In this thought-provoking book, Patricia Cori takes time from her channeled work as the Scribe to the Speakers of the Sirian High Council to focus on her past-life experiences in ancient Egypt. The book begins dramatically with the traumatic recall of a past Egyptian life, when Cori relives a horrifying death by suffocation—from being buried alive. This experience propels her on a journey of exploration into the question of human immortality, leading her back to Egypt, again and again, where she unravels the origins of the ancient Egyptians’ obsession with the resurrection of the soul.
Cori’s discoveries reveal new perspectives on Egyptian mysteries, new timelines as to the beginnings of the civilization, and controversial ideas that link the earliest Egyptian cultures with even earlier civilizations, such as that of Atlantis. As she returns to sites of her former lives, Cori begins to receive messages through which she relives the past-life regression, guiding her to discover secrets of the ancient Egyptians. Finally, she travels beyond the veil of illusions into the “otherworld” of possibilities that lies beyond physical existence. This exciting book weaves strands of science, history, and metaphysics into a shimmering tapestry of personal discovery. North Atlantic Books/Random House
Back in 1990, well before I had ever read anything significant about Egypt and having never visited there, I went to a respected past-life regressionist for my very first experience in this now popular form of psychic self-exploration.
A fully credentialed, practicing psychologist, he came highly recommended to me by a dear friend, who had released the torment of some inner demons under his care. She was so enthralled with her experiences that she convinced me to book myself an appointment and an airline ticket to Boston to see for myself. Six months later, I went to see him – more out of curiosity, I told myself, than a need for healing.
Then again, I do believe that our desire to ‘know’ about our past incarnations is driven by our need, as, in the final outcome, it is the soul’s purpose to banish the darkness of repressed memories so that we can hasten our way along the path to illumination and just live happier, fuller lives.
My first impression validated my friend’s endorsement of this powerful healer and I had no difficulty whatsoever letting go of any anxiety or expectation I had held about him or the session upon which I was about to embark. After very few preliminaries, I felt calm, relaxed and ready to be guided to whatever was there for me … buried perhaps, in the deep well of the subconscious, awaiting discovery.
Mesmerized by his hypnotic voice, I quickly let go of the distractions of the chattering mind, noticing how dogs barking outside his studio and the background noise of a telephone in the next room slowly began to fade out of my conscious awareness … and how wonderfully relaxed I felt: sinking into his over-stuffed reclining chair; finally letting go to another healer.
I was able to follow his suggestions without distraction, while drifting along the currents of his voice, at peace with the world – the riotous voice of resistance slowly giving way to the theta waves of quieted mind.
As he guided me to imagine myself outside of my body, floating in sacred space, I instantly saw before me an eye – a beautiful blue eye: the color of purest turquoise, but translucent – like the purest waters of the Caribbean sea. He asked me to identify it: was this the eye of a human being I was looking at, or did it represent some other life form? No, I saw so clearly that it was a symbol, something like a richly glazed ceramic effigy of an eye – definitely not human.
Later, I would realize that I had been staring into the all-seeing ‘Eye of Horus’ of Egyptian lore.
The eye disappeared shortly after it had appeared in my vision and I found myself catapulted into a hologram of spinning wheels – appearing first as cogs of some great machine, and then morphing into spirals of brilliantly luminous galaxies.
For a fleeting moment, I hovered somewhere far beyond, in deep space, bathed in the twinkling light of so many stars. I was light – pure starlight – and the stars that surrounded me were conscious, living beings. Celestial music flowed through all that existed, reflecting the light of every star in the heavens and all was perfectly, magnificently ‘One’.
All was resplendent in spirit and love and I was filled with a sense of total connection to all that exists. It was truly a moment of enlightenment, in every sense.
I abandoned myself to the awe-filled experience only to find myself immediately sucked into the center of some sort of whirlpool, spinning around and around and becoming more and more dizzy until I shouted out that I was going to be sick if I didn’t get free of it and back out into free space.
From the bliss of communing with the stars, I was thrown into a state of disorientation and fear. Nausea rising in my throat, I felt as if I were clinging on to nowhere and nothing – spinning out of control. I called out desperately for help. The therapist finally guided me to slow the whirling vortex and to direct my mind to where I would find myself when it came to a full stop.
To my amazement, the spinning ceased, almost as immediately as it had begun.The celestial canopy was gone.
Now I was looking at the entrance to a mine – a mineshaft. The outside was formed of roughly hewn rock and plain wooden bars framed the opening. The regressionist pressed me to describe every thing within my field of vision, but there wasn’t much else there that I could make out with any detail. I was uncomfortably alone—somewhere—in a remote desert scene: I could feel the sun burning down on my skin; I could hear the wind blowing across the sand. My feet felt like they were on fire. All that I could see clearly, however, was the opening of this eerie mineshaft. He guided me to move in closer, so that I could get a look inside the space, but I told him I couldn’t … I didn’t want to … I wasn’t able to move any closer, as if I were emotionally and physically paralyzed. I could only look from my vantage point, a safe distance away, and all I saw beyond the opening was absolute darkness.
Then, suddenly, the image mutated into one that appeared to be an entrance to a tomb, with some form of Egyptian-looking hieroglyphs carved onto smooth, white limestone walls. There was the eye again (the blue eye I had seen while floating God knows where), staring back at me.
