Torn Clouds by Judy Hall
Intro: Haunted by a dream of a terrible lioness and a lake of blood, Megan McKennar finds herself on the streets of Luxor graphically reliving her own past and the myths of ancient Egypt – an experience that, seemingly, underlies a deadly disease that has invaded her blood. The memory draws back an old lover.
A rushing wind.
An all-seeing eye plucked and thrown down.
Fierce, burning rage.
“Go. Kill. Destroy the ungrateful wretches who mock their creator. Show them the vengeance of the god, your father, Ra.”
Flying across the desert, burning thirst only blood can assuage tears at my heart.
Plunging, I drink my fill. Drawing in the life of the land.
Consumed by the blood-lust, I travel the length of Khemet, killing all in my path.
In vain does my father call me back:
“Spare my children, I only wanted to punish those who mock my old age.”
Unheeding, I run on, Sekhmet, Lady of the Bloodbath.
I am The Wrath of Ra, nothing can stop me now.
For seven years I roam the land, revelling in the slaughter.
The earth is stained red, the great river runs ruddy and bejewelled.
For humankind, terror stalks by day and by night.
“It is a plague on our land” says one.
“No, no, the Day of Judgement is come. We are doomed, Anubis is awaiting the harvest of hearts” responds another.
Aswan the beautiful. The jewel in the crown of Egypt.
To one side, a lake glows redly before me. I swoop down.
Frightened women run squawking.
Here is more blood than in their puny frames.
I drink it dry.
But – what is this? My head swims. My senses blur.
I have been tricked! This is not blood!
I plunge into oblivion.
How can this be? I am goddess. Immortal. Invincible. I am She..
Night takes me.
A chattering baboon woke me. He had me by the tail and was hauling me along, chuckling to himself as he recounted his silly tales. Sand was in my nose and ears, and my tongue had picked up a coating of grit as the end scraped the ground. The indignity of it.
Clutching my head, I staggered to my feet. Oh, the pounding, the heaving. My husband Ptah was fashioning me afresh on his potter’s wheel. He breathed my ka back into my body. If this was life, let me embrace death. Let me travel to Amenti.
“What is this, was has happened, who am I?” I asked the silly fellow.
“You are She, you are Sekhmet, the Lady of the Flame” he replied.
Awareness came, and with it remembrance. The killing spree was over. I was emptied, purged. I dared not count the cost in human suffering, in lives lost.
“How can I live with the knowledge of what I have done? There is nothing for me now.” I wept tears of blood. For humankind and, if I am honest, for myself as well.
Tenderly Thoth, god of wisdom – for the chattering baboon was none other than he – took my hand. Talking all the while, filling my empty spaces with his unquestioning love, he led me home.
Quietly, mindful of my aching head, he reminded me of our creation, and the wrath of my father Ra:
No longer potent, Ra wearied of riding the sun chariot through the void each night. Apopep, the serpent of chaos, grew in strength as the nocturnal battle to birth order each day lost its savour.
Ra was by now a senile old man, drooling into his beer. Crotchety and cantankerous, he issued his orders. Humankind laughed and mocked his efforts to rule. The god and his creation grew apart. There was a cancer in the body of Egypt.
Angered, Ra set you loose.
In time, he came to regret his unthinking rage, but you had grown strong feeding on the dark power of life itself. Your own sex, more subtle and schooled in the ways of guile, prepared for you the lake of potent beer. Your rage was stilled.”
“Will I ever be forgiven?” How could I bear this guilt and pain?
“You must seek forgiveness in yourself.” He patted my arm gently as his wise eyes held mine.
“How must I do this?”
“To honour the strength of Sekhmet, once in every year, at its dying end, a festival will commemorate your headlong flight through the land of Egypt. Offerings will be made to the three hundred and sixty five statues of your majesty in the inner sanctum of your sacred temple of Mut. The forces of pestilence, the miasmas of death and sickness, the fear of hunger and the demons from the Otherworld will be held at bay until Ra can birth again with the rising flood.”
