I met this gray-haired man at the Temple of Karnak in the summer of 2002. He said some strange things to me that made no sense to me at the time. However, I would do anything, ANYTHING, just to come face to face with him again now that I’m ready to fully understand them. He knew things about me that I can’t explain to anybody. He knew things about the universe and our ancients that I also knew, but did not know HOW. I was so immature back then that I failed to see that the whole time this man was standing there, I was looking at Truth in the eyes.
I had just gotten off one of those Nile boats that go back and forth between Aswan and Luxor. As soon as the boat docked in Luxor, I took off with my permanent markers to scribe my name next to my ancestors, just to let them know that I had returned! There were, and usually are, flocks of Japanese and Italian tour guides misinterpreting the writings on all the walls. I would stand and hear them all contradict themselves to the English speaking tourists in the group. I would wait for them to make their rounds, then I’d climb on top of the heads of statues to etch my name vertically, horizontally, or any which way time would allow me. Sometimes, I’d pay off a local kid to act as my lookout guard to warn me if anybody was coming. If you tour up and down the Nile, you’ll see Blu Pantha scribed everywhere. Without a drop of shame, I was proud of my sacred turf. However, if anybody else did that, I’d protectively slash them open. I felt it was my home and I strongly truly believed it at the time — and still do. That’s the demented part. Or was it?
So here I was jumping from column to column, tagging things left and right, in my own little world, unwatched, when I suddenly heard the sound of a forced cough coming from behind me. I turned around so fast expecting to see a security guard, but instead I find this heavyset man with gray hair and a beard. He was wearing a brown tweed hat, tiny round spectacles, and he carried a huge Nikon camera around his neck like it was a medal of honor. I nervously jumped off the pillar I was standing on, and froze before him, waiting for him to reprimand me. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, my dear, as you have every right to do whatever you want in the temple of your beloved.”
I remember automatically thinking the guy was a kook. He had a strong British accent and he smelled like stale cigars mixed with old beer spilled over newspapers. I also remember he looked kind of like a bloated Sean Connery in an Indiana Jones flick. It gave me the creeps, but at the same time, there was something very calming about him in his tones. I really wanted to believe he was alright with the vandalism, because I thought at the time that he was just stalling me until a guard showed up where he’d immediately turn me over.
Then, he went on to tell me that he had a vision in a meditation that directed him to find me where we were both standing. “Me?” I asked. “Yes, you” he replied. He told me that he had been following my progress throughout the years. Then he told me that the time had come for him to notify me of my role as the 7th light force of the cosmic universe. I remember taking a step back, scanning the columns for an easy exit because his words had immediately started to suffocate me. Plus, I thought he was behaving like we were acting out a play in a theater and the whole thing began to make feel uncomfortable again.
“It is often easier for one to shrug off Truth because it’s usually harder for the human mind to digest than a big fat lie,” he said. “I don’t blame you for interpreting what I am telling you as partial insanity, but the Truth usually comes off exactly as such,” he continued. “My tribe has been waiting for your arrival for more than two decades, and now that you have matured I am extending an invitation for you to return with me to Ireland, where I have been patiently analyzing our current world affairs with my clan.”
He told me his name was Sir Timothy Something. His name was one of those super simple western names that had been flipped around repeatably in my mind over a thousand times. I could have sworn it was “Gray” or that was his first name. I don’t remember more than that. But for him to be granted SIR, he must have been a notable name in his field at one time. I am hoping that by writing this out to the public, someone out there will come forward knowing exactly what, and who, I am talking about. It’s only a matter of time — and patience.
Timothy said that though he still maintains the Sir in his name, it had been revoked by the Queen of England for speaking out loudly against the British parliament. I hope some Brits out there can help me track this man. The British media even labeled his clan as a bunch of kooks. They were extreme spiritualists that spoke out against corruption in the name of Truth. Looking back now, I now understand that every corrupt system rejects all Truth warriors by making them out to be crazy. Back then, I thought he was crazy too. Now, he was a man of Truth.
He told me they needed me to complete their circle, and that without my resources and frequencies, they would not be able to reverse the damage done to the earth. I started to laugh and he grimaced. At the time, I couldn’t even get people to listen to me, so how the hell was my dysfunctional and rebellious being supposed to assist in something phenomenal like that? That’s when he pulled the unexpected.
