THE SECRET LIFE OF JESHUA: According to the Memory of Time

By Daniel Meurois

Here is the first volume of a long-awaited work: The unveiling of the life of Christ Jesus through the detailed consultation of the Akashic Memory.

After several years of work, Daniel Meurois, best known for his book, The Way of the Essenes: Christ's Hidden Life Remembered, presents here, in the form of an enthralling story, a true initiatory epic as fascinating as it is inspiring. We see through His own eyes.

Throughout the pages, we are invited to share the perspective of Jeshua—Jesus—on the first thirty years of his life. We discover his early childhood in the Nile Delta and what he studied at the Essenian monastery of the Krmel... up to a seventeen-year journey that led him to the Himalayas... to finally return to Egypt and be vested, in the very heart of the Great Pyramid, with the Breath of Life.

Through numerous events and information never before revealed, we accompany the Master, step by step, on the path of his touching unfoldment, a journey that led him, with the help of the Elohim, to discover the cosmic scope of his Mission.

The Secret Life of Jeshua is a disturbing and revolutionary work that will inevitably mark the path of all those who feel the urgent need to rediscover the original and universal nature of the Imprint of Jesus Christ on Earth.

His teachings awaken in everyone a vital need for real, unifying transformation. This book, without a doubt, announces the imminent arrival of a new Breath of Light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Éditions Ariane
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9782896265831

Daniel Meurois

Comment présenter Daniel Meurois ? C’est l’un des auteurs les plus lus dans le domaine de la quête spirituelle libre de tout dogme, et nombre de ses livres (plus d’une trentaine) font figure de « classiques ». C’est un mystique sans appartenance religieuse. Les diverses éditions françaises de ses ouvrages totalisent plus d'un million d'exemplaires, et certaines ont également été traduites en une quinzaine de langues. Parallèlement à sa carrière d'écrivain, Daniel Meurois donne également de nombreux séminaires et conférences ayant trait à ses écrits de plus en plus orientés vers la recherche de l'enseignement originel du Christ et des soins esséniens actualisés pour notre époque. Author of 30 books, many of which are best-sellers, Daniel Meurois is certainly the most widely read French-speaking writer since 1980 in the field of the non-dogmatic spiritual quest. The 80 translations of his works in over 17 languages certainly make him one of the pioneers of the New Consciousness, a witness who boldly explores the spirit world. Daniel Meurois now lives near the city of Quebec where he continues to open hearts with his unique literary work, seminars, and lectures.

Book preview

Chapter I

I Was Not Born in Judea

Iwas not born in Judea, as some have claimed, but in the very heart of Galilee. Our village was insignificant, so insignificant that he who would become my father preferred to have me born a mile away from his small dry stone enclosure.

On the side of a road frequented by merchants and their herds of donkeys, toward the sea, there was a modest bethsaid[1] offering everything a traveler could need. Half embedded in the rock, it had been built a long time ago by members of the Community[2] my family originated from.

It was a refuge for the sick, the needy and those who had no place to go, for a few nights stay. There were no donkeys or oxen at the mangers, but sheep and goats roaming about here and there, as in the surrounding hills.

The place was not so poor, though. I have often revisited it. A stream ran a few steps from its walls, the grass was plentiful and there was an abundance of inviting olive and fig trees.

There were many people at my birth, far more than my parents would have liked. To tell the truth, the man who had agreed to be my father, Yussaf[3], was a respected man, not only in the region but also as far away as Jerusalem.

Over time, people came to believe that he was a carpenter. However, our houses were so simply designed and built that they had little need for frameworks worthy of the name. Here, as often happens, the symbol quickly supplanted the facts.

In truth, if my father worked with wood, it was more in fashioning tools of all kinds, tables and benches, and sometimes carts, too.

But that was of secondary importance in his life. Before anything else, he was one of the main priests in our Community. I do not mean just in our village, but in the broader community whose members were found here and there in our country… the Brotherhood of Essania. That is why people often came to consult him, and why we bowed to him.

During his youth, he had been given by the Elders the responsibility of the temple our Fraternity maintained in Jerusalem. It was long before he wed Meryem[4], my mother. His wisdom and his strength had quickly made him stand out from many other men.

