| Pathworking Pathworking is the ancient way of teaching/transmitting metaphysical knowledge/experience to a student. It is a special kind of guided meditation. In a group, have someone read the meditation for you after you are down. If alone, you might read the meditation into a recorder. Otherwise, read the meditation enough times to remember where you are going and what you are to do. It may differ a little just remembering the meditation don't force it, let it happen. Get comfortable, slow your breathing and quiet your mind, speak to your favorite deity, teacher or guide, asking for protection and illumination. Count down from any number you chose, (8 to 1, 5 to 1, even 23 to 1) slowly. Imagine a second you standing up from inside you and standing before you. Notice how your second self is dressed, the mood he or she or even possibly it is in. Your second self can look like anything: opposite sex, both sexes, no sex, mythical creature, beast or even just a color or shadow. If you have an astral temple, as described in the introduction to Dolores' first pathworking (NMR 8:3), have your second self go there to begin your journey. Or you may begin from a doorway visualized in the area where you are meditating. Remember to carefully note any changes in your second self after the pathworking and as it merges back with you. Journey Down
the River By Delores Ashcroft-Norwicki My companions, come with me upon a journey such as we might have seen many thousands of years ago in the Land of Egypt. It was the custom then during the cooler months to take the Statue of the Goddess Hathor down the river from Denderah to Edfu. There She visited with He who shares Her name, the Hawk Headed God, Horus, son of Isis and Osiris. Let us follow the Pattern of Time back into the past. Before us stretches a silver spiral made of untold millions of threads, each thread studded with tiny beads. Each thread is a line of descent; each bead is an incarnation of the soul whose thread holds those beads together. So we follow the time spiral back and back as it twists and turns in and out of time and space. At one point it passes through a golden mist. This is the moment we must touch. We become aware of the noise first, of many voices shouting and talking and laughing. Then as the mist clears we see a crowd of people, many hundreds of them along the banks of the mighty river Nile. Fishermen are hauling their boats into the banks and filling them with people. Men, women and children are dressed in their best clothes and wear garlands of flowers about their necks and on their heads. We can smell the heady perfume of many different blooms. They all carry baskets of food and wine as if they were setting out upon a gigantic picnic. This is nearly true. It is the Festival of Hathor and the priests of Denderah are taking Her statue to Edfu, and the temple of Horus. It is something that everyone looks forward to each year. The river is filled with craft of all shapes and sizes, and all filled with people. Some are already on their way; others are waiting for the ceremonial barge carrying the statue. This year will be special, for one of the Royal Households will be attending. Prince Kha-m-uast the fourth son of the Pharaoh is known for his interest in everything to do with the ancient ceremonies of Egypt. The Royal Barge with the prince on board is already in midstream waiting for the arrival of the statue. We can see him standing by the prow of the ship with the captain. The oarsmen wait silently; the massive oars ready in the water. The Prince is young, about eighteen years of age, but already he is a Priest of Ptah and spends most of his time in Memphis attending to his duties there. It is said in the marketplace that he will become the next High Priest, so great are his talents. He is already a formidable magician and his fame has been heard of even in Greece. He and his young brother Merneptah share an interest in the history of Egypt and they have opened many of the ancient tombs (HK-m-bast's magic protecting them) to read the forgotten books left in them. But always mindful of his duty to the royal dead he has had them sealed and made offerings to the Khas of the dead. He favors his mother in features, this Prince of the Blood Royal, of middle height with dark, serious eyes and straight black hair hanging to his shoulders. He has her fine bone structure and high bridged nose, slender hands and feet and narrow waist. But there is no doubt that he has his father's quick incisive mind. Never one to parade great wealth he wears a simple white kilt of fine linen, his only ornaments are two armbands of fine gold. These and the circlet on his brow bearing the Royal Cobra are all that set him apart. There is a shout and a great surge from the crowd and everyone looks round. A team of eight strong priests from the temple has appeared bearing the sacred barque on long wooden poles. On the barque itself stands the statue of Hathor, Her graceful outline telling all of Her position as the Goddess of Love and Laughter. Children scatter flowers before Her and She is accompanied by the singers and musicians of the temple as well as many of the high ranking priesthood. Carefully the bearers place their precious burden into the temple barge and secure it against possible accident. Then they take their place alongside it. The musicians and singers fill the rest of the boat. The High Priest and Priestess and their retinue have been invited to sail aboard the Royal Barge. Finally all is ready and the armada of boats set off for Edfu. On every side music, singing, shouts, prayers and invocations fill the air. Jars of wine and beer are opened and the Prince treats his guests from the temple and some of the local nobles and their families to dinner. Through out the journey the eyes of the young prince turn again and again to one person, the youngest daughter of a court noble. At fifteen she is ready for marriage and her graceful beauty is appreciated by the royal watcher. The boats proceed slowly for every village along the way wishes to show its repeats to Goddess and prince alike, and the number of boats grows as they