Many moons had passed and it was time to make ready again for the Great Festival of Reconciliation. The priests came for me. But how could this be when the Lord of my Heart had not yet reached my side?
I was bathed in lotus flowers, perfumed and bejewelled. Hair fell to the floor as the razor touched my most intimate places. Robed in finest linen, shaven head gleaming, I was purified by the long fast. My priestesses and I made our way to the great Hypostyle Hall. A blood-red moon hung pregnant in the sky. Nuit was birthing her babies. Soon it would be my turn.
Once again the mask of Sekhmet was placed upon my head. I ascended her throne.
The narcotic cup was handed to me by an anonymous priest hidden behind the mask of Ra. Only his eyes were visible, glittering black and predatory in the braziers’ flickering light. Shining with a hungry gleam. Who was he, this stranger who had usurped my Lord’s role? He wasn’t clothed in the lion skin that signified he too had made the journey with My Lady. He had not run amok in the reaches of the night. He had not borne the initiation that fitted him to be my guide. He had not been where I have to go. How could I bear this? How could I rebirth the world without my Lord at my side? How could I overcome the demons of the night, the forces of pestilence and death? How could I turn my Lady’s awesome power to healing light? What about my unborn child?
The alien priest spoke the words of power, their echoes reverberated around the sacred walls, magnified a thousand times. They pulled me outwards….
“No, no,” I cried despairingly clutching my bulging belly.
The rushing wind began again. A fire in my blood. The goddess was released…
Prostrate. Head in the dirt, I wait.
Eyes peeping upwards beneath lowered lashes.
Waiting to catch a glimpse
Of Her, the Great Mother
Tiye, Mut incarnate.
My whole being is dedicated to this Lady. The Great God’s Wife – and the Goddess inviolate.
As soon as the mourning period ended, the Suten had sent out an edict. Only Aten, the hidden and invisible One, is to guide the land and the lives of the people. From henceforth, Suten would be known as Akhenaten. Beloved by the Aten, Son of the Sun. But how can I call on Aten, that remote and unforgiving being? How can I set aside the Great Lady Mut? Since childhood I have been in her care. Her temple the only home I know. I was three when the priests of Amon plucked me from the arms of my dead mother and spirited me away to Wast.
The priests were kind, but dry and old. They honoured my visions and smiled benignly when I recounted the colour of the lights clustered around the heads of those we passed. If I glimpsed black or murky green, we went another way. Red would cause us to fade out of sight. After all, it was my power of sight that had caused them to seek me out. To find me before Weneset, the Eater of Souls, came. They foresaw the dark times that would fall upon the shining ones. They wanted to gather up the goddesses’ children whilst there was still time. Time for us to master the magic of Sekhmet, the sekhem power. Time for us to join the hustle and bustle of her home, the Great Temple Mut.
Set high on a priest’s shoulder, I came at last to Aphet-sut. Light shone out. Rainbow colours sparkled and danced. Laughing delightedly I reached out
And was gathered into the arms of the Great Wife. The Queen Tiye.
All around were silent, awed to see her haughty face break into a smile.
“Welcome back, Shen-en-Ka’rt” she had whispered into my ear. “You are just in time. Your initiation will be completed before the Temple falls. The goddess wills that you will not remember who you were until much time has passed. A new order will rise, and fall, before your wisdom can come to fruition. You will forget me. You will look on me with awe and unknowingness. But your heart will know that we are sisters beneath the skin. Children of the same small village, humble in origin but great of purpose. And one day, you too will pass on the powers of our Lady to your successor.”
Handing me to one of the nursemaids, she smiled and thanked the priests who brought me.
Her benediction was to be all I held of her for several years.
I was eight before I saw that weaving rainbow of colours again. But this time, by now well trained in the temple etiquette, I fell to the floor and prostrated myself before her.
And the Great Wife walked past without a sideways glance.