Just like my mother’s, his gaze deeply met mine from the first days of my arrival in this world. On my small mattress stuffed with straw and under the ocher-lined linen fabric used to cover my infant body, I have often seen him lean over as much as he could to better see my face and seek I knew not yet what…

Yussaf, Yussaf… he then murmured.

Yussaf, Joseph… this is what I was meant to be named, the same name as his.

As for my mother, I remember she looked at me as if I was not real. In my consciousness that was barely out of another space, I guessed her astonishment and questions. They were, I think, similar to mine and reflected a plunge into the unknown.

Very quickly, I realized that my arrival aroused genuine interest. There was much discussion around me, too much for the taste of my parents, who often were using ploys to hide me from the eyes of others.

Just a few weeks after my birth, I became aware of an unusual activity under our roof and then, one morning, at the crack of dawn, I felt two hands gently tearing me from my sleep to immediately wrap me in a large piece of fabric.

My memory has preserved all this as a treasure… even the sensation of crisp air that gripped my face as soon as my father had crossed the door with me in his arms. The mantle of the night was still sparkling in places above us. My eyes got lost in it…

A few steps toward I didn’t know where in the dark… and a donkey began to bray, then two, then three… all those in the village, it seemed!

Did my infant body instinctively start crying? Perhaps, because I immediately heard the sound of my mother’s voice and felt her hand softly touching my forehead.

Then there was a little jolt and I found myself at the bottom of a straw basket attached to the side of an animal. I immediately liked the slightly musky smell emanating from it. It was warm and soothing, almost maternal, amid some voices that began to mingle with those of my parents.

They were whispering, but still, I remember having felt a sort of frenzy inside them.

We were leaving… no doubt about it. Behind my eyelids that were closing on their own, I immediately knew.

The bumpy road finally woke me up. Through the veil that had been put over me, I saw the daylight and felt the heat from the sun. Once again, my body must have shed tears and started screaming. I then recognized the breast my mother was offering me… and went back to sleep.

Obviously, I cannot say how many days thus passed, moving on trails and steep paths, among olive groves or across the stony ground of some desert plateau.

I especially remember the late afternoon when we stopped near a sheepfold. A trickle of water crept between the stones and the short grass ten steps from its walls. It was its babble, I think, that fixed those moments in my memory.

I had just been put on a big wool blanket… and, for the first time since we had left our village, I realized that my parents were not the only ones taking care of me. We were a small group of five or six people. We also had two donkeys and a mule. I saw that my basket was being detached from it, a sign that we were going to spend the night there.

As the night fell, brows became knitted, especially those of my father; then people started talking seriously around me.

It was at that moment that I began to stare at all the faces that my eyes could see in the amber light surrounding our camp. I did it reflexively, or through unconsciously resuming an old habit of my soul.

Of course, I had only just come back in this world and my thoughts were barely emerging, but I wanted to see.

I was not seeking the eyes, no, not even the looks that always speak behind them. I just wanted to find that little flame which sparkles and dances over the head of every human being, and which sometimes illuminates everything and reveals the meaning of their lives. It was there, in everyone… it spoke of recognition, of family.

It is only after that moment that I knew for sure that I was among my people, among those with whom I was going to embark on the greatest of my journeys.

That night, this immaterial vision thus brought me the certainty of being rooted, but also that I had many unanswered questions.

Where was I being taken? Obviously, I didn’t know, or at least, I had forgotten when I took the leap. Yet I was somehow aware that this was something important, and no matter how small I was at the bottom of my Moses basket, this certainty stirred in me, for the first time, a sense of happiness. We were traveling where we were meant to go, and that was just fine.

Our stopover in a tiny bethsaid, located a short day’s walk from Jerusalem, was also just fine. Meryem, my mother, was exhausted, I realized, so it was decided that we would be staying there for as long as necessary.

It was primarily a shallow cave, like many others found in this area of Judea. In fact, it was an old shepherd’s shelter, which those from Essania had turned into a modest place of rest.

Lost among the small limestone hills and caressed at this time of the year by a warm wind, the bethsaid offered a more pleasant roof than all those my people could have found in Jerusalem.

Half asleep on one of the flanks of our mule, I still remember the scent of the wild grasses that led up to it.