Walking around the tombs and tall columns, he pointed to every stone structure and said that the records of Truth came from Egypt, and that many are visibly contained in Karnak. He said that 9/11 was predicted on these walls before it even happened, and the past, present, and future lay open before our eyes but the people are too ignorant and occupied to search for Truth and READ. He went on to say the destruction of the twin towers was not the work of Arabs, but Satanists who had manipulated and blinded the public.
Then he stopped and asked me, “What do you suppose this Temple (of Karnak) is really all about?” I told him I knew it was nothing close to what the tour guides were telling the people, and immediately he laughed like Santa Claus. Then he took me to a slab of stone outside the Temple’s opening and asked me what I thought it was used for. I told him energy of some sort, and he patted my back with approval. In my mind, I snickered at how the tour guides were saying it was used for sacrifices.
“Not in this temple,” he replied instantly to my thought!
“Let me refresh your memory,” he continued. “You used to spend so much time here, particularly in the east end. In your later years, you played a heavy role in destroying sections of this temple.” He then motioned for me to walk along with him over to another side of the pillars. “This is where you once sang hymns to your people.” Then he walked over to another section, “And over here, is where the animal idols were resurrected to worship their shadow God they called Amun!” He had such a disgusted and angry look on his face when he mentioned Amun’s name, that I got confused. “But isn’t Amun the good God?” I asked. He replied, “No! Do not believe a good word about him! They have distorted the Truth and history for people to believe he was, but he was worshiped with the head of the Ram! History wants us to be confused between Amun and Aten. What you hear about Amun, is really Aten. And what you hear about Aten, is really Amun!”
Again, I took a step back to study him from a small distance. He saw the skeptical look on my face and motioned me closer to follow him down a long aisle of half-lion and half-ram statues, where we crossed the entrance to enter another nearby temple. “Over here, with the orders of your beloved, half of their structures came down CRASHING!!”
And at the thunderous tone of his abrupt and passionate crescendo, I quickly scanned the columns for a production crew because I suddenly became convinced we were on a hidden camera television show. I nervously looked around and could feel my anxiety growing. And that’s when the unexpected happened.
He repositioned his cool, calmed down, and instructed me to hold out the palms of my hands, which I did. He then rubbed his hands over the slab of stone and made a circular motion as if harvesting a snowball in it. Then he dropped this invisible ball into my hands. I felt it. It was heavy and immediately I could feel its warm energy circling madly in my palms. And for some unknown reason, my eyes started releasing streams of tears like rivers to nowhere. I couldn’t stop crying. It was so intense for me. I felt a ball of majestic heat in my hands that released a sedating vibration that washed over my entire body.
He went on to tell me that these were temples of magnetic energy, where people fused together in synergy, and when they did so, their lights instantly became brighter. As I listened to him, I immediately remembered the light beings that frequented me in my youth (mentioned in part 1). He then pulled out this tiny rod with a metallic-like slate at the end of it which dangled freely from a thin white thread. I followed him as he stood at different points of the temple and watched the tool spin so fast in circular motion in front of each column. I couldn’t stop crying. I felt Truth ripple throughout my being.
At the sight of my father in the distance, I panicked and told him I had to leave – just when I was ready to learn so much more from this super mysterious frumpy old man. He gave me his card with his name on it in which he had quickly scribbled his email on the back of it. Since then, I have no idea where that card went the moment I arrived back in Cairo. But at that time when we departed, I felt a little bit less crazy than usual. He had validated to me things that only I knew, about myself, and some threads of knowledge I tried to share previously with people of my generation — whom had also written me off as being a kooky eccentric.
Yet ironically, another part of me was hugely in denial of the whole experience. After all, he was right when he said that people felt safer swallowing myths than actual truths. And what if this guy was just a psychic or magician? Or an escaped patient from a mental hospital? How did he know of these experiences I had as a kid? How did he know what I thought of myself? He told me in parting, that I held the key to a peaceful future. How could that be? Little Miss Dysfunctional ME, who rejected all authority and any kind of systematic control?
During the conclusion of our meeting, he pulled out a plane ticket and told me it was for me to go to Northern Ireland to join forces with his tribe, who were all outcasts by political regimes around the world. He had given me a couple of months to think about his proposition; however, it was his last statement to me that made me doubt his validity. He claimed I was the strongest and purest light force currently alive on our plane, according to him. But how could that be when it was clear that I smoked tons of weed at the time, was an uncontrollable vandal, and preferred working on making beats all day and everyday, instead of doing any chores, working, or actively engaging in anything more meaningful with my time?