To have acknowledged me would, by that time, have brought me into terrible danger. But, child that I am, I cannot know this for certain, and my heart dies a little.
Many times in the years that follow I prostrate myself before the Lady Tiye. And many times, in the secret recesses of the Temple, she guides me through the initiations as my soul re-members.
When next I see her, she tells me that I, and a small group of priestesses, young and unrecognisable as belonging to the Mut, will accompany her to the new Court at Akhet-Aten.
All around us the statues are tumbling. The huge gates thrown open wide. The soldiers of the young Suten Akhenaten are defiling the Great Temple of the Mother and not all of us escape unharmed.
“Leave that scene now and come back to the present moment, moving forward in time.” Ronald’s voice was insistent. With his swept-back hair and glasses perched on the end of his nose he would be more at home in a university. But he’d been a good facilitator for me, made the process of remembering easy. I supposed I’d have to return to my present body. It sat quietly there in the chair beside his desk. Waiting for me.
Coming out of the regression, tears poured down my face.
“What do you remember most?” Ronald’s voice was gentle.
“An absolute sense of awe and majesty as I looked upon the face of that haughty, but well loved, Egyptian Queen long ago. The reverence I still feel for her, although the sense of worshipping a divinity made manifest and incarnated within a human being is alien to me in my present life. ”
“Did you recognise anyone?” Ronald’s eyes were bright, his head cocked on one side, eyebrows lifting. The way he leant forward intently made me wonder how much he knew.
Misunderstanding was easier than telling the truth.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Tiye’s majestic face. I saw it recently on a post card, with a cryptic note:
‘Anyone you know?’
The dark face, carved out of wood, seemed alive, the eyes were electric. It called to me across the centuries. It was so familiar I wondered if it was me. That’s why I came to see you.”
That and something I wasn’t yet prepared to share with him.
“To find myself face down in the dust of Egypt at a time of turmoil and change, a time with which I felt great affinity, wasn’t a total surprise. The first time I looked on the face of Akhenaten, the so-called Heretic Pharaoh, in the British Museum, I felt such loving respect, such knowing. He was my Lord.”
He was someone I knew intimately and loved in the depths of night. So why in my regression did I feel that he was tearing my world apart? Why did I fear him, and his priests of Aten, so deeply?
“Well Megan, did you see anything this time?”
“I was a young slave-girl who worked in the dye pits. It was dreadfully smelly work. We used pots of urine and strong chemicals as well as plants. Men brought rocks from the desert and they’d be broken up and heated over braziers with some sticky black stuff. It made our eyes sting and we coughed and coughed. Then it was thrown into the pit. There was much boiling and bubbling, lots of smoke – and the most awful smell, made us cough even more.
My hands and arms were raw because of the stuff we used to wash the skins – after a time my hands were permanently bluey-green, all broken sores. Everything tasted of the dreadful smell, we lived and slept in a tiny room at the side of the pits so we never get away from it. Sometimes I was too tired to stand.
I suspect I died of a kind of cancer, I couldn’t see exactly how this connected to my present illness but I’m sure it does. I kept asking but nothing more came about my illness.”
“It sounds like you’ve another piece of the puzzle but maybe it won’t make sense until the last piece slots into place. Remembering can be like that, you get snippets that eventually link up to make a whole, but it can take time.”
I didn’t have such a thing as time, but I couldn’t say that. Nor did I say that I’d learned why Mek’an’ar couldn’t marry her Pharaoh. The story would make a good film script.
“I am a small child sitting quietly by a lotus pond. The blue lotus blossoms are shining luminous in moonlight. I stare at them for a long time, it seems they speak to me but I do not understand the words. My mother, Suten’s Great Wife, has just died. My father has gone to conduct the mourning rites for her and her stillborn child. He has taken my half- brother, Ibi, with him. It seems like everyone has forgotten me.
