THE MOST PLEASANT PHARAOH (Part 1)

THE STORY BEGINS: THE INHERITED EMPIRE

Under deep trance in this Quantum Healing Hypnosis session, the client’s subconscious mind unlocked a striking memory:

“I see a massive Pyramid to my right. Violent gusts of wind sweep across the landscape, kicking up the desert sands until the air is filled with a shimmering, yellowish haze—like a sheer fabric draped over the horizon. I am standing atop a lone sand dune, quite far from the Pyramid itself. The space around me is vast and empty; there is nothing but shifting sand and that colossal structure. The sky is a pale, brilliant blue, and the wind is fierce. Yet, I feel completely comfortable and at peace. A deep sense of humility washes over me—I feel like a tiny, insignificant part of this grand universe, and I am simply enjoying being a part of it. I am content just standing here, observing.

In my hand, I grip a tall staff that closely resembles a royal scepter. I see my physical reflection: I am a shirtless, middle-aged black man. My attire makes me pause… wait, is that really me? The man looks exactly like a Pharaoh. Behind me stands a quiet entourage of attendants, waiting patiently as I stare ahead toward the Pyramid, taking a moment to rest. These servants are wrapped in pristine white cloth, holding ceremonial staffs topped with round, palm-leaf ornaments. Some carry a gleaming golden basin, lined up in two orderly rows behind me. A wave of profound pride swