Inside The Great Pyramid

A capstone memory of a momentous journey.

As I lay down with my arms crossed upon my chest in an ‘X’, the lights went out and the weightiness of the moment descended upon me.

The fruition of a trip that first hatched almost three years ago came to a climax during these five solemn minutes.

Photo by author.

The trip was a 16-day sojourn that began in Cairo and included visits to Saqqara, Alexandria, Luxor, Dendera, Abydos, Karnak, sailing up the Nile, Edfu, Kom Ombo, and Philae before returning back to Cairo.

This moment felt like the culmination of the entire trip — a pilgrimage to many of the temples across Egypt before our return to Cairo to step foot inside the Great Pyramid.

Our private visit was scheduled for 3 o’clock in the morning. The witching hour, some say.

We began by quietly making our way towards the Queen’s Chamber that entailed navigating some awkward terrain and ascending the oddly shaped shaft from the entry door into the medium sized room made smaller by the presence of some work equipment strewn about somewhat haphazardly — some work lights, machinery and barricade tape.

Upon arriving and we took a moment to settle and feel into the energy of the place. An unexpected aspect of the pyramid is how warm it is inside.

After orienting ourselves and taking in the walls, the intriguing stepped niche, the holes in the wall, we began to tone extemporaneously. After several temple visits, our group had found its groove like a kind of improvising choir. As one of only three men of the eleven present, I lent the deeper timbre of my voice to the mix, a sonic foundation upon which the mellifluous tones of the women could explore, soar and harmonize.

Awhile later, we began the next phase of our ceremony. Two of our facilitators went onward and upward to open the King’s Chamber — one male, one female. Even from down in the Queen’s Chamber, two voices sounded like an angelic choir. The fullness of the resonance was remarkable.

The rest of us continued singing as each of us made our way up to the King’s Chamber one by one, in five minute increments.

I was among the last to go.

As I ascended the peculiarly unique shaft that requires one to either crawl or climb in a pronounced stoop, it seems like some kind of architecturally designed humility. I remember musing if humans were even supposed to be in here at all or if it was intended for some other mysterious purpose.

The pyramids of Giza attract theories like fruit flies to a compost bin. There are so many of them out there it's impossible to keep track or to seriously entertain them all. At some point, that very human need to know surrenders to the innocence of not knowing. It is a profoundly uncomfortable feeling at first, particularly for those whose lives have been primarily shaped and directed by their intellect, but ultimately relieving. There are simply things in the cosmos I will never know.

Photo by author.

As I entered the dimly and artificially lit King's Chamber, I was taken aback by its relative plainness. It is neither small nor overwhelmingly large, though still impressive with its high ceilings that support hundreds of tons of stone above. It is decidedly larger than the Queen’s Chamber, though its ceiling is flat if I recall accurately rather than the Queen’s arched shape. In my view, the most prominent and memorable feature of the King’s Chamber, is its resonant acoustic properties.

Right there by the far side relative to the entry, is a stone box. Conventional lore assumes it to be a sarcophagus for Khufu’s mummy, the pharaoh after which the pyramid is named.

We each took our turns laying down in the granite box -- and it was almost mine.

I patiently awaited my turn, doing my best to drop in and feel the majesty of the place. Accompanied by the resonance of song, I took in all of the details I could and slowed down the thrill of excitement to simply be here among this most ancient, renowned and mysterious of human artifacts.

And then it was my time.

As I nestled into the sarcophagus, what became immediately apparent was the reverberation and amplification of any sounds I made. I could hear my sighs, whispers and breathing like a hot microphone, but distinctly different, as there were no electronics involved. As I toned, I could hear my voice crescendo and fill the space. Somehow due to the space’s design, it amplifies sound purely through geometry -- without the eardrum-destroying whine of a typical feedback loop.

It is magnificently loud, powerful and majestic.

So much so that the official accompanying us instructed us to quiet down.

So I lay there with the kinesthetic puzzle of how to throat sing quietly. A riddle of sorts.

I had been vocalizing for the past half hour or more in the Queen's Chamber ad libitum, so my voice was already fatigued in addition to the early hour.

But what I noticed was that I was unable to manipulate my voice to produce the deep overtones I had become known for during that trip. They just gave up -- or at least when paired with the intention to do so quietly.

I played with it some, finding a solution -- to pulse, feel the resonance and amplification of the sarcophagus and chamber carry and lift my voice, then let it dissipate. The natural reverberation of the space is unlike anything I have experienced before or since.

And so I pulsed periodically, alternating toning with silence. Overtones with simple drones.

And then my time was up.

I remember that I had thrown my back out the day before, and was in a fairly considerable amount of low back pain. So much so that the idea of not making it to the Great Pyramid after all this time had crossed my mind. I rejected those thoughts out of hand.

Photo by author.

So, after gingerly negotiating with my body to exit the sarcophagus, I made my way out of the red granite box.

I lay down on the floor in the center of the room assuming a corpse-like position, receiving the energy of the moment.