EGYPTIAN NOTEBOOK:
HATSHEPSUT'S SISTER
She came to Egypt bearing her sister's karma.
An old Tibetan priest, she'd never been in Egypt in this or any other
life.
But her twin had been, and that's the vibration she brought.
Her twin, you see, had once been Queen Hatshepsut,
That infamous pharaoh who wore a fake beard and penis,
And slaughtered all who tried to share her power,
But who had, on the plus side, encouraged art,
And under whom Egyptian architecture and design
had truly flourished.
Not a popular queen,
Her cartouche had been defaced on all her statues,
That no one might pray for her after her death.
And so for twenty centuries she'd lain in outer darkness.
In the present era she was an artist—and a nurse.
Hatshepsut's sister had so far had a bad trip.
She'd felt it personally when another tour group
Had pushed in front of ours at Sakkarah.
She'd been duped by perfume vendors,
Baited and switched at the papyrus gallery,
And had had her fees trebled by a camel driver.
Each time she'd said with conviction, "It's my sister's
karma."
At the museum in Cairo,
While the others in the group took pictures of King Tut,
Hatshepsut's sister wandered toward the statues of her twin
Carved in that life so many years ago.
And there, in front of one of those monolithic images,
An artist reverentially sat sketching.
His work had life and warmth
And a beauty the carved work itself lacked.
"May I buy your sketch?" asked Hatshepsut's sister.
"I'd really like to have it for my twin."
The artist gently smiled. "I am a student,
And I'm afraid I cannot sell my work
and still maintain my amateur status."
Her disappointment showed.
The karma working still, she thought.
"But," said the artist, "I would be most pleased
To give it to you, if you would accept it."
And so he did, signing it to her sister.
For tiny miracles sometimes occur
For those who sacrifice their peace for others.
And karma can be replaced with grace. |
