allowing only the seams to be visible. Loreena, an elderly grandmother from California, sat comfortably on the floor, feet folded, content to spend the evening in this her favorite room. I sat next to her, the wall supporting my back, and spent the next twenty minutes meditating. Once again, my brain received an expansive sensation while my third eye pulsated to the beat of my heart. I had no visions, no exceptional or rare insights, no contact from ancient Egyptian initiates long since abiding in another dimension. It was relaxing, however, even though this feeling was shared with excitement. Not long after I opened my eyes. The sound of a long drawn out OM filled the corridors of the pyramid produced in unison by the rest of the group in the King’s Chamber directly above us. . It was surely the most beautiful harmony I have ever heard from human voices. It was as if the stone itself consciously edited any renegade or obnoxious notes from the chorus. It sent a chill through my body. Paul Horn before recording his CD, Inside the Great Pyramid, noted that the pyramid itself has a natural sound too low to be heard by the human ear yet easily measured with instruments. Theories abound as to this but the most reasonable seems to be that the pyramid amplifies that natural sound/frequency of the earth. I probably spent a full forty-five minutes in the Queen’s Chamber before I crawled back through the portal and back to the fork. I stood up, took a few steps upward to the safety railing, and entered the Grand Gallery.

The Grand Gallery got its’ name because it is just that. This huge cavity within the Great Pyramid is a full 150 feet long, 15 feet wide, with a 30 foot high ceiling. The whole gallery ascends at a 15 degree angle with the walls beveled inward 6 to 8 inches every four feet or so making the bottom or the floor wider than the top or the ceiling, if you will. I marveled at its’ size and the engineering mastery while I once again brought to mind the tremendous pressures that the ceiling was supporting from the remaining stones above it. And yet here it stood with no sign of deterioration, other than pillaging from grave robbers and perspiration from visitors, or damage from earth shifts after thousands of years. I don’t know how long it took me to walk from the bottom to the top end of the Grand Gallery. It becomes a little harder for me to distinguish time when I walk with my mouth wide open.

From the Grand Gallery, you walk through a small corridor called the Ante Chamber, then back down on your knees for a short ten foot crawl into the King’s Chamber. This room is 15 feet wide by 25 foot long all done in huge red granite blocks with the traditional Egyptian snug fit. Even the 15 foot ceiling sports red granite blocks with some of these weighing up to 70 tons. Spaced five feet from the west wall is the infamous sarcophagus minus the lid. One top corner of it’s rectangular shape has been damaged exposing the quality of the red granite used. It is eight feet long by three feet wide. Our group members took turns laying inside the structure. I refrain here from calling it a burial tomb since no mummy was ever found here or inside the Great Pyramid. Elizabeth Haich in her book Initiation suggested it was used for initiation rites, the equivalent of our Native American visionquest. Edgar Cayce confirmed this and even went on to volunteer that Jesus and John the Baptist were both initiated inside this pyramid. The thought that I was in the same room where the Master soul we call Jesus had been was very humbling. When it was my turn to lay in the sarcophagus, I folded my arms across my chest, closed my eyes, and began to meditate. Within a short time, I experienced the feeling of rocking from side to side, even though I knew I was stationery, as a warmth radiated into my lower back. I soaked up the energy. I spent a full ten minutes in the sarcophagus allowing the next person to take their turn.

In the middle of the north and south walls just below eye level are two shafts approximately 8 inches square that lead away from the King’s Chamber at 45 degree angles. A few years back, a German team manufactured a remote control robot that ventured up these shafts to explore. Imagine the surprise of the archaeologists when the robot discovered a gate blocking the upper part of one of the shafts made out of copper, a refined metal supposedly not known or available to the Egyptians. My, how those backward Egyptians seem to surprise our modern day intellectuals! Regardless, these shafts were thought to be for ventilation even though others have purposed their angles point to particular stars and/or constellations in the night sky.

Our group spent the remaining time in the King’s Chamber laughing, exchanging theories and facts, capturing the moment. I wish I could tell you that I had some great cosmic happening like Napoleon Bonaparte or the writer/yogi Paul Brunton experienced in their time at the pyramid, but to say that would not be true. I can say that the Great Pyramid is an engineering masterpiece of shear size and majesty. Present day theories of its use include it being a burial chamber, temple of initiation, and a generator that was able to capture the earth’s natural waves and amplify them for us as energy. Of these, the last two seem most plausible to me . Our present day of understanding of their construction methods is evident from an experiment a few years back. Workers tried to erect a 60 foot square pyramid using modern day machinery They abandoned the operation after a few . months leaving the few quarried stones they had set in poor disarray obviously questioning their present day theories.

Our group walked out in the now cool but comfortable night grateful for the experience and loaded the bus to return to the hotel. I squirmed a bit, thanked my bladder for it’s patience, and promised it relief very, very soon.

Dale Michael Martin is the owner of White Dove. Namaste’.



During the summer of 1969, Sara and I attended a meditation workshop in northern Georgia. Then, through a man who claimed he remembered lives on other planets, we were introduced to Elsie, the most loving, playful, and frightening person we have ever met.

Saying that she had set up stages all over the world for the initiation of young people into the mysteries of the perpetual practice of the presence of God, Elsie sent us off to collect three of our best friends. She said that when we returned there would be someone there greater than she--who would feed all of us. A week later we returned to Georgia with our friends. We spent our days with Elsie in her cabin in the backwoods where, under her guidance, we had experiences which defied conventional reality--including traveling backwards in time, communicating with discarnate entities, fleeing from alien forces, attempting to rescue one of her students who had been captured by magicians. Thirty years later, these themes are the staple of movies, TV, and much of pop-literature. Thousands of people, from traditional ministers and physicians to quantum physicists and military intelligence officers have seen crop circles, UFO’s, endangers. Spiritual Emergency Networks are responding to "abduction experiences" which were formerly lumped together with schizophrenia. Elsie said it would take twenty-five years for us to understand what had happened to us. From the very first, however, we all recognized that our time with her was full of wonderful interludes of feeling loved, appreciated, and honored beyond anything we personally merited. Sara and I were twenty-two years old. What happened exploded our preconceptions and changed our lives.

The following sequence, from The Chymical Cook, A True Account of Mystical Initiation in the Georgia Woods, illustrates how Elsie wove themes through our experience with her. Ought up in inter-dimensional excitement, I had just mumbled something about poetry being an attempt to match inner and outer reality.

Elsie, who was somewhere between fifty and seventy, totally vital, with short strawberry-blond hair, and brilliant crystal-blue eyes, responded by reciting take-offs on nursery rhymes but ended by leaning forward, her arms swinging slowly, wearing her mustard seed crystal bracelet, weaving plant life into the earth, her voice husky:

"It’s a balloon, you know, my children. It’s an oven raising bread from hot slabs. We’re fish in the ocean with Jonah Running from the whale with the crabs. But the ship of the creature who fights her, The shell he secretes from dead trees, Will sink like a rock if he ignores her, Will fall to the bottom of dead seas. So sing now of boulders which bubble. So sing now of lava which spews. For the vision of Mama is monstrous But without her the secret must lose."

"Lose what?" I asked startled. "The hot moisture between the lines, the blood which makes our bones grow. Did you know," she gazes out the window, "the moon grows by feeding on us? None of our joking stops that." I hear myself whispering: "Who is Melchizedek?" Blue eyes sad, Elsie lights a cigarette, and watches white smoke curl in the light, then, stubbing it out, says: "There are Orders of the Right and of the Left. I want to write poetry. Sara wants to nurture us. You want to do good. But we don’t always know what we are doing is right or left. The opposite of right is not wrong. The opposite of wrong is not always right. " Melchizedek took tithes from Abraham. Melchizedek from Sarah. King and Queen of Salem, they offered their children. Jesus and Mary loved each other. Her hair on his feet. His fingers along her neck. Their breath in each other. Their children could rule the world in kindness and grace if it were not for... If we could just...."

