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Writing inspired by the following Sunday Writers’ Club prompt:

Built Before Time Began


Write a story or a poem about an ancient monument – for example: Stone Henge in England, the Carnac Stones in France, or Göbekli Tepe in Turkey. Write about the atmosphere and emotions evoked when standing in a place so very, very incredibly old.

Built Before Time Began

by Marianne Thatcher

In 2004 I went with 32 others on a spiritual journey to Egypt. We went to Dendera, Karnak, Cairo, Tel el Amarna and more. Each one with its own mystical uniqueness. We were requested by our group leader to please wear white and a white scarf, as there were so many tourists, so she could recognise those from her group.

We are told the Sphinx was probably built around 2500 BC, however it is quite likely very much older. Clear water erosion marks can be seen around its base, suggesting a period of time when it would have been surrounded by water. Beneath, it is reputed to house the Akashic records – the spiritual records of all that has been or will be.

We visited Tel el Armana a little way south of Cairo arriving at the ferry by bus. After getting out of the bus we watched with trepidation as the driver attempted to drive the bus onto what was clearly a car ferry, and would in likelihood have sunk the vessel, but his attempt fortunately failed, and our faith in having a vehicle to return to the hotel in Cairo was restored.

Tel el Armana temple was used as a city by Akenaten, and one of our tour decided she was a descendant of his. She did indeed have the most extraordinary long fingers I have ever seen, but I cannot attest to any other particular attributes.

We were driven to a site claimed to hold ancient history under the desert, by an armed policeman. As we drove along the sand dusty road, two birds flew in front of us, one completely black, the other entirely white. We noted it as unusual. Apart from one of the drivers’ wives producing handmade baskets to sell, there was nothing further remarkable about that trip.

The great Pyramid in Giza, from its size and outer structure alone, has for many years now inspired wonder and awe from visitors from many lands.

The next day we were to go to the great Pyramid and perform a meditation in the King’s Chamber. We approached the grand structure and queued with the other groups to have our entry tickets checked. Fortunately it was still early and the sun’s heat didn’t fry us into the sand as we waited over half an hour. Eventually, we were able to enter and walked one behind the other up the narrow passageways – having to walk stooped for the last part as the top of the passageway was so low.
It was pleasantly cool and the muted voices of tour guides at different points became more distant as we entered the King’s Chamber. The chamber itself was bare except for a large Sarcophagus at the far end. Everyone had a look inside at the empty and deep stony structure. Someone was permitted to lie inside as we did our meditation.

The rest of us lined up along the wall which had various faded, barely visible art work. As the meditation deepened, loud voices came and went, then there was complete silence. It was a good meditation with visions coming from several people, but not from me.

At the end we went out back along the low passageway, down the ramp, towards the exit. We only realized afterwards that there were no other groups left inside.
As I emerged into the bright sunlight again, several of our group, dazzling in white, stood staring straight ahead at a familiar looking man in a black suit standing about six metres in front of us. Along the perimeter of the road were several black cars with darkened windows, each with a black suited man standing beside it. Several of our group seemed to recognise the man in front of us. It was President Mubarak, and the guests at the end of the road were Asaad and his wife. He stared at us, and we at him, neither quite knowing what to do. A story went around he was waiting for some journalists. More likely he was astonished that his order to clear the pyramid hadn’t been entirely successful.
Eventually all of our group was out of the ancient structure and we left, wondering about our unusual encounter. Was there a connection with the black bird flying next to the white bird the previous day and our encounter with President Mubarak, and his team in black and us in white?