When I got back on the boat with my dad, I showed him the card, the plane ticket, and told him all about Sir Magnificent. He immediately started laughing and even used the man’s card to pick between his teeth instead of a toothpick. Then he examined the ticket and said, “It’s refundable”. And that was that.
When I look back, I regret not paying more attention to that mysterious man who had managed to reveal to me pieces of Truth I so badly wanted to hear from another person’s mouth. I don’t know if the real reason I had cried that day was because I had finally met someone who knew my secrets, and was already familiar with all the burdens that had been weighing me down and alienated me from other kids throughout my youth. Even if what some of what he said was crazy, he shed Light. Or didn’t he?
I turned 34 on the first of December, 7 years after my meeting with Sir Timothy. And in this year alone, so many weird things have been happening to me that I can’t tell people about or they’ll think I’ve gone mad. I feel like I am being watched all the time. All my emails are opened and read before I get a chance to open them myself. In fact, things have been escalating from the moment I turned 27 while I was living in Los Angeles.
This year in Egypt, I had a run in with an eagle that crashed through my bathroom window, then I frequently had tons of falcons come visit me at sunrise on my balcony. And one day, I had just written about t he floods that killed the light civilization — only to wake up and find a real flood in the streets of Cairo. Then my writings started getting sabotaged by unforeseeable forces. After using three different laptops now, everything I write about on evil, humanity, the past, anything relating to the Amarna period — all gets nailed by viruses, even though two of the computers had never even been plugged into the internet. Only those articles and stories get wiped out and none of the others. I can’t explain it anymore.
I feel like this crazy force is out to sabotage me, not just now, but my entire life. Everything, no matter what, always gets sabotaged like I’m constantly being punished for simply existing. I know of things I can’t explain. I can tell people about things that have happened in history without opening a single book. Only purely good people are drawn to me, while others get intimidated by my energy. I’m convinced they know I can see through their costumes. I’m aggressive, yet super passive at the same time. I’m a lamb, but a lion on the flip side. I’m all extremes and then some. I can stay up longer than normal people. Coffee puts me to sleep. My parents treat me as if I’m their parent. I always feel so alone even though I have countless friends. I am super electromagnetic, good with all things pertaining to sound, stimulation, and vibrations, and my energy is getting more out of hand the older I get. I can do anything better than well. That’s not arrogance, it’s the truth. Anything. Name it, even if I’ve never tried it. You may think that all this is a blessing, but you are wrong. It’s a curse. A disease that has alienated people from me my entire life.
I don’t understand the daily motions of life, paying bills, routines, and basic things that even a 4-year old would know. Yet I understand all of life’s complexities, mysteries, and histories. I live for the constant stimulation of my senses. Normal things people get hot about, bore me to death. I don’t understand when guys are hitting on me. I’m oblivious and numb to it all.
Everything with me, has to be spoken directly to me as if one were speaking to a child, or I don’t get what people are trying to say to me. I don’t play mind games, nor do I try to figure them out.
I am blunt and direct about everything, even when I shouldn’t be so truthful. I can tell when someone is staring at me from a far distance, behind me, or even talking about me. I can always tell when people are lying to me though I overlook it for amusement purposes, or not to embarrass them. I’m always sad most of the time, and really wish I could be happy like normal people. But I don’t understand how one can be happy with so much imbalance and suffering going on in the world? I am wide awake 24 hours a day — just thinking. Not only that, I am the most sensitive soul in the world, and a first-class recluse.
And finally, where is this man who dropped a mirror in front of me, when I carelessly chose to ignore it? Who is he? And is he still alive? And why can’t I even remember his name when I rarely forget a single face, word, or place? Am I really going insane? Was he even a real person? And is my mind being tampered from afar like my hard drives and personal properties? Whatever the case, I am convinced this man was sent in whatever form to tell me something. If he is a real living person…
Please tell him…
I have only gotten stronger, have fully matured, and am charmed, armed, and ready.
The Suzy Kassem Story – Part 7 of 11 by Suzy Kassem, Copyright 2009-2010. All rights reserved.