"What, Elsie?" Sara asks, concerned. Her eyes on Sara, almost pleading, Elsie says: "We’ve carried it longer than I can remember. It’s almost time for you to take over. " "How?" Sara asks. Leaning forward, her arms around Sara’s middle, she says: "Even while you raise children, you will be doing it. But we do something else, too. We understand. It’s the work, in here. " She pats Sara’s solar plexus. "And here." She leans back and points to Sara’s heart. "What we give of ourselves. There are no words for it." She points to Sara’s head.

"And for you, Jay, it’s hard." She looks over at me. "Elsie here, Elsie there. You remember, don’t you, how I used to sing to you when you were a little boy? In German?

The Asra are my kinfolk-- They who die when love befalls them."

Humming, haunting repeating the refrain, Elsie turns her attention to Sara. "Sing to your children. Work with Jay on stories. Rewrite the fairy tales. Give them better endings. Not just light. Beauty and truth, but also purpose, shadow and direction. Don’t repeat the old patterns." Filled with emotion, I say: "My mom sang to me."

"She held you to the light." Elsie whispers: "I’m here to break the window. "

* * *

Break the window? The transparent barrier between inside and outside? The frame through which I had safely viewed the world? Today, in order to cope with the almost overwhelming cascade of information, much of it monstrous, we tend to avoid the broader reality. I think what Sara and I went through with Elsie in 1969 is analogous to what many in our society are experiencing now, at the turn of the century. Elsie said we must open our windows, even if that means breaking them. I asked Elsie how much we would remember? She said it would come back to us as the patterns she was laying down at that point found references in our futures. She said she was working with heightened exchange, purposefully charging us up so that we would eventually remember. She also insisted that we had to be the judges of everything which she revealed to us or we experienced with her. We had to be responsible for what was true or helpful and dismiss everything else; that this was the key to the future development of our race. When I sat down to write, in 1994, my memory was flooded with vivid details, but it was difficult to present the experience in narrative form. Elsie carried on several conversations at once. We all recognized an urgent purpose behind her technique which often left us totally baffled. We were certain that no one outside our group would have the slightest idea what we were experiencing. Generally we only vividly remember things which forced us into non-ordinary consciousness--whether it was something radically unexpected, fantastically beautiful, or frightening. Elsie used all those modes of stimulating memory. Obviously, what I remember comes through the filter or story-frame Elsie used in organizing my experience with her--primarily the Western Mystery Tradition. I happen to think it provides a mythic system the understanding of which is critical to my self-evaluation and progress. But I also recognize that she spoke to others in our group through different filters. In the tradition of the magus, Elsie said she could only answer questions which had been asked. As a type of lifeboat to stay afloat on what felt like a cosmic waterfall of images impacting me on multiple levels, I kept asking about poetry. Elsie’s words were like seeds which only ripened much later. That afternoon I was clinging to an earlier discussion in which Elsie had told me that she defined poetry as the crystallization of the essence of an emotional experience and asked me to try to understand why every creature, right down to our base cells, feels threatened and tries to defend itself. I’m still trying to decide, as Elsie required in regard to all of her "teachings," whether what she said was true, in some aesthetic sense, or simply intended, like so much of what she did, to force me to think for myself. Elsie claimed that she was a member of an ancient sisterhood rooted in the Black Forest, also a lawyer, archaeologist, alchemist, and representative of the spiritual hierarchy working with the evolution of consciousness on earth. Above all, she was a cook whose only interest was in perpetually practicing the presence of the divine in everyday life. For a text, she referred us to the letters of Brother Lawrence, the 17th Century lay brother who cooked for the bare-foot Carmelite monks in Paris. Today, many of us are struggling with information implosion and a mounting fear of ecological catastrophe. Theoretical physicists and alchemists agree that "reality" is mysterious, paradoxical, and deeply dependent on our role in the experiment. Elsie said: We are all characters in archetypal stories we are re-writing together." Therefore she insisted on constructing an exciting story with a good ending. Elsie taught that if we are to avoid the horrors of the past we must learn that "the lives we live are up to us!" That lesson is even more desperately needed today.

Jay Bremyer’s most recent books are The Chemical Cook: A true account of Mystical Initiation in the Georgia Woods (published by Barrytown/Station Hill), and The Dance of Created Lights: A Sufi Tale (published by New Falcon). Both are available from local bookstores and amazon.com. Contact Jay at (316)654-3695 or bremyer@midusa.net.


By Veston Embray

To grow as spiritual being on this physical plane, we must first recognize and learn three major rules, or should I say lessons:

1. Everything, no matter how vile disgusting

or hurtful that it may appear to be is in actuality a glorification of the Creator and of being alive itself.

2. Faith is totally illogical, irrational, and most of all fantastic, and

3. Life is what you make of it, and it is not the surrounding circumstances that put limits on your personal potential.

A lot of my friends know that I stopped going to church at the age of twelve. However, very few of them know the reason why. At the age of eight I was sexually abused by a member of our church, someone who was considered a friend of the family. On Friday nights my family would often go to the auction. I could not stand the cigarette smoke there, so I asked if I could stay home. My parents agreed and left. Around 8:20 PM, this man, this friend of the family came by to visit, and I not knowing better, let him in. After finding out that I was home alone, he overpowered me-and did what he wanted. Now some might call it the minds way of releasing one from pain and trauma, but I believe that it was something much more than that. I could not physically cope with what was happening to my body, so I left. I ran out of my body down the hall and through the back wall of our house and out into the back yard. I stood there, just stood there shaking and panting, not knowing where to run to next. All I could see was darkness and the stars above. All I knew, all I felt was that I was alone, and that’s when it happened. It was at that moment when I felt a hand touch my right shoulder and I heard a voice say, "You know you must go back." And I said, "but I don’t want to go back," as I turned to see who it was that was talking to me. All of a sudden everything went white and then I woke up screaming. The man had left and I was alone again. I sat there until my family arrived. I was afraid to move. I told by mother and father what had happened to me, and, in essence, they did nothing. My father was a deacon and I guess they decided to leave it in God’s hands. As I look back on it now, I think my parents were more afraid of what others might think or what others might say. I don’t blame them. People didn’t talk about things like that. Shortly after that event, I started to read the Bible. I read it everyday. I wanted to know the Being whom god had sent to speak to me that night. I wanted to know if it was the Creator itself. I became saturated with the word and spoke to God everyday. I was doing fine and then it happened. My own ego took over. I became judgmental. The illusion of how perfect my faith was compared to others overwhelmed me. In my arrogance I began preaching to members of my family as well as others saying such things as "The Bible says"....., and "your going to hell if you don;t stop"...... All that time I couldn’t see inside. I couldn’t see people at all. What had started for me as a quest for God and righteousness had turned into self-righteousness which is, in fact, unrighteousness. My own ego and self pride controlled my every action. But the Creator has It’s own way to snap us back into reality-and my lesson came into the form of my brother Isaac. On April 4th of 1989, my brother committed suicide. Isaac and his girlfriend were going through hard times. She was pregnant and was becoming more hostile toward him, so Isaac had moved back home. My brother liked to drink. He drank alot, and on the night of the 4th, Isaac was drunk. At 9:30 PM the phone in the hall rang out. Isaac answered it. It was his girlfriend. The conversation turned into an argument. I remember this well because I was in the living room watching television. I was the last person my brother talked to after that phone call. He told me that she said that "The baby inside of her was not his child." I said nothing. Isaac then said, "I’m tired. I’m going to my room." "Things will work out. Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning," I said. He said, "I love you", and then he went downstairs. At 1:15 am I awoke to hear my mother screaming. Something inside of her told her to tell my father to go downstairs and check Isaac’s room.