Excerpts

Echoes from the Buried Worlds

JOURNAL OF AN INNER JOURNEY

Then everything pauses. Silence descends gently, like a veil. The crowd fades away—or perhaps I’m the one slipping elsewhere. A door opens silently, as if it had been waiting for me.

I step through a threshold. Silence welcomes me. I’m in a vast palace. My palace.

It’s made of tall columns carved with ancient symbols, reminiscent of the sacred temples of ancient Egypt. At the center, a clear basin reflects the soft golden light, like a calm heart at the center of this vastness. The space feels immense, harmonious, marked by the memory of a world long gone, yet perfectly intact in this vision.

Everything here is magnificent, but frozen. As if time had stopped. There’s a kind of still beauty here, a sacred solitude. I’m home… but alone.

And then, a presence. Not physically there, but I can feel her. A woman.

Her absence is so tangible, it becomes almost physical. And yet… I see her—or maybe it’s the memory of her soul—sitting on a large stone throne, wrapped in shadow and light.

I know she was beautiful—radiant in a way that still shines, even through the void.

Her absence seems to echo through time itself. And I feel it deeply — in my body, my breath, my soul…

The Chamber of Suspended Time

I awaken in a plain, both familiar and unknown. A vast, wild space, where each blade of grass seems to whisper an ancient secret. As if this place floated between dream and the memory of another life.

In the distance, a golden bison stands — majestic, peaceful — a silent embodiment of deep strength. At the edge of the forest, a figure appears. A man. An Indian. Deep inside, I know he is a keeper of ancient wisdom, a medicine man, or perhaps a walker between worlds. Perhaps I am him, in another life.

I felt this existence as that of a hunter, at first. A man tied to survival, to instinct, to the hunt.

But one day, something shifted. I gave up the hunt. Not out of weakness, but because a greater call imposed itself — one of listening, of healing, of connecting. This transition was harsh. Long. A path of stripping away. Of initiation.

I crossed through the trial of emptiness, of solitude, of questioning.

Until something else was born in me. A way of seeing beyond, of sensing the spirit of beasts, of plants, of dreams.

Of becoming a watcher of spirits.

His gaze bears the trace of an inner path. He is calm, filled with silent wisdom.

In seeing him, I sense a story that could be mine. That of a hunter who became a watcher.

It may not have been the destiny he first chose, but it is the one he embraced.

And in that transformation, something in me awakens — as if I still carried its resonance.

The familiar world and the appearance of the Ancient guide

Echoes from the Buried Worlds

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