This is where the official story wanted my birthplace to be. In truth, we lived there scarcely more than ten days before resuming our journey south.

This is also where my eyes met another gaze that, throughout my life, meant a lot to me… one of these old eyes that are easily etched in the heart when you truly meet them. It was those of a man with the same name as my father… and therefore, as mine too.

Years later, when I was old enough to understand what had happened, I learned that this man was from a nearby village called Ha Ramathaim.[5] Although he was a member of our family, he had many possessions and so had kept his distance from our brotherhood. He wanted us to stay at his house, for the news of our journey had come to him.

Yussaf of Ha Ramathaim[6] even had a few words with my father about it because the location of our bethsaid had been, according to him, badly chosen by our people, for it was on the territory of an ancient warrior cult.[7] It could not therefore, he said, be propitious to us.

Nevertheless, things must have gotten better because it was decided that my uncle, Yussaf, would join us for the long journey still ahead of us. With him came two camels and a mule that facilitated our advance.

I do not know exactly how many weeks our journey lasted. I kept, above all, the memory of a never-ending heat bath and almost continual prayers that rocked me from dawn to dusk. There were also these endless discussions every evening, sometimes around a campfire.

Without grasping the meaning of the words exchanged, I still felt I could understand the essence of what was being said, and I could not help but wriggle about in my mother’s arms. Yet she often stayed away from the conversations, as if they bored her, and she preferred probing my eyes when I refused to sleep.

One day, amid the jolts of the road we seemed to relentlessly follow, I realized that we were passing by an immense body of water. It was so wide I could hardly make out the far shore, seemingly dotted with date palms.

I didn’t know, of course, that it was the Nile, but its sight was instantly sweet and familiar to me… so familiar and carrying so many memories that, moments later, I could not hold back some sort of deep anger.

It suddenly took over my whole infant body and my tears were difficult to stem. They were responsible for so much pain… such as being stuck there on the side of an animal, wrapped in suffocating clothes, unable to get up and run to the water of the river, soak my feet in it and feel its coolness.

I was totally trapped. The voice of my father and falling asleep from exhaustion were the only means to escape my prison.

Then came one morning when it was said we had to cross the Nile, a delicate operation with our animals. We delved in amid a crowd, the sound of oars slapping water, the flapping of sails in the wind and the wailing of dromedaries, and yet everything went like a dream. I was finally set down on the sand, the best gift I could have had.

There was some palaver, chants rose in the distance… then our small group quietly resumed its walk.

I had been tied to my mother’s belly with a piece of canvas. Having my face turned to one side, I could sometimes get glimpses of the scenery amid which we moved. That was another gift…

I saw small dunes, poor mud houses, a well close to the ground and then, suddenly, something bigger, sturdier. Near a thin curtain of greenery loomed what looked like a precinct… a temple.

[1]   A small dispensary and hostel.

[2]   The Essene Brotherhood.

[3]   Joseph.

[4]   Mary.

[5]   The name Ha Ramathaim has been translated as Arimathea. This village, where Joseph of Arimathea once lived, today corresponds to that of Er Ram, located in Palestinian territory, about eight kilometers from Jerusalem, near Bethlehem.

[6]   Joseph of Arimathea.

[7]   The name of Bethlehem, in Judea, would not mean House of bread but would instead come from Bet Lahamn, the Canaanite god of war.

Chapter II

Av-Chtara

When for the first time, that moment came back to my mind, I realized that something in me knew what that meant.

Yes, it was a temple. However, it was not the construction that I identified through my eyes blinded by the sun, it was the kind of discreet and eloquent light that only the Sacred can emit.

Slowly, we got closer to it. At first, some people showed distrust upon our arrival, as I was told many years later. As a result, entering the premises was not so simple, if only because none of us really spoke the language of the place. My father had the idea of ​​showing the eight-pointed bronze star which permanently hung on his chest at the end of a string, and then the ring adorning his right index finger.

Upon viewing them, someone went to inform one of the priests of the temple, who hurriedly came and let us enter in a first sweltering courtyard. From there we were lead to an elevated terrace in a corner where a large tent-shaped canvas had been installed. It was indicated that this was where we would stay because the rooms adjacent to the sanctuary were modest in size and were also under repair.

We had, indeed, somehow managed to stay there for several days before I got the feeling that something was happening.

Meanwhile, my father and uncle, Yussaf, were regularly coming and going between another area of ​​the temple and our tent. They seemed worried and whispered most of the time while waving in front of their face a kind of large dried leaf they were using as a fan.

One night, lying on the still-warm stone floor of our terrace, I saw them both repeatedly pointing to some star clusters in the depths of the sky. This seemed to make them happy and had the effect of attracting to them the few other people in our group whom I did not yet really know. During such moments, my mother would just smile, as if the comments of the men had no importance.

Finally, a day arrived, maybe two weeks after our arrival, when things took a different turn. For the first time, I saw arriving at the corner of our terrace a tall and austere-looking man, markedly different from those who came to visit us sometimes.

After bowing for quite a long time to my parents, he asked them to follow him. He spoke our language well enough.

The next moment, I was carried away in my father’s arms. After going down a set of stairs, we began to navigate a maze of narrow corridors on the walls of which a multitude of forms were engraved. The air was stuffy.

We finally stopped in a small courtyard enclosed by wooden columns and an ambulatory. It was in the shade. We sat on the carpets covering the floor.

I remember the rolls of palm leaves and the dried clay tablets that were laid out in the center. Like that of so many other things that I could not then identify, their meaning was not unknown to me, especially that of the tablets. Mysterious symbols and drawings had been hollowed out in a seemingly random yet, in fact, very clever fashion.

Immediately, I was placed on the floor in front of them, as if I was going to be able to understand something in them. Apparently, I laughed.

The priest, so tall and dignified in my eyes, who had brought us there, then launched into a very long speech, or rather a very serious explanation. While his voice resonated strangely inside of me, I followed the finger of one of his hands moving precisely and slowly above the carved symbols.

I learned later that he was talking about death and birth, disintegration and resurrection and that he was referring to the return of a Yoshi-Ri,[1] and that the place we were in was considered to be possibly his grave.

At that moment, all eyes apparently turned toward me. I only recall that the soles of my feet were carefully examined before being coated with a very fragrant yellow substance.

When this kind of ritual was over, the same priest, still very serious, began to very cautiously unfold one of the scrolls of palm leaves that were set out on the carpet. I remember watching him placing on it two round stones painted with enigmatic red symbols so it would remain wide open on the floor.

This scroll was filled with a multitude of small, very careful drawings. In some places, the use of colors made it incredibly attractive, so I stretched my arm toward it in an instinctive desire to touch it. Immediately, I felt my father pulling me back to him to prevent me from doing so, but the priest must have gestured to him to let me continue. I was told that, strangely, it was not the colors that had then really caught my attention. It seems, my hand stopped on a drawing with earthy hues and which only the austere-looking priest seemed to understand what it meant.

As for me, all I clearly remember is the word that this man then uttered with excitement: Ush-Tar! Ush-Tar![2]

My uncle, Yussaf, immediately rejoiced upon hearing that.

Ush-Tar! Ush-Tar! he in turn repeated.

My parents, meanwhile, remained silent and even pensive, I believe, as if the name that had just rung in their ears was heavy with consequences and made them a little scared.

Long litanies were then recited under the wisps of frankincense smoke which a young priest was endeavoring to drive up in the sky. I fell asleep among them, huddled against my mother’s womb, in peace without understanding the source of that peace.

When I surfaced from my sleep, we were standing on the highest terrace of the temple. It was the first time I could contemplate the extent of it, with its walls and its five or six small secondary temples, modest and mostly devoid of ornaments. They were in the image of the desert, its human extension within walking distance of the Nile’s blue ribbon which, like an umbilical cord, was connecting us to Heaven. We were at Niten Tor[3].

Much later, as an adult, I returned to this place, through making my soul travel there. It was vaster, and sculptors were busy adorning the columns with the face of a deity whose attributes were those of a cow.[4] As for the small temples enclosed within its walls, they had also become more beautiful and many women, rich or poor, crossed their doorways to give birth there. I wish I could go back there… It was both a gentle and solemn place.

The day after the name of Ush-Tar was evoked, I was taken into one of these small buildings.

That moment is still engraved in my mind… The first light of dawn barely tinted the sky.

What seemed to me like a great number of priestesses were singing some very spellbinding songs. As soon as we entered, my mother was asked to pass me around among them from arm to arm.

Fascinated by the light blue veil covering their faces, I remained unresponsive, as if a part of my being was consciously the serene spectator of what was being played out there.

My mother finally took me back and then we were led into another room where, in the center, other women were stoking a brazier mounted on a metal tripod, the smoke escaping through a circular hole in the ceiling. The air, laden with all kinds of perfumes, was almost unbreathable.

Fortunately, we were continuing on our way to a third room.

As soon as I was taken inside, I felt that its atmosphere was particularly solemn. Around a majestic white cow, there were three men and a woman. All seemed very old to me because their faces had a texture similar to old wrinkled and weathered leather.

They all wore only a long white linen loincloth adorned with a scarlet border. A cord, scarlet too, hung from the right shoulder to the left hip… the mark of their priesthood. As for the old woman, her face and chest were entirely covered with ash.

My eyes could not help but dwell on the beautiful big cow that seemed to be the object of attentive care. Its two huge horns had been covered with gold, while its neck was decorated with an impressive necklace of pink flowers.

Attached to a small stone pillar, the animal did not move, probably accustomed to the ritual to which it was central. We waited in silence in front of it.

For long moments, the ceremonial seemed limited to a few psalmodies; then, finally, the priestess began to circle the cow at a rapid pace while sprinkling it with water.

She did maybe five or six laps. Again, no reaction…

Suddenly the officiant stopped, put a hand between the horns of the animal and started wavering as if she was suddenly feeling faint. The three priests then stepped back and, imperturbable, let her collapse on the ground.

Showing no surprise either, my parents and my uncle, Yussaf, had already moved a little aside. Meanwhile, my mother held me in her arms, my back pressed against her chest as if to invite me to lose nothing of the scene. I still felt the warmth of her breath caressing the top of my head…

In one of the rooms we had crossed before, the songs quickly gained in intensity, joined by the deep pounding of a drum…

At one point, finally, the old woman began to gesticulate on the floor, and then to utter snatches of guttural words. One of the priests then knelt beside her to hear better.

And then everything happened quickly. I remember crying when he came to forcibly take me from my mother’s arms and put me on the floor slabs near the woman, who continued to struggle while making seemingly disjointed sounds.

A hand immediately gripped my body. It was one of her hands…

As soon as she touched me, the priestess in a trance suddenly became silent, as I also did. A relatively long silence thus ensued in the room, a silence the old woman finally broke through distinctly pronouncing two or three words.

Straightaway someone began to shake frankincense above us, still lying on the ground, and then one of the priests carried me away, gently this time, toward the bottom of the naos[5] where he laid me down facing a few objects and clay tablets similar to those of the previous day.

With my face to the ground, I heard his footsteps move away, then those of other people… and, finally, a door creaked and closed with a sharp bang.

Everything was confused. In the darkness, I could barely see anything. Where were my parents? For the first time, I could not feel their presence. Fear, however, was absent from my soul.

Was it the proximity of the objects and tablets that stimulated my burgeoning curiosity, or was there something more profound that stirred in me? Probably both.

When a soul first inhabits a body, it is, in truth, the time of a strange marriage between flashes of lucidity emerging from its own past and the uncertain backdrop of the present moment.

I only remember having been immediately magnetized by a small metal vase with a long wooden handle and by one of the clay tablets scattered on the ground.

Amid many signs engraved thereon, I noticed the representation of a man flanked by two spread wings. It is this image that attracted me and really fascinated me. I crawled up to it, laid myself on it, and then pulled toward me the long-handled jug vase.

I still vividly remember how incredibly well I thus felt, fulfilled somehow, imbued with tranquility and even joyful. These moments lasted a long time, or so it seemed, and I definitely enjoyed them.

When a priest, along with my parents, came for me, I had managed to sit up on the floor and was busy performing very precise movements with both hands, as if to caress the Invisible. I was traveling somewhere in me, so far from everything that I did not even feel the arms that lifted me off the ground.

