Stop Being Mean to Yourself: A Story About Finding the True Meaning of Self-Love (17 page)

I pulled out another sheet of paper. "I've got this," I said. "But it's not going to mean anything to you."

"Read it to me," the interrogator said.

"It's from a conversation with my nineteenyearold daughter. It's just an idea—a concept—for this book."

"Tell me what it says," the interrogator said.

I looked at the words written on the piece of paper I held in my hand. I felt so embarrassed. Explaining this was going to be the toughest one of all.

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chapter 10

Pyramid Power

From the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to the Pharos Lighthouse of Alexandria, the pyramids of Egypt are the only one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World that still remains intact. After thousands of years, these massive manmade structures also still remain shrouded in mystery.

From composite pictures drawn by archaeologists, scholars, and historians, we now understand that these colossal constructions were monuments to death—temples built of stone

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and filled with treasures to provide a luxurious dwelling place for nobility who had entered the realm of existence called the afterlife.

The dead could not necessarily take their riches with them into this mystical next world, but ancient Egyptians of nobility believed that they could come back and enjoy the treasures they had accumulated in this world if their possessions were carefully placed inside the tomb. They also believed at first that entrance into the afterlife was granted only to those of nobility. And this afterlife could be achieved only if the body were preserved so the soul could return to it. The culture developed a sophisticated and successful method of preserving bodies called mummification. Positioning of the body was important, too. The mummified bodies were placed under the exact center of the pyramid. And the pyramids were constructed on the west side of the Nile River because the Egyptians believed that the dwelling place of the deceased was in the direction of the setting sun.

It is said that people love a great mystery. That term—"great mystery"—aptly describes the Great Pyramids of Giza. Although they are a wonder of the ancient world, they
are
the physical embodiment of the word "mystery" in contemporary culture.

How this ancient civilization constructed these mammoth structures has caused much speculation and remains Page 149

an enigma. Over two million stone blocks, each weighing about two and a half tons, were transported and carefully positioned to build King Khufu's pyramid alone—

the largest of the three pyramids of Giza. Were the pyramids the result of much grunting, groaning, and primitive manual labor? Or were they constructed, as some people speculate, using innovative methods and tools that have since disappeared but, if rediscovered, would rival spaceage technology?

When these pyramids were constructed now puzzles some historians and archaeologists. While many experts have surmised and long agreed that the pyramids of Giza date back to about fortythree hundred years ago, other scholars such as Joseph Jochmans are now stirring the historical and archaeological pot by suggesting that these mysterious monuments may have been built as long as twelve thousand years ago.

Although many puzzling aspects surround the ''how," "when," and even the "why'' of these pyramids, the ultimate mystery of these colossal tombs is the aspect perhaps least discussed by historians and most cloaked in legend. It is the secret surrounding the supernatural powers the pyramids are said to possess. The Great Pyramids of Giza may have been a gateway to the afterworld at the time they were constructed to entomb pharaohs Khufu, Khafre, and Menkure. But many of the millions of tourists who flock annually to

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Giza—despite threats of terrorism and war—and many local inhabitants, like Essam, believe that these pyramids are now, more than ever, a cabalistic portal—a gateway where passersby can touch the edges of a world unknown.

My guide for this longawaited expedition to get these special powers was again Essam's seventeenyearold nephew. He explained the mystery of the pyramids differently while we were horseback riding to get there. It was midafternoon. We had just scaled the side of a rocky hill. Now we were passing through a desert graveyard, the local burial ground for those not of noble birth.

"It's better to be buried in a pyramid," the young guide said, pointing to the dusty graves. "Otherwise the wind blows the sand away and robbers steal all the treasures."

Essam had been talking to me about going into the pyramids to meditate since the night we first met. I didn't understand what he meant about "getting the powers."

Nor did I especially
believe
him. But I had followed his strict instructions anyway. I had my four small white candles in my backpack. I was dressed in white. And to my great embarrassment, I was wearing a white cotton cloth on my head, held in place by a woven green band.

I had argued with Essam about wearing this kerchief on my head, but he had insisted. "If you want to get the special powers, you must wear that white cloth," he said.

Grumbling all the while, I had purchased the white

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head covering from one of the young merchants hawking his wares on the path that led from the perfume store to the pyramids. It cost two dollars and fifty cents.

Riding the horse across the desert, headed for one of the smaller step pyramids, I felt more like a cheap tourist imitation of an Arab sheik than I did an enlightened woman on her way to becoming empowered.

I knew there was something special about the pyramids. I felt it my first night in Cairo, when I had been drawn to them. I felt it even when that menacing group of men made a run at me by the fence. I felt the powers of the pyramids each time I came close to them during my stay here. Their influence on the village of Giza was undeniable.

But I had never particularly fantasized about going into a burial tomb to meditate—even one of these colossal stone monuments. I didn't understand what mysterious powers could possibly be inside the pyramids or how these powers could possibly affect me. Although I liked, respected, and trusted Essam, I secretly thought this whole ordeal of going into the pyramids and "getting the powers" was a tourist gimmick.

If there's so much power here, why are so many people living in poverty? Why are the women so trapped? And why do these people drive the way they do?

I was skeptical. I was skeptical about the "special pyramid powers." I was skeptical about crawling around Page 152

inside a tomb. And I was skeptical about wearing this stupid white rag on my head.