I gazed upon the mind screen of my visions, trying to get a clearer impression of what was there … what I was really seeing. Yes, it was a tomb – clearly Egyptian. There was a rather oddly adorned, masked male figure (was it a guard?) wearing an ornate crown, standing to the left side of the entrance. He held a long wooden rod, rigidly, out to his side, as if guarding the entrance – and here again, all I could see of the inside, beyond him, was darkness.
Again, the therapist directed me to go into the space to observe what it was that my subconscious mind had brought me to see. I could feel the fear moving up through my legs and into my upper body – instant paralysis. I refused to approach the space in any way and I had no desire, I told him, to look inside. In what felt like an eternity, the images shifted back and forth: the mineshaft, the tomb entrance – the shaft, the tomb, the shaft again. There was a growing sense of foreboding and discomfort and I wanted to leave this scene, but I couldn’t face a return to the spinning wheels and somehow I knew that they were my only way out.
It was then that I felt someone pushing me from behind. Let me be clear about this – I felt someone physically pushing me, as if from behind the chair, and I wanted to turn around and look to see who was there, but I couldn’t turn or open my eyes. In that moment, I realized I truly had achieved some unknown form of altered consciousness, uncharted space, whereby I was just as aware of being in the state as I was of being in the body. As I contemplated this bizarre state of bi-location, I became frightfully aware that someone or something was trying to push me into this dark void. Was it a mineshaft? Was it a tomb? I couldn’t make it out! As the pressure increased, I felt threatened and I adamantly refused to be pushed into the entrance. I became more agitated, realizing I was being forced into what was definitively the opening of a tomb and I was horrified to see that this was, in fact, my tomb.
I got a close-up of the guard and realized without a doubt that he was the depiction of an Egyptian god, although I had no idea which one. The regressionist told me to ask him who he was and what he wanted to communicate to me, but I knew I could not. I could not ask – he could not answer. Of this, I was certain.
He remained expressionless, like a statue: lifeless. We never made eye contact.
The therapist asked me if I had a name: I stumbled over the pronunciation of the name: “Hat..et … Hatshet … Hatetsesheti.” Yes, that was the name: Hatetsesheti. He kept asking me who was trying to push me through the entranceway, but although I could still hear him, his voice began fading further and further into the distance until finally I realized I wasn’t listening to him anymore. Or was it that I had gone so deep and so distant that I simply couldn’t hear him?
Filled with despair, I began calling out the word “Maatara … Maatara … Maatara.” I kept crying out until my voice was almost silenced and still then again, in not much more than a whisper: “Maatara.”
The crashing sound of a great door closing echoed grimly through my mind and I found myself in total darkness – panicking. Voiceless, I screamed out in desperation to be saved. I remember screaming to get out, beating my fists on the door until all I could feel was the hot, sticky sensation of my own blood running over my pulse and trickling down onto my arms.
The distant voice of the regressionist still penetrated this dark space, but it was muffled … almost imperceptible. I was trapped somewhere so deep within my mind that he could barely reach me. He was telling me there was something there that I had come to see and that it was safe to look, guiding me to observe myself in the space and to examine everything around me.
Safe? I was anything but safe in this prison of death. There was only the black terror of the darkest destiny.
The despair and panic were overtaken by a sense of abandonment and immense sorrow … then slow resignation. I began to hyperventilate, barely managing to breathe.
As the sense of suffocation overcame me, the therapist, concerned that the manifestation of these clearly overwhelming emotions was actually endangering me, both mentally and physically, had no recourse but to guide me away from the distressing scene. He finally directed me out of the trauma of the regression and back to the safety of ‘home’.
When I fully returned from this intense and deeply disturbing state of altered awareness, I knew, without a question of a doubt, that I had died buried alive in a tomb somewhere, at some very distant place and time, in the ancient lands of Egypt.
Ironically, there, in the terrifying darkness of my ancient Egyptian tomb – at my death – is where my story begins…
Sealed in a tomb and left to die. Would you still remember that experience thousands of years later?
Patricia Cori does. She travels to the dusty Egypt of today in search of its golden past—and a more personal revelation. Cori uncovers the mystery of her own past life and heals an ancient betrayal. Where Pharaohs Dwell weaves crystal-clear spiritual teachings with amazing personal experiences in this page-turning adventure —Theresa Crater, author of Under the Stone Paw & Beneath the Hallowed Hill
Patricia Cori has written a fascinating and interesting book as part of her contribution to this grand human experience now unfolding. Drawing on her own powerful experiences and strong intuitions with an easy flowing literary style, she presents a real page-turner that one will not want to put down once started. Patricia takes the reader on her personal and unique journey to reclaim a “part” of herself—that being her profound connection to “dynastic” and prehistoric Khemit, the Mother of Civilizations.
—Stephen Mehler, author of Land of Osiris & From Light into Dark
Patricia Cori is THE real-life Indiana Jones! The film version of this incredible book is sure to follow…
—Patty Greer, Award-winning film maker, producer of 2012? We’re Already in it!
Read more reviews on Amazon.com, rating Where Pharaohs Dwell with five stars across the board!