All I remember from the rest of that day are confused images emerging from the mists of consciousness. The feeling of wholeness and bliss that fleetingly took over me while in front of these objects dissipated while my body fell asleep snuggled against my mother’s soft chest.

I only vaguely remember being seated and held on what must have been a sort of stone throne, facing a gathering of singing men and women… Then nothing else… until a difficult night of insomnia spent in the arms of my father, pacing back and forth on our terrace.

After those events, our family did not stay more than three or four days at the temple of Niten Tor. There were frequent ablutions on the banks of the sacred lake at the rear of the buildings, lots of flowers were thrown into the water and also many lively discussions in the shade of the date palms that grew there.

Years later, when I was old enough to understand, my father and my uncle, Yussaf, solemnly gathered for the occasion, explained to me what had then happened in Niten Tor, in the Land of the Red Earth.[6]

Long before my birth, many signs had been given to my parents, leading them to suppose that the soul who asked to come through them was very old and carrying a singular destiny, with the ability to manifest a multitude of changes.

The news was immediately circulated among the Elders of our Brotherhood and it was therefore resolved that, very early, I would be subjected to a comprehensive examination by some priests and then to various tests, so that my soul might eventually be identified.

The temple of Niten Tor, with its famous wise men and dedicated ever since its beginning to celebrating births, was the most suitable place for such a ceremony. What the cult celebrated there was not in line with that of our people, on both sides of the boundary; the true Ancient ones, the Desert Elders as we called them, saw well beyond earthly appearances. They knew the truth that, at their apex, all human souls speak the same language and venerate the same Sun.

So, after the Stars had been studied at length, after the essence of the very old tablets had been carefully scrutinized, after a priestess had uttered a name fetched from the Memory of the Invisible, and finally, after my soul, through its infant body, had unhesitatingly recognized, among many objects, a vase meant for the offering of Fire and the silhouette of a winged man, an announcement was made.

It was said that through my person Zerah-Ushtar[7] had returned to this world to reawaken it according to the law of the One. As such, and as I watched everything with a faraway look, tied seated on a stone seat with a scarlet scarf, I was finally proclaimed to be Av-Shtara.[8]

After this announcement, it was quickly decided that we were going to stay some time in the Land of the Red Earth, not in a particular temple but here and there, moving from community to community. The goal was to pull me away as quickly as possible from the mists of Forgetfulness, to entrust me to master teachers, to the Desert Elders and to therapist-priests.

They would have the task of rekindling my ancient knowledge and make the faculties of my soul grow faster than what the nature of this world normally allows.

The journey of our family was to be extended for a while… but, in truth, it was stretched to five full years.

It has left in me the imprint of a rather difficult journey. I lived with the recurring feeling of suffocating in a too-small body and dependent on everything, with the certainty of understanding much without being able to know, and to tell… A test of internalization and forced patience which was nevertheless for me a truly fertile experience.

Moving from communities of therapists to small brotherhoods of priests, from hermitages to villages, we lived in this way, making our way from the eastern bank of Thebes to the Nile delta.

The seal-shaped ring that had been given to my father by way of recommendation was not useful for long, as I was told. The news of the presence of a young Av-Shtara and his family moved faster than we from nome to nome,[9] and therefore every door was open to us.

It is, however, around the city of Alexandria we stayed the most. The masters and teachers who could adequately begin my instruction were more numerous there than elsewhere.

I know that I first had to learn to recognize the function of the various ritualistic objects that were constantly around me, and then to master as soon as possible how to use them.

So one of my first big and significant thrills was, while I still could not stand on my legs, to succeed in waving a small incense burner above a makeshift altar set at ground level. The smell that emanated from it made me proud; it got me closer, it seems to me, to that sort of dignity that I carried in my soul, but which didn’t yet know how to express itself.

So it was the gestures, especially the sacred gestures, which stimulated my consciousness and my memory, and probably also pushed my body to stand up very quickly.

In fact, I could still not speak and yet, already, I showed myself able to perform a few simple rituals.

Blessing an object, a place… making an offering to the Fire, to the Water… offering rose petals to the sunlight every morning…

All that was sheer happiness for me. At least, it was so until I noticed that these actions and this state of mind that were so spontaneous for me attracted an ever-increasing crowd of onlookers.

