All around the old man swirled the cacophony of vendors selling artifacts, guidebooks, bottled water, and shy bi-nannah (Egyptian mint tea). Tour guides shepherded their groups down the Sacred Way and through the temple's entrance, the enormous First Pylon, trailing wisps of Italian and German, but the old man paid no attention. He watched the approach of individual travelers, his eyes darting from face to face, taking the measure of each. Apparently he had taken my measure, too, as I stood waiting for two friends. Without explanation, he grabbed my elbow and motioned me toward an enormous granite wall deeply carved with images of a triumphant pharaoh on a war chariot. "You wait here!" he commanded. What was going on? He didn't asked for bakshesh (money) and clearly wasn't a hawker. Had he mistaken me for someone else? He was stooped with age, very dark, and wreathed with the scent of Turkish tobacco, but he had an air of authority, and I was intrigued, so, obediently, I waited. My companions arrived. "Good," he said, "Now we go. Hurry!" I didn't attempt to explain to them. We were all just along for the ride. He led us into the temple, striding quickly and with great purpose across the Great Court of Seti II. He walked right past the temple's famous obelisks, columns, and grand colonnaded halls. We ignored huge walls depicting pharaohs in battle scenes and cut across a processional avenue lined with statues of kneeling ram-headed sphinxes. I tried to pause at the Great Hypostyle Hall, the largest hall ever constructed; Notre Dame would fit comfortably within its walls. Its 183 columns are so massive that fifty people could stand atop each capital. But he urged us on, "Come! Hurry!" As I studied his intensity and single-mindedness, I began to realize who he was. He was a spirit keeper. Many ancient sites have spirit keepers. Sometimes they are called watchers or lineage keepers. I've seen them at Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, and The Great Zimbabwe. They are at Troy and Ankor Wat. They rarely leave their monument and live in its shadow. They know every detail, nook, and cranny of the site. They are unofficial experts, but rarely ask for money. They know the essence of the place because they have lived there before. In this incarnation, they have chosen to come back to honor, to witness, and to remember. Sometimes this is referred to as paying off a karmic debt, but I prefer to see them as happily fulfilling a promise they made lifetimes earlier. You will find them at sites where the spirituality of the place is no longer alive. The link has been broken. Consider the civilizations of Egypt, the Incas, and ancient Greece. Those gods are no longer honored. The tide has moved on. Spirit keepers honor this past. In past centuries, this man had doubtless spent many lifetimes at Karnak. In one, he may have labored to build the temple to the glory of the Amon (gods). Later, he may have been a guardian priest during the Temple's greatest epochs — the Middle and New Kingdoms, 1600-1000 B.C. — when Luxor (then called Thebes) was Egypt's capital, with a population of one million. The keepers are the true guardians of their sites. The official guides have office and power, but little spiritual authority. A keeper will silently tolerate these secular officials, because he has been here for centuries and knows that, in time, these bureaucrats will pass. The tour guides, interpretive lecturers, and costumed dancers — none of them knows. But he knows. He knows and remembers. Most of what the officials tell about an ancient spirituality is conjectural, especially in Egypt. How were the pyramids constructed? What was the purpose of the chambers in the Great Pyramid? How old is the Sphinx? The modern explanation is usually incorrect. My pace had slowed as I considered this, and I ran through the blowing sand and baking sunlight to catch up. He led on until we came to a small and insignificant sanctuary, then motioned us inside. The air was a cool balm. Thick walls of pink sandstone kept away the outside world of heat, sun, noise, and wind. Breathing deep sighs, we allowed our senses to be soothed by this tranquil reality, deeply inhaling the cool, quiet, dark air. As though blind, we crept forward until our fingertips found the delicately carved surface and we inhaled the sweet scent of rock dust. Slowly a shadowy, mute world emerged before us, a sea of dark forms coming to life on a photographic plate. As we gained our vision, the nameless man began to take us on a journey. He had been carrying a mirror beneath his galabeya, and from outside the sanctuary, he reflected the desert sunlight into the shrine until a brilliant shaft stabbed the darkness and illuminated the far wall. His mirror was a time machine. The wall glowed with shimmering iridescence, and as we watched, we found that it was not the mere physical world we had been brought to see, but a roiling, wavy energy vortex. He had opened a dimensional doorway. The surface of the wall appeared to undulate, passing in and out of focus as though seen through a huge lens. We saw pale colors appear — as the northern lights appear — to dance on Egyptian stone, and we watched as gold light flooded off the inscriptions. Waves of fluorescence rippled across the room. The air was alive. Sequential blocks of hieroglyphic text glowed with a golden color in sequence, and energy and information poured off the walls. We also felt energy waveforms ripple through the air as though the little structure was a tuning fork the man had "struck" with his shaft of sunlight. The low bass waves felt as though they emanated up from the earth herself, in the form of the indwelling Schumann Resonance of the planet, and we felt this energy rumble through our bodies, vibrating the chakras. All this is what he had come to remind us of. The magic of the past was alive. We witnessed this for only a few minutes. Then the nameless man withdrew his mirror, the dazzling display ceased, and we were once again left in stunned darkness. When we rejoined the outside world, we found he had gone. Dazed, we spent the balance of the afternoon slowly revisiting all the treasures we had too-hurriedly passed through earlier. When we left the temple, we saw that the old man was again at the entrance. We approached him, but he never returned our attention. I had many questions to ask him about what he showed us at the Shrine of Sethos II. Why had he chosen us? How was it accomplished? Were we temple priests here in the past? But he was done with us. He had closed that circle. He had returned to scanning the waves of people, looking for his next acolytes. How long would he wait for his next people? How long did he wait for us? This is what a keeper does. He waits, remembers, and keeps the promise. When he sees people who can hear, he reminds them about the old magic and he honors the old gods. I've seen spirit keepers in the crowds at Delphi and in solitary evening mists near Celtic graves at Glastonbury Abbey. They are found anyplace where the where the old deities are no longer honored: the Greeks, Romans, Aztecs, Incas, and Egyptians. The old worshipers may be gone, but look closely. At each shrine you will find a spirit keeper, keeping keeps the old promise. Can you recall being at a site and being approached by a person with nothing to sell, but with a strangely urgent agenda? Was he a little too scruffy for you? Did you send him away and consult your guidebook instead? The next time a wizened old man beckons you to follow him, go for it, and you'll enjoy a fabled ride. • Visas A three-month multiple-entry visa is $11. Processing can be done through the mail by any Egyptian Consulate and takes about ten days. • Language English is spoken at all hotels and sites; however, if you learn a few Arabic greetings, you'll be an instant hit. The greetings — more formal and gender-specific than in English — are worth learning. • Tipping It's called baksheesh, and is far more than just showing appreciation for a service. It's how all things are made to work in Egypt. Expect to grease many palms as you travel, and always have change and small banknotes at the ready. • Water Look but don't touch. Bottled water is readily available, but check the cap seal, as refilling empty water bottles is a common Egyptian scam. |
We had never met, but the old man was waiting for me. He sat motionless on a broken pillar in front of the Temple of Karnak, a rough white cotton galabeya (robe) shielding him from the hot Egyptian sun. Located on the east bank of the Nile at Luxor in Upper Egypt, Karnak is the largest temple ever built by humans. It is one of the planet's major power points, and seekers have journeyed there for centuries.