What I Learned in Egypt This time

Egypt is not always gentle.

It may reject you.

It may laugh at you.

It may test you.

The land itself is a teacher.

The guides - seen and unseen - are watching.

They offer no shortcuts.

They bring the fire.

And they watch you walk through it.

To see…

Will you rise beyond pain?

Will you face the fear?

Will you remember who you are?

This is where the soul hears her own voice again -

The voice of eternity.

The voice of the spirits.

The voice of the gods.

This time, Egypt didn’t come to soothe me.

It came to shake me.

To test my role.

As a leader.

As a space holder.

As a woman who walks with others toward remembering.

It asked:

Can you hold steady when it storms?

Can you speak the truth, even when it trembles the room?

Can you pause when needed - and see from a higher view?

And I was tested.

Not once. Many times.

Did I pass?

Maybe that’s not the point.

What I know is this:

I stayed.

I stood.

I softened where needed.

I took a step aside where it mattered.

I listened.

I reflected.

And I learned exactly what I needed to know.

About where I wobble.

About the “mice” that gnaw at my thoughts and self-doubt.

About the quiet places where I still hide.

And about the deep fire that has never gone out.

The Eye of Ra guided me.

The Eye - in ancient Egyptian myth - is the fierce feminine force of protection and power.

A lioness. A destroyer. A life-giver.

She brings order through chaos.

She burns away the illusion to reveal the divine.

And so, we returned after 8 days,

Waking at times at 3am to enter sacred temples…

Meeting Isis, Ra, Horus, Anubis, Hathor, Sekhmet, Sobek…

Walking the path, breathing, receiving.

Flowing with the Nile - receiving the messages, the whispers, the depth of the water.

The flow of a river.

We didn’t come back the same.

Each of us returns with new visions, with homework, with clarity for our next becoming.

This is the true nature of these journeys.

In spring 2026, we return again -

This time into the deep desert.

To sleep under the stars.

To breathe in silence.

To listen again.

And we will see what the land will ask of us then.

With love and breath,

Petra