Running Fox Papers
Volume 7, issue number 43 ~ January 2007 ~
For a mummy life is
Ingmar Heytze (Stand up and wobble)
Not long ago, while looking at a magic mirror, I unexpectedly looked into the almond-shaped eyes of an Egyptian priestess. For me that was the beginning of a quest into a former life I lived in ancient Egypt. Once again I came across a part of my Self, answering to the prosaic name of Imertnebes, about whom I mentioned in the 38th episode of the Nada Chronicles.
I wondered if there would be others with such memories. There were. So much material appeared in response to my request, that one newsletter will not be enough to contain it all. Therefore, I decided that in addition to these papers entitled ‘Ancient Egypt,’ I will publish a sequence next month under the more common heading ‘Reincarnation.’
While speaking about reincarnation, sceptics are commonly wont to say that everybody believing such crap would have been either Joan of Arc, Napoleon or Cleopatra. Of course in some instances that is the case, and looking at certain psychiatric illnesses it is not clear whether they can be spoken of as past life memories. Because such disorders are curable, I will not dwell on this subject any further.
What is clear, though, is that the reader’s
stories presented here are not about celebrities of the past. Here are
tales about common people: a citizen, a foreman, a slave, a priestess.
The priestess ImertnebesThe Nada Chronicles, part 38 by Hans Brockhuis ~ Translation: Helen Maijenburg
Imertnebes, the hemet-Netjer or servant of god, slowly shove aside the beautiful embroidered veil and stepped thoughtful over the threshold of the sanctuary. Then she knelt down in one fluent move before her goddess Renenwetet. Whilst the goddess with her serpent head looked down in compassion to the young woman who looked like a big white bird in her pure linen almost transparent robe, she muttered her morning prayer:
“O Renenwetet feared by the gods, o idolatress of the woven garb. How happy those are who see you, decorated with your headdress from Re’s forehead. Your king’s apron on you is Hathor and your feather is a falcon’s feather and with that you ascend to heaven amongst your brethren, the gods […]”.
After the prayer Imertnebes (Nibi to close friends) hastened to put the sacrifices ready which would be offered to the goddess within a short while when it still was cool. A moment later the rattler arrived as did the chanters, who would accompany her behind the veil during the offering ceremony.
By Jean van der Borght ~ translation: Myriah Krista Walker
About fifteen years ago I underwent regression therapy. In one of the shown lives I proved to have been a slave in Egypt. A short report.
I am an Israelite boy of about thirteen and find myself in a small vineyard eating grapes with a short knife in my hand. I have light curly black hair and the garment I wear is sagging, because of my height, just under my knees. I see to my amazement (where do they come from) strange soldiers leaning nonchalantly against a palm tree. Their captain makes a small gesture, beckoning me to come along. I do not flee, I do not cry out; inside I know that the payment has come.
I am totally alone. Nobody cares about me. Nobody talks to me. I feel abandoned. The nights are miserable. The coldness of the nightly desert falls upon us. We sleep in the midst of the sheep. They are our woolen blanket. I do not think of escape. Around our group, wrapped in their blankets, are the guardians. Heaven is magnificent because of the stars, but cold and hunger dominate.
At night we sleep in a tent. Before the tent a small fire is smouldering. We need to recover in the coolness of the evening. We are exhausted. My back is hurting. We get rice and sorgo to eat. We slaves fell asleep like a log to be awakened the next morning with a blow of the whip on the canvas of the tent. We then eat the leftovers – if any – of last night and then, jogging, into the pit.
When my ‘lesson’ was fulfilled, at the age of 26, I just dropped dead on the spot in the pit, the chopstick still in my hands. The keeper swept his whip but understood it was hopeless. Surely I was not the first one.
I know, because of the regressions, why
I had to be a slave. But that is another story.
by Eva 'Rainbow' Reinermann
As for memories about Egypt, some years ago I had the following brief, but very sweet experience. It was in our home in Brussels, I was around 50 years of age, feeling like a matron sometimes. Then a little package arrived. TIME LIFE had just printed a volume about Life in ancient Egypt.
As a gift they included a copy of an old Egyptian coin. The moment I had that coin on my palm, I felt transported into the streets of Egypt, maybe many centuries ago. I was a girl, a servant in a good family and I was going to market to buy food. I felt the linen cloth around my body and the coin in my right hand, the sandals on my feet and the sun over the roofs. I had a linen veil on my head but my face was not covered. I was young and strong and content with my life.
I am very grateful for that memory, feeling
connected to my Egyptian sister, another part of myself in that time.
By Rama Hartgers ~ translation: Myriah Krista Walker
Last year my youngest sister asked me to
go with her on a trip through Egypt.
The first part of the journey was a 5 day cruise on the river Nile. In the morning after arriving, just after breakfast, my intestines began to protest, and from that moment on I experienced diarrhea without feeling ill, yet only when a toilet was within sight. During the 5 hour travels in a bus my bowels kept quiet. But once back on the boat or in a hotel I was running for the bathroom every hour.
During the journey I continuously felt sorrow and powerlessness, particularly about the many working donkeys and horses. Everywhere I saw animals labouring in the hot sun, heavily loaded and with visible wounds. It just didn’t stop.
At the pyramids of Gizeh a huge overwhelming sadness fell over me. The only thing I could do there was weep. My thoughts were of all the human and animal suffering that had been waged in order to give to this one important person everything on his journey to the afterlife.
The last few days we stayed in a hotel near the Red Sea, and during the last morning at the beach I heard a voice: “When thou art cleansed of sin and guilt committed here, thus thou receiveth back the rights that were taken away from you.”
Once home the diarrhea continued, but the hospital laboratory couldn’t find anything to cause it. After two weeks of homeopathic support, my bowels worked properly at last.
After that I began to have lucid dreams about myself in different lives as chief/foreman at stone quarries and at the building of pyramids. I refused to give the workers and beasts of burden enough shade, rest, water and nutrition. I misused the little bit of extra power I possessed for my own standing (my workers produced more in less time), but their suffering was a direct result.
My topic for that summer had thus been how to handle power in this life and where my ego stands in the way.
I have written this story because I hear/read
about many experiences concerning lives as Egyptian princesses and priests.
My experiences were quite different.
In the Beginning…
In the Beginning, floodwaters engulfed the world. Nothing stirred amid that dark and dismal expanse. Then, miraculously, a lotus blossom surfaced and opened its petals to give birth to the Sun. Rising from the blossom like a golden bird, the Sun subdued the waters and coaxed life from the emerging land. Ever after, when the Nile receded and the growing season began, its people gave thanks to the Sun god Re and to his Earthly counterpart, the Pharaoh, who claimed divine powers and kept the country fruitful.
Hymn To The Aten
Splendid you rise in heaven's light land, O living Aten, creator of life! When you have dawned in eastern light land, you fill every land with your beauty. You are beauteous, great, radiant, high over every land: Your rays embrace the lands To the limits of all that you made... All eyes are on your beauty until you set. All labour ceases when you rest in the west: When you rise you stir everyone for the King, Every leg is on the move since you founded the earth. You rouse them for your son who came from your body, The King who lives by Maat, the Lord of the Two Lands.
I wish I were your mirror
I wish I were your mirror, so that you always looked at me. I wish I were your garment so that you would always wear me. I wish I were the water that washes your body. I wish I were the unguent, O woman, that I could anoint you. And the band around your breasts, and the beads around your neck. I wish I were your sandal that embraces your foot and that you would step on me!