As I sit there, a woman creeps slyly up to me. With her raven black, uncombed curls snaking around her head and her dark visage she looks like a creature of night. She is my father’s most recent wife. She was sent to him to create an alliance with a former enemy from the far south. The servants whisper that she was a priestess of a snake goddess and that she is well versed in magic and sorcery. Some say that my mother’s death might be due to her malign influence. My father is under her spell. Since she came to the palace, I never see him.
“What do you want?” I ask fearfully.
“Only to comfort you, child,” she smiles.
Why do I not believe her?
She strokes my head. “Peace child, your mother is with the gods in Amenti.”
A sharp tug, did she take my hair? Turning quickly I look at her hand but it is concealed beneath the scanty tunic that does nothing to hide her erotic figure.
Quickly I run to my old nurse. She will know what to do. She rushes me into the little temple in a corner of the palace where we keep the household gods, and utters an incantation to protect me against evil spells. Around my neck she slips an amulet of My Lady.
“Here, child, this will keep you safe. Wear it always, don’t lose it.”
Some years later, it is still around my neck and my hand goes to it as my father stands before me.
“Mek’an’ar, you are old enough to join the temple and begin your training as a priestess of Mut. Your brother will learn the rites with you as he will one day take my place.”
When we enter the temple together, my brother and I are instructed in our duties, he lives at the main temple, I at her Lady’s. Each month, when the moon grows dim, we are brought together by our teachers in the secret temple. We have been dedicated to My Lady and must spend these nights with her on another plane. We are told that, when we are old enough, we will be joined. But this time seems far in the future.
When that future is reached and I have been installed as High Priestess, my nurse brings me news from the palace when she attends the monthly rites. My step mother, Magrat, is wielding great power. She has made my father promise that their eldest daughter will marry my brother and that she will be his only wife.
“I have been promised to my brother from birth,” I say angrily, “this cannot be.”
My nurse warns me that my father’s minor wives and concubines have been dying of unnatural causes, and, although there is no proof, everyone suspects Magrat. Several appear to have died from snake venom and it is known that Magrat can milk the venom from a living cobra.
“You mustn’t cross her.” my nurse whispers. “I’m not sure that my magic, nor even that of our Lady Mut, will be strong enough to protect you.”
My brother comes to me in the night, he too has heard the rumours. “I love only you,” Ibi tells me. “We have been promised from birth. I will hold to it. We will marry.”
But he has no power. The marriage is made between him and Magrat’s daughter but Magrat cannot take from me my place as High Priestess of the Temple of The Lady Mut When the time comes for the midsummer rite, my nurse whispers to me that Magrat is sick. One of her cobras turned on her. She is not expected to live.
After her death, I beg Ibi to marry me. But my brother has had a vision in which the shade of Magrat told him that, if he takes another wife in defiance of his father’s promise, his line will be cursed. As his wife has just given birth to a son, my brother is unwilling to take the risk.
When I look again at the renegade priest who thrust me into the void and tore my child from my belly, I see he is one of Magrat’s entourage. It seems that her hand reached beyond the tomb to ensure that only her descendants took the throne. Was he acting on her behalf or was there something more?”
“Be specific please, Ronald. I want to go back to the moment when I met Akhenaten, I think that holds the key. I can’t get that smile of his out of my mind.”
“Ok then, Megan, make yourself comfortable and we’ll get started…”
“I can see that dazzling smile again and the eyes full of shattered light. It’s hard to describe them, they look like a crystal that has lots of planes and flaws that break up the light and make it glitter deep within. But it’s his smile that is so powerful, it seems to fill the whole room with light. So luminous, I can’t explain, everything pales beside it. It’s as though a god is standing there, I fall down in front of him, kissing the dust before his feet. Honouring Suten and the God. It’s as though he’s wearing an aura of love, I can feel it radiating out towards me. I want to stay in it for ever.
The lady Nefertiti pushes Merit’aten towards him.
“Go on child, say goodnight to your father. It’s getting late and even Suten’s daughter has to sleep.”
With a mulish look to her face, she stands her ground.
