The Sphinx. The lifetime.
For years, I had the same recurring dream.
Firelight torches flickered across desert sands as night descended. I walked in a small procession of cloaked figures, neither leading nor trailing, one among others. Silence bound us. The path ahead was clear—sacred, secret, chosen.
Against the indigo sky, the Sphinx loomed, its silhouette carved in shadow. It was alive—watching, knowing. Then the dream shifted. I descended stone steps, my right hand skimming the ancient wall beside me. We carried torches, their dim glow catching the golden embroidery on our crimson cloaks. We matched—each of us adorned in animal skins and headdresses. Mine was the lion.
A great disc shimmered blue upon the wall, reflecting into the glowing azure pool below. The stairway led us down to its edge. An altar stone stood between water and wall. Torches burned in sconces, casting flickering light over lotus-like flowers floating upon the mystical pool.
Over and over, I dreamed this journey—into the depths of the earth, into the belly of the Sphinx. It felt real. It felt like home.
Yet, my waking life bore no resemblance to these visions. Raised in conservative religious tradition in Utah, my spirituality had been shaped by church pews, Easter dresses, bowed heads, scripture study, and community service. Mystery, magic, and potency were foreign concepts, and yet, in my dreams, they felt familiar. But dreams were just dreams. Until they weren’t.
In my thirties, I attended a conference—a “live your best life” sort of program, stretching over several weekends. The training was engaging, filled with motivational lessons and life skills. Among the hundred or so attendees, there was a man—ordinary in appearance. Average height, sand-blond hair, jeans or khakis, polo shirts. Unassuming.
And yet, if I closed my eyes, I could feel exactly where he was in the room. A thread of energy tethered us, an electric charge humming beneath my skin. In my minds eye, the thread was a light, glowing blue it pointed like an arrow with a string, leading to him. If he entered while I was turned away, I knew the moment he stepped through the door. If the crowd stirred and rearranged, I could still pinpoint him without looking.
He felt it too.
We barely spoke, an occasional polite greeting, wary as if testing the water. Always surrounded by others, always passing in crowded rooms, the strange connection between us went unspoken.
Until one night.
After a group dinner, I drove several people back to their cars. As the last of them left, he hesitated in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the open door. The lot was mostly empty now, streetlights casting a dim glow over departing taillights.
“Do you believe in past lives?” he asked.
The question struck like a match in the dark. I had never given the concept serious thought. To me, it was fringe—something other cultures believed, something about reincarnating into animals. A distant, abstract idea.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. The summer evening breeze was warm, stirring the air between us.
He studied me for a moment, then inhaled, as if deciding to leap. “I remember you from Egypt.”
The words landed like a thunderclap. My dreams surged forward, vivid and undeniable.
“We were priests,” he continued. “Beneath the Sphinx. We wore red and gold robes. I remember standing with you as we worked on those who lay on the altar.”
Reality wavered. How could he know? This unassuming man, a stranger in this life, speaking of a past I had only seen in dreams?
“I just wanted you to know,” he said, and left.
But something had been set in motion. A door had opened, and I could not close it.
Over time, he and I became friends—though always at a distance, always in groups. We lived two hours apart, rarely alone together. And yet, we spoke in our dreams. Conversations began in sleep and picked up in waking life as if no time had passed. Neither of us tried to make it happen. It simply did.
One afternoon, while preparing lunch for a small gathering, we moved seamlessly around the kitchen, passing bread, slicing cheese, speaking as easily as breathing. A woman at the table watched us, her brow furrowed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
We paused. “What?”
“The way you talk.” She gestured between us, eyes wide. “Half of it’s out loud. Half of it’s… not.”
Until she said it, we hadn’t realized. Some of our conversation had been silent.
Time passed, and our paths diverged. The connection faded. He married. We drifted. Today, we cross paths only rarely, exchanging warm hugs and well-wishes. Whatever bound us was never meant to be romantic. It was something else—something ancient, something planned. A trigger. An activation.
Meeting him shifted my perception of reality. It cracked open a door I hadn’t known was there. It reshaped my understanding of spirituality, of memory, of time itself.
Do I believe in past lives?
No one knows if they are real. But no one knows that they aren’t.
Maybe we carry echoes of every life that came before us, imprinted in our very cells. Maybe, before we took form, we were light—woven into the lives of those we now meet again.
I take solace in knowing that no one knows the truth. It leaves the possibilities endless.
What I do know is this: one conversation in a dimly lit parking lot altered my path forever. It reminded me that there is more. Always more. And the greatest wisdom is in admitting that we do not yet know what we do not know.
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When asking ChatGPT if there is proof of any chambers underneath the Egyptian sphinx, here is the answer:
There is strong evidence suggesting chambers and tunnels exist beneath the Great Sphinx of Giza, though full access and exploration remain limited due to restrictions by Egyptian authorities.
Evidence of Underground Chambers:
Edgar Cayce's "Hall of Records" Prophecy:
- The American mystic Edgar Cayce predicted that a "Hall of Records" containing lost knowledge from Atlantis was buried beneath the Sphinx. While this remains unproven, his claims inspired interest in the idea of hidden chambers.
1920s-1930s Excavations (Emile Baraize):
- French engineer Emile Baraize led an excavation that uncovered evidence of tunnels beneath the Sphinx. His findings were not fully documented, but rumors persist that he found passageways leading underground.
1991-1993 Geophysical Surveys (Dr. Thomas Dobecki & Dr. Robert Schoch):
- Using ground-penetrating radar, researchers detected anomalies beneath the Sphinx, including cavities and tunnel-like structures.
- One large rectangular chamber, located beneath the left paw, appeared artificial rather than naturally formed.
1996 Studies (Dr. Zahi Hawass & Japanese Team):
- A Japanese team from Waseda University conducted seismic surveys and found hollow spaces beneath the monument.
- Dr. Zahi Hawass, Egypt’s former antiquities chief, later acknowledged the presence of tunnels but dismissed speculation about hidden archives.
2008 Reports of Secret Tunnels:
- British author Andrew Collins claimed to have rediscovered a network of caves beneath the Giza Plateau, potentially linked to the Sphinx.
Current Status:
Egyptian authorities have been reluctant to permit full-scale excavation under the Sphinx. Some believe this is to protect historical integrity, while others suggest deeper secrets may be concealed.
While no definitive proof of a "Hall of Records" has surfaced, scientific surveys confirm that cavities, tunnels, and possibly chambers do exist beneath the Sphinx. Whether they hold ancient relics or hidden knowledge remains an open mystery.
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