After clearing the mountainside and the graveyard, I loosened my hold on the reins, nudged the horse with my heels, and began galloping across the stretch of desert that separated me from the pyramids. I was still baffled by how quickly I had taken to horseback riding. But I didn't question that mystery. It was as if I had been riding horses all my life.

The ability to break through a barrier or block in one moment and begin doing something that in the past appeared unfathomable was aweinspiring, yet I almost took it for granted.
If people could do that
,
I thought,
they could do almost anything
.
It
'
s about our perception
,
our fears
,
and the limitations we place on
ourselves
.

When we neared the Great Pyramids, my guide pointed to one of the smaller pyramids that stood at the edge of the three large ones. The smaller pyramids were the burial tombs for the queens and relatives of the pharaohs, he said. We were headed there.

We rode to a small hut that housed the pyramid guard. My guide took my horse's reins and tied up both horses. Soon, a frowning bulk of sundried man emerged from the hut and approached me. He was wearing a uniform. He was the official pyramid guard. He would take me inside to meditate and get my powers.

Essam had prepared me for this. I knew I would have

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to pay off the guard for allowing me private entrance into the pyramid. Well, not really pay him off—I was to tip him. But Essam had instructed me not to pay the guard until after I finished meditating.

The guard led us on foot to the pyramid entrance—a small hole in the side of the pyramid. The guard asked if I was ready. I said yes and showed him my four white candles. The guard shook his head no.
He
had four white candles he wanted me to use. He said he wanted to be sure I got the powers.

And probably wants to be sure he gets a bigger tip, I thought.

"Okay," I said. "We'll use your candles."

The bulky guard squeezed himself through the small opening in the side of the pyramid. I followed him, trying to climb in head first. That didn't work. So I hoisted myself up and lowered myself in, feet first. In an instant, I went from blazing desert sunlight to the pitchblack interior of this tomb. We walked hunched over through a narrow passageway that was only about three feet high. My guide followed behind me. After a few moments, the guard in front of me stopped and lit one of the candles.

I looked around the musty, dank interior. The walls flickered with gentle light from the candle. The crumbling rock was the palest shade of yellow, almost offwhite.

We followed a circular trail leading to the heart of the

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tomb. After a while, we were able to stand almost straight. Then we came to a juncture. One passage led to the right; one veered to the left. We went left. After walking a short distance, we reached a dead end, a small womblike room in the center of the pyramid. The ground was littered with crumbling rock. A natural ledge about three feet off the ground encircled the area of this threesided cubbyhole.

The guard dripped a few drops of candle wax onto the ledge from the candle he held in his hand, then stuck the candle firmly in place. Then he lit the remaining three candles, carefully positioning them equidistant apart on the ledge, creating a semicircle of light. I sat down on the ground, with my back to the deadend wall of the small room, and adjusted the white kerchief on my head.

The pyramid guard and my guide wished me luck in getting the powers. Then they left me alone.

I sat on the floor of the tomb. This is ludicrous, I thought. What am I doing? Is this really how one finds enlightenment? It seemed more like the height of absurdity to me.

I didn't know what to do next.

This wasn't the first time my quest for enlightenment had left me feeling in the dark.

A year ago
,
on my journey through the western United States
,
I had wandered into a Native American sweat lodge in Sedona
,
Arizona
.
I understood that it
was a sacred ritual

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symbolizing spiritual cleansing and purification
.
But that was all I understood
.
I dutifully and respectfully stood and allowed myself to be purified with sage
smoke before I entered the tent
.
Then I climbed through the flap with the other participants
.
I watched as the fire keeper brought glowing hot rocks into
the tent
,
placing them in an indentation in the ground
.
I could see that the rocks would create the heat that would make us sweat
.
But I wished I had an
instruction manual
.

I listened attentively
,
sweating
,
huddled in the tent
,
as the old Native American shaman began the ceremony with a prayer
.
My anxiety heightened as it
became apparent that participants were expected to say something aloud
.
I wanted to fit into the rhythm of the experience
.
I wanted to get all I could out
of it
.
I wanted to do it right
.

Sweat dripped down my face
.
I leaned forward intently
,
hanging on every word the shaman uttered
.

"
And now we will honor the spirit of yeast
,"
she said
,
"
who brings us
.
.
."

I lurched back
.
The spirit of yeast
?
I thought
.
What does that mean
?
My mind raced
.
I tried to figure out if we were honoring bread
,
or agriculture
,
and
what I could say about that when it became my turn
.
I was thinking so hard I could barely listen
.
All the while
,
I struggled to act calm and enlightened
.

I mumbled something when it became my time to speak
.

"
And now we will thank the Spirit of the West
,"
the shaman said next
.

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Oh
,
I thought
.
The Spirit of the East
.
Now Iget it
.

On another occasion
,
I had gone to my doctor
,
a holistic healing professional
,
for almost two years before I understood what he was talking about
.
During
that time
,
he had regularly referred to my
"
orc
"
field
.
I had no idea what he was saying
.
None whatsoever
.
I knew vaguely that he was talking about the
energy that was part of me and that surrounded my physical body
.
The work with this healing professional had been profound
.
It had helped me greatly
.
So
I didn
'
t question him about my
"
orc
"
field
.
I assumed it was some new discovery everyone but me knew
.
After almost two years
,
while I was reading a book
,