I remember hiding myself from them as soon as my legs were strong enough to carry me. I then always found a way, almost joyfully, to make what seemed to me like good banter so as to be on my own… and quietly rejoin my Father, the one in Heaven.

Yes, it is at that early period of my life that the idea of the Father, of His Principle—for lack of a word I could pronounce—quickly arose in my heart. The gestures I loved performing brought me closer to Him… Awoun[10]… Awoun was all I was certain of, and also just about all that motivated me.

My parents, meanwhile, witnessed this with the greatest discretion and also the most beautiful humility, despite the marks of respect and even honor that were constantly lavished on them. They rendered services to the best of their abilities and they would even sometimes officiate according to the rites of our culture.

As for my uncle Joseph, Yussaf of Ha Ramathaim, he had to leave us immediately after our stay in Tor Niten. He was the head of an important trading business and owned boats at Joppa.[11]

This was the time when, little by little, I realized that those in our small party who had remained with us in the background since we left the village were four of the sons that my father had from a first marriage which had left him a widower.

Two of them, the older ones, left us shortly before our stay near Alexandria. They had the mission of spreading the news about us in Galilee.

Months and years passed thus in practice and studies, in the desert setting, under the scorching sun or in rooms with ocher and lime walls, sometimes in underground locations.

I was taught the cycles of life, those of nature as well as those of humans. I was also taught the sacred words by which one talks to the stars, and even to remain awake when night comes and one must pray to stay in touch with the Sun, this Father whom I always secretly call.

When my fifth year was over, I could speak well the language of our people and of that region of the Red Earth. Besides, both were quite similar.

An event marked the end of our life in the Nile delta. Even though having not been its initiator, I had at least been at the center of it. It took place in the middle of a wonderfully starry night while we all slept on the terrace of a quite nice clay and straw brick house. This happened in a community dedicated to the art of ointments.

As usual, I had insisted on sleeping alone in a corner of the space offered to us. I do not know what aroused me from sleep but I was attracted by a strong shimmering glow over me, in the starry vault. I immediately thought it was that emitted by this star which, according to my parents, was protecting the people of Essania.[12]

However, this explanation did not satisfy me because the light was, it seemed to me, much more glittering and should not have been exactly above me. So I sat in the corner of the wall where I used to take refuge. I didn’t have time to do more nor to wonder any further, as I immediately saw a kind of ball of fire fall from the sky and strike me at lightning speed. No shock, no pain, and no fear…

The humble night scenery from our terrace had dissolved… I was standing alone in the center of an expanse of ​​fresh and wonderfully immaculate light. My breathing was suspended and I don’t remember having made the slightest movement.

A few brief moments passed thus, without any thought or even any emotion and then, little by little, a Presence emerged from the virgin light. It moved closer to me until I could perceive its human form. Not enough, however, for me to distinguish its features.

– Awoun? I asked within myself with the spontaneity of childhood… Awoun?

I received a smile. It was followed by silence… then a voice aroused inside of me.

– "No… not Awoun… Awoun does not exist… He IS… and He lives within you, Sananda!"

I think I was unable to form any thought in response to that claim.

After another pause, the voice then resumed.

– I am sent… to caress your heart, Sananda. To caress your heart and tell it to extend its roots in this world. Nothing more, for the time has come. The Sun is now high enough in your Sky for you to learn to speak with your words to yourself. Do you understand?

Yes, I did understand… but it was not through the words I heard or their images that I grasped what it was all about. It was what was behind them, all their implied meanings that revived in me the memory—although confusedly—of the course of my path.

My soul had thus responded with its own words, in a burst and without any need to articulate any thought.

The light and its Presence then immediately vanished as if they had been sucked by the canopy of Heaven. I was again leaning in a corner against my wall and I felt far more than simply alive, animated by an incredible need to breathe deeply.

I remained there until dawn and did not move at all until my mother stood up and walked in my direction.

– Yussaf? she whispered. What are you doing there?

I didn’t know how to reply. I just got up and walked toward her so she could pour a little water on my face with a pitcher as she did every morning.

She never knew what I had just experienced. Independently of my will, the moments lived and the words received were sealed in me. Meryem had, however, the attentive eye of any true mother because, after we went down in the lower part of the house that was lent to us, she asked me again.

– What is it that you have in your hand?

– But… nothing… I replied most candidly.

While saying this, I realized that my left hand was actually closed, as if it held some object. I immediately opened it, without thinking.

In the center of my palm, there was a small crystal. I brought it close to my face and I saw that it had an extraordinary limpidity. I had to rush outside and to admire it under the rays of the morning light. I had never seen anything like that.

That morning, I silently thanked my mother for not having questioned me any further. She was able to accept that I had a secret.

Was this the effect of the luminous Visit I had received? Was it the stimulating influence of my little crystal? Anyhow… the same day I made clear to my parents that I was yearning to return home, in this land of Galilee they often mentioned to me, but of which I then had no conscious recollection.

Without having really thought about it, I used the words that overflowed from my heart… and these words were welcomed for what they were: true and necessary.

My master teachers made no objection. They knew that their role was coming to an end.

A few days later, after my parents and my two brothers had made their last arrangements and accomplished some final rituals, our modest caravan started toward the north.

I don’t really know what was triggered in my mind when I saw our dromedary and two donkeys setting off toward the desert road. It was the most intense joy I had ever felt, and the accompanying feelings of freedom and fullness were so powerful that I think I felt a few tears discreetly welling up in my eyes.

There was no question for me that anyone would put me on the back of one of our animals. I truly felt I was now a man and I wanted to walk! Of course, the stamina of my body soon began to show its limits…

Little of this return journey remains in my memory. The trip was peaceful, sometimes punctuated by checks from some Roman soldiers stationed on the outskirts of villages.

Until then, I had never really become aware of their presence or of the power they exercised. It was a discovery. But it didn’t hold much of my attention despite the comments of my family. I was too busy with what was going on in my heart, which felt like a birth to me.

Once we were out of the great desert[13] and we had started to get closer to Jerusalem, I was already no longer the one who had grown up around the Nile. Something had exploded in the center of my chest and this thing gave me the feeling of no longer having enough room in me to love everything that my eyes could encompass.

Everything seemed beautiful and infinitely worthy of being worshiped… and so I did not understand why I had been taught that the world was divided between Good and Evil.

It was the only question that ran through me from time to time because even the most innocuous of the faces encountered on the roadside spoke to me only of the Presence of Awoun. I had no merit in this; it was so…

As for my enigmatic small crystal, I had placed it the middle of a carefully folded piece of linen and then stored it at the bottom of the bag that hung beside me. I didn’t even dare look at it for fear of losing it forever!

The day we arrived in Jerusalem didn’t count more than any other in my eyes, except for the fact we found there my uncle, Yussaf… of whom I had kept only a very vague recollection. We spent two or three nights at his home, to share and rest. When we left him, I immediately missed the kindness in his eyes and the strong smell of musk that characterized his neck and beard.

Missing someone… It was the first time that I discovered the true depth of this feeling. How could it exist and persist in us when the world seemed to me so beautiful and so perfect? Would my wonderment ever come to an end

It is in this frame of mind that my eyes finally settled, on a mild afternoon, on the top of a hill dotted with humble houses.

I will never forget the exclamation of my father and how he then kissed the ground.

We were back home…

I was moved too but, perched on my donkey, I already sensed that I would not be writing my story there for very long…

– Awoun… Father, I heard myself whispering, plant me where I need to be and lend me Your Words.

[1]   Yoshi-Ri or Osiris. Along with Isis and Horus, Osiris is the central deity of one of the main trinities of Ancient Egypt.

[2]   This is the name that later became Ishtar in Persian, a name associated in this culture with the planet Venus, the star par excellence.

[3]   Today, it is called Dendera.

[4]   The cow Hathor, one of the expressions of the mother goddess Isis. Among other things, she was famous for assisting women to give birth.

[5]   The Holy of Holies of an Egyptian temple.

[6]   Land of the Red Earth was the name given to Egypt by the Essene initiates.

[7]   Zerah-Ushtar, better known under the name of Zoroaster—or Zarathustra—the prophet who reformed Mazdaism to found the monotheistic religion of Zoroastrianism, around the year