The Ritual of Awakening

Egypt, sacred sites, writing June 21st, 2009

This is the opening of one chapter in the autobiographical book I am writing. This chapter gives a glimpse into the ongoing adventure and spiritual journey that has been my life for so many years; a life lived between two countries and many dimensions. If you have not been to Egypt, I guarantee that it is nothing like you imagine, does not remotely resemble what the US media would have you believe. And it is a million times more dizzying and mystical than the mind alone can fathom. One of my favorite travel guidebooks for Egypt can be found here.

It requires one to suspend all preconceptions and surrender to the present moment, while at the same time adjusting to the odd sense of experiencing life multi-dimensionally. In spite of growing up in the 1960s in Harvard Square, I never touched drugs, yet the mild-altering effect of Egypt sounds similar to those ‘trips’ described by users of hallucinogens. It flows over and through you, naturally altering and enhancing every moment. Sounds scary? Not at all. Read on…

The Ritual of Awakening

It could be a tomb, my room so dark and silent as I lay savoring the stillness, reviewing the night’s journeys. Which was dream, which reality? It must be almost time for the second muezzin call to prayer, that sound that permeates even the tombs with its haunting, mesmerizing cry.

A light tapping startles me and I rise, pulling on the enormous white terrycloth robe that trails on the floor behind me. I open the thick, dark wooden door to find Khaled balancing the fragrant tray that carries my breakfast. Stepping inside and standing statue-still, he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, exaggerating his difficulty, his magnificent classic features barely visible.

Relenting, I cross the room, and remove just one clothespin from the drapes, allowing precisely two inches of sunlight to enter; just enough for him to make his way and put down the heavy tray. He smiles, accepting the five pounds extra tip for his extreme good nature in enduring me every morning.

These waking rituals must be performed painstakingly in a certain order; this is made clear in the Book of the Dead, more accurately translated as ‘The Transformation into The Light.’ A copy lies open on my nightstand, transliterated in Arabic and English.

The scent of tamarind hangs heavy in the room, the tantalizing array of fruits beginning to spread their sticky ripeness over the sides of the silver tray onto the garlands of late summer jasmine that I wore last night. Today I will perform the ‘Ritual of the Eating of the Fruits’, but with great care so as not to invoke again the dreaded ‘Mummy Tummy.’

Slowly, I open both outer and inner drapes, carefully moving aside the intricately carved mashrabeya shutters. Sunlight blinding, I turn the handle of the old casement window; it creaks with age as it slowly reveals the world outside. The sight of the Pyramids takes my breath every time and the nearness and beauty of them is almost too powerful to bear. The morning airs carries a rich bouquet of scent and sound along with a fine dust that dances into the room on the rays of sunlight. The clip-clop of hooves, the braying of donkeys, shouting of vendors, honking of horns, drivers calling greetings to each other, the constant undercurrent of laughter, the stray dogs barking, all heading in a great colorful parade up the curving road to The Giza Plateau.

Pulling table and chair closer to the window, I finally turn to the tray and slowly open the thick white linen napkin, revealing the basket of warm fresh pastries and ‘aish baladi’ my favorite local bread. The Al Ahram lies folded on the tray, waiting to shatter the magic of this moment with world news. I ignore it as if it is an unrecognizable object from another time period. Lifting the perfectly designed square silver pot, I inhale the scent of hot, strong tea, sit back to gaze at the Pyramids and praise Allah that I am alive in this moment.

Omar’s stable across the street is chaos; busloads of tourists demanding camels or Arabian stallions immediately as if they have business meetings to attend across town. American women in bright and too-revealing attire, giddy with jet lag, bravely climb up on the high saddles, as the camel heaves and pitches back and forward to rise to its feet. Their husbands look warily at the overfriendly camel boys, not sure if they should release the reins and let their wives be led into the looming desert with these handsome boys in loose-flowing gallabeyas. “Camel for you too, sir. No miss the fun. Two for one.” The men are hoisted and cajoled against their protests and off they go. The intrepid tourists move in caravans, laughing and taking photos of one another to prove to someone at home that they did in fact ride a camel to the pyramids.

It is day one of their tour and the cliché is already documented on film; by the time they return to Giza in two weeks for their final stay at The Mena House they will be forever changed. That is, if they can surrender to the enduring, maddening mystery that is Egypt.

For information on Katrina’s next Transformations Sacred Site tour to Egypt www.transformationscenter.com/tours

Stay tuned for the next installment…