“I want Father to tell me one of his stories about the Great God. How he revealed his secret to Father.”
“You’re much too old for bedtime stories. It won’t be long now before your betrothal to Smenkhare is announced.”
“I don’t want to be betrothed! He is much too old! And he looks like a woman!” A foot stamps to emphasize each word, blue eyes fixed winsomely on her father.
He’s lifting me up, telling me to get to my feet, not to be so formal. His daughter’s friend is welcome in his house. I can feel his long, bony fingers on my arm. They’re so thin they look like spider’s legs on my bare skin. He’s tall, he towers above me. He’s got a powerful smell, rather sweet and cloying. Everyone in Egypt uses perfume, but this is different, it’s as though it is his own smell, not something added artificially.
Distance has always hid how strange this Suten looks. His elongated face has bulbous, slanting eyes full of that strange, shattered light, His thick, sensual lips have a secret smile playing about them like he’s smiling at a joke only he can hear, above a prominent jaw and sharp chin. His skull, carried on a long slender neck, looks distorted, misshapen, and his headdress exaggerates the shape rather than hiding it. His light-filled blue eyes are those of a mystic, a dreamer, he gazes into different worlds. I fear he can see straight through me.
Akhenaten looks fondly at the child. His voice is high and light, surprising in such a tall man but it fits his feminine appearance.
“We can talk about that another day, it’s really only a few years’ difference – you won’t notice it at all when you are grown, and he is a Prince of the Blood, part of the per aa, our great family. For now, run along with – what’s your name, young lady?”
“Shen my Lord.” My head is lowered, I remember the Great Queen’s instructions.
All he’s wearing is the golden menat collar of the Aten sun-disk with its sun’s rays pushing out between his slender shoulders and pendulous breasts, and a pleated linen kilt threaded with gold hanging below a bulging belly that looks like it belongs on a woman. He has enormous hips and thighs atop spindly legs and sandaled feet. To tell the truth, he looks effeminate. If he wasn’t king, it would be comical. He must be a god, no mortal looks like this.
“Shen. Little Shen. Take the lady Merit’aten to her bedchamber and help her prepare for bed. I’ll be along in a few moments, child, and I’ll tell you a story, but first, I need to talk to your mother.”
As Merit’aten pulls me by the hand, I look back. Two heads are close together, Suten and his Queen in affectionate embrace. His hand rests on her pregnant stomach. Can I really believe Merit’aten when she says the child is not his? He looks like a loving husband, and where does Smenkhare fit in? I’ve heard the gossip about him and Suten, but he’s supposed to be betrothed to Merit’aten. How complicated everything is.”
“Move forward to the next important event.” Ronald was aware of time passing even if I wasn’t.
“I’m in a bedchamber. It can’t be Merit’aten’s, it’s much too grand. There’s a huge platform bed with a golden lion’s head at the top and lion’s paws at the side, strewn with gold cushions and curtained around with gossamer golden net and a big golden sun disk on the wall above it. Such a lot of gold. The furniture is all covered in it, it shines in the lamplight. I’m sitting on a stool in the corner. Akhenaten comes in and I rise and go to help him undress. I’ve been having an affair with him for sometime. He came to my chamber just after that first meeting and asked some searching questions but I managed to avoid telling him who I was. Said I was a peasant girl to whom Queen Tiye had been kind because she knew my father. That seemed to satisfy him.
When the time came for Merit’aten to be betrothed to Smenkhare she moved into the part of the palace he shared with Akhenaten, although she still had her own rooms. I went too. More and more often Akhenaten calls for me to visit him. He seems to be overcome by bouts of melancholy.”
“Megan, what happens in that room, the one with the big bed?” Ronald was insistent, he wasn’t going to let me wriggle way.
“It’s Suten’s. It’s where we make love.”
“But what happens there? What is the important event?”
I didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to know, Ronald mustn’t make me look.