make their way to Edfu. At night they camp along the bank and the royal tent becomes a banqueting hall as well as a place to sleep. Already the accompanying crowds are celebrating the Feast of Hathor in those ways that best please the Goddess of Love. The reed-beds make good cover for those who wish to be alone. Kha-m-uast walks alone wrapped in a dark cloak against the cool night breeze. He boards the Royal Barge and stands at the prow looking out over the dark waters. There is a light step behind him and he turns. Like he, the newcomer is wrapped in a dark cloak, but it takes only a moment for him to recognize her. The two young people stand for a moment, then he holds out his hand and she places hers into it. It has always been so, Hathor calls to fisherman and prince alike to fulfill her command. Kha-m-uast is no exception, priest though he might be. The lips of the young girl are warm against his, her body even warmer. He draws her close and they speak in low voices exchanging all the soft words and promises that lovers always do. The arrival at Edfu immediately doubles the size of the crowds and the noise. The Royal Barge is tied to the bank and they all await the arrival of the Statue of Horus to greet his lovely guest. The shout of welcome when it appears scatters the birds in great clouds. The Barque of Hathor is taken up by its bearers and the two slowly converge, meet and circle each other. Then amid wild rejoicing they set off for the temple of Edfu. Meanwhile a fast runner aboard a small and even faster ship has set off for the Royal Palace in Memphis with a message for the King. Because of the crowds the rituals of Hathor and Horus are held in the courtyard of the temple, even then many are unable to get in. But it does not matter, they are in a holiday mood and nothing can dampen their happiness. The sellers of wine and food will make a lot of money during this time. Each day there is morning worship attended by the prince and his court. Ritual drama depicts one of the great stories each evening when the courtyard is lit with hundreds of torches. Throughout it all the two statues are garlanded with flowers each day and offered wine and food and incense by the people, priests and royalty alike. The days are full of feasting and the nights full of love. Khnum will have to spin many new bodies on His potter's wheel to accommodate the souls invited into Life during these days. But a child conceived during the Feast of Hathor is considered to be more fortunate than others are. On the last day a tired runner appears at the Royal Tent with a message from the Pharaoh. Eagerly Kha-m-uast tears it open, then gives a great shout of joy and calls his younger brother to him. He shares the news that his father has given consent to his marriage. Merneptah is sent with several servants and the High Priest to ask the father's permission for his daughter to wed the son of Pharaoh. The servants are so loaded down with gifts and gold that they can hardly carry them. The Prince then strides to and fro waiting impatiently for the answer. It is after the noon of the day that his brother and the High Priest return. The family is overwhelmed and delighted, and their daughter weeps with joy that her love is returned. At night amid the celebrations the news is announced and we watch as the two young people are pledged to each other in the ceremony of betrothal. The crowd goes wild with delight at this unexpected end to the festival. They sing and dance and shout their good wishes and the Prince orders the remaining jars of wine bearing the Royal Seal to be opened and given out to them. Such a wine is not often tasted by ordinary folk. The young couple sits side by side, their hands linked and crowned with flowers. The High Seer of Hathor takes the arm of her counterpart of Edfu and points Unseen by any but those whose sight has been trained behind the chairs of the Prince and his beloved there builds the figures of Hathor and Horus. Taller than any human, golden of skin and with a terrible beauty, the Gods have come to bless the Royal House. A thread of light enters the two young hearts and binds them together; Kha-m-uast turns to look down at his bride to be and lifts her hand to his lips. Shyly she smiles and offers him a flower from her garland; he takes it and tucks it into his belt. We from the far future have knowledge beyond even those of the gods at this moment. We see some forty years ahead to the burial of this same young man in the Temple of the Bulls in the fullness of his years. A much loved man, High Priest of Ptah and faithful servant of that God. The girl he married and the two sons she bore him have gone ahead of him and now greet him in Amenti. But look beneath the many decorated coffins, beneath the bandages and the bitumen and see, lying over his heart where he instructed the priests of Anubis to place it, a dried and faded flower that was given to him on the last day of the Festival of Hathor so many years ago. But all that lies ahead and we look upon them now with all their joy in each other still to come. In our time his name will still be heard upon the lips of the wise and his counsel heard in the ears of those who listen. He has walked the earth again since that far distant time and always his eyes and his heart have turned towards that land of the Nile where once he was a prince, and in love. Let us leave them, tomorrow the festival will end and the tents will be taken down. The people will disperse back to their homes until next year. By then our two young lovers will be celebrating the birth of their first son and remembering this day with quiet joy. We see before us a silver spiral, that same one that brought us to this time and place. Now it will take us back again to our own time and deliver us safely to our present physical bodies. Follow it back; let it lead you until you can see the room from which you started quite clearly. Settle into your physical bodies and allow them to reunite. Slowly and carefully come up into present time and space.
World-wide Copyright 1994, to Dolores Ashcroft-Nowicki
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