On this trip, seeing Sekhmet was the day I shed the world. She is one of my reliable spiritual connections. She always sets me straight.
When Stephen and I first got into a relationship, he used to give me Sekhmet presents. A wall hanging, a picture—that kind of thing. I used to think it was sweet because he loved Sekhmet. That was until I met her. Then I understood.
We were walking to her shrine in Karnak in silence. Hakim kept shushing the guard. Then it happened. The vision began with me walking out from the shrine, but a different me. A me from the way past. This me said, “Welcome home.” And the whole temple burst into color and bloom. Fountains played in the recesses. Birds sang and splashed. A line of priestesses carried platters of fruit and flowers to her, chanting beautiful weaves of harmony. I wept the whole way there. Hakim protected me from intrusion. When I went in to see her, she was not stone. She was a living, breathing presence. She looked down through several dimensions at us. Pure compassion. She knew what it was like to live in this time. She whispered encouragement, healing, pure love. There was more.
On my next trip to Sekhmet, I wondered what I would experience. The first time is often the most powerful. She looked down at me again, and this time she had a simple message. “You need to play more.” She took me to a cave with a spring, a green bank outside. My sister priestesses and I swam and rested, enjoying her comforting presence. I can’t remember what she said on my third visit, but I always leave in peace, my consciousness cleansed, my frequency vibrating high.
This time on the boat my little crystal skull I’d brought along yelled at me that it wanted to come too. I almost missed the bus tearing through my luggage to find it. After all, it hadn’t said a word to me in a year in a half. When we arrived at Karnack, we split into two groups. We went to the open air museum, toned with Gary Evans in a granite room, looked at hieroglyphs and inscribed Neters with Stephen and Patricia. The guard indulged us.
Then we walked toward her shrine. The other group met us on their way out. My friend Jeanne had been weeping. Someone approached her to see what was wrong, but she caught my eye. I nodded my head. She nodded hers. And we hugged, sister priestesses celebrating our return to Mother Sekhmet.
She had already come to me with a vision while we toned. When I came in she whispered to me about what she’d shown me, then released me to watch her come to the others in the group. Some cried or closed their eyes and listened or came up to touch her and had a hard time letting go. We toned. One woman slipped behind her and wept healing tears. Nothing was wrong. Everything is right when we visit Sekhmet. 
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