“Pull back a little Megan,” Ronald coaxed, “let yourself observe it from a distance, look at it as though it’s a film. Breathe gently, it’s alright, you can do this. Take it slowly, let yourself see.”
Word count: 1027
Things look different from up here. My body is so calm and peaceful lying down there on the bed, except for the bump. He will be alright, won’t he…
“Of course he will, my child, but will you?”
Sekhmet, my Lady:
“What do you mean? Will I be alright? Dr Rahim’s just told me my blood count is better.”
“Yes, but see where you are.”
She’s gesturing towards that brilliant light coruscating over her shoulder, we seem to have moved further away from the bed now, I look tiny lying down there, a mere speck. I can see all my lives, strung out like pearls around me, and recognise the effect of every action, each decision I ever took, every thought and each emotion. I can see how they all link up. But it’s much too peaceful to think about that.
“But you must face this, Megan. This is the answer to all things. See, the curses weave themselves through your lives like black shackles, and the promises like silver chains. Both tie you down, each create dis-ease. Your previous lives bond you to others, it is cause and effect. Desire is the most potent source of karma. You could not let him go and so you drag Ramon with you like a ball and chain. Relationships echo down the centuries, endlessly recreating your story. It disturbs the harmony of the whole. Energy cannot flow unimpeded, evolution is halted. You freed a part of it but it is like a hologram, it rebuilds itself from the tiniest particle.”
“But what about the promises he made me, like one day we would be together and have a child that would be acknowledged and loved by both his parents.”
“Exactly. Karma can be very literal. The soul that is now Ramon did not promise that the two of you would be together in a lifelong, loving relationship, he promised you his child and that the child would be loved by both his parents.”
“I suppose so, but I thought he meant… and what about Ibi, he promised to love me.”
“Yes, child, he did. But he did not plan it properly. The way is blocked, what he promised cannot be in this life.”
“What must I do to change it?”
“Choose grace my child. The power to let go of the past and create a different future.”
Such an effort. I’d like to float here for ever.
“Well, you could, this is what dying is like, you know. Entering utter peace. This is the entrance to the other world. You could choose to stay here and pass on through into Amenti. You don’t have to go back to your body. But, one day, you will have to do it all over again. You will have to go through everything that brought you to this point. You will face this choice again. Look at yourself down there, what do you see?”
“My body lying on the bed, the door’s opening…”
“No, child, look with your spirit eyes. Now what do you see?”
“My light is dim and there’s a black spot right in the middle of my heart. It seems to be blocking all my energy, no, wait, it’s like a black hole sucking all my energy in and it’s getting bigger all the time.”
“Exactly. If it gets much bigger, there will be no life force left in your body. You’ll die. Now, do you know what is causing that black hole?”
“Unless what? Go on.”
“Well, after Ramon phoned me the pain was so bad, I couldn’t bear it. In the morning, it felt like it had all been rolled into a little hard, cold stone that was lodged somewhere inside me. Is this the stone?”
“How do I release it?”
“You have to trust, child. Open your heart again. Dare to love.”
“There can be no buts. Only love can dissolve that stone. Only love can help you let go of the past.”
“Love got me into this. I loved Akhenaten and Ibi, my other Pharaoh, and Ramon, and look what happened.”
“It’s a different kind of love. That love was born out of your neediness. You clung to it – for all those thousands of years. The promises glued you together, but the consequences were not well thought out. When you and Ramon met in this present life, the pledges could not be honoured. The love was tainted with the past.
So often people promise to be together again, but they lose sight of that intention when they incarnate. They marry and then, when they meet the soulmate for whom they were destined, there is an impediment, it is no longer appropriate. This is what happened with you and Ramon. Can you give him up Megan, can you set him free?”
“Is it too late? Everything down there looks like it’s in slow motion, but could I get back in time?”
“Haven’t you realised? It’s never too late, but you need to hurry – look Fran has reached the side of your bed, she’s taking your pulse and getting ready to move you to theatre.”
“But what do I do?”
“Go into the light.”
Comforting and calm, totally accepting and radiantly bright. All loving, all embracing. Now what, oh yes, open my heart and take the stone out, Sekhmet’s putting out her hand for it. It’s left a big hole but the light’s rushing in to fill it. So warm, such loving. It’s filling me up, I’m getting as big as the universe, bigger and bigger, like Mek’an’ar and her Pharaoh, a part of creation. We are the breath of the gods. They’re all here with me, the characters from my different lives and the gods flowing into me, we’re all one. All parts of the same spirit, uniting at last. Only Ramon stands apart. Can I open my arms to him? Of course I can. My heart light goes out to him, wrapping him in this divine love, forgiving everything. He’s…
Oh, that was a nasty jolt.”
To complete Megan’s exploration of her ancient past, read Torn Clouds by Judy Hall.
Torn Clouds by Judy Hall is written from her deep understanding of past life therapy and through fiction gives you a glimpse into the ways in which this therapy can heal. As I’m a therapist who works with past lives I felt recognition of some of the issues Judy unveils in the novel and was pleased to read a past life fiction that didn’t feel like a sci-fi onfection. I was intrigued as Megan, the main character, guided by her intuition, dreams and visions, delves into her past lives in Ancient Egypt looking for healing, having been diagnosed with terminal leukaemia. We follow her through her physical and spiritual healing journey, experience travel in modern Egypt, and her regressions to her past. Slowly she builds the jigsaw puzzle revealing the roots of her illness. Along the way we meet a couple of truly bombastic characters who vie for the right to be recognised as the one & only re-incarnation of a legendary Egyptian queen, sweeping along in full fancy dress and other, quieter people undergoing their own voyages of self-discovery and transformation. Judy Hall is the well known and respected author of best-seller The Crystal Bible and many other books on healing. Torn Clouds proves she can write intelligent and engrossing fiction too.
Judy Hall writes with an unrivalled authority and with deep and affectionate understanding of today’s Egyptian scene.
Judy Hall writes vividly and deals with the phenomenon of “far memory” skilfully, noting the past and present together in a gripping story.
Judy Hall writes vividly and deals with the phenomenon of “far memory” skilfully, noting the past and present together in a gripping story.
Judy Hall is a modern seer who manages the difficult task of evoking the present world, plus the realm of Ancient Egypt, and making them seem real. There is an energy behind the prose, and a power in her imagery which hints that this is more than just a story of character and plot, but an outpouring from another age, a genuine glimpse into beyond-time Mysteries which affect us all today. Be very aware and very careful…when you get drawn into her visions of Khem, you are drawn into more than a mere novel.
This is a great novel interwoven with memories via deja vu and past life regression, a total love and understanding of Egypt and her mysteries. Judy has blended everything so beautifully together, this 398 page read lacks nothing. It has suspense, drama, coincidence, and an extra helping of intrigue.
I found the book so well written I felt like I was right there, in the present day and also in the times before. This is a novel for the serious reader, those who like to take a book and just lose the world. I would recommend this literary marvel to anyone drawn to the magic, mystery and exotic elegance known as Egypt.
Drawing on thirty years experience as a regression therapist and her own memories and experiences in Egypt, ancient and modern, Torn Clouds is a remarkable first novel by an internationally-acclaimed MBS author, one of Britains leading experts on reincarnation. It features time-traveller Megan McKennar, whose past life memories thrust themselves into the present day as she traces a love affair that transcends time. Haunted by her dreams, she is driven by forces she cannot understand to take a trip to Egypt in a quest to understand the cause of her unhappy current life circumstances. Once there, swooning into a previous existence in Pharaonic Egypt, she lives again as Meckanar, priestess of the Goddess Sekhmet, the fearful lion headed deity who was simultaneously the Goddess of Terror, Magic and Healing. Caught up in the dark historical secrets of Egypt, Megan is forced to fight for her soul. She succeeds in breaking the curse that had been cast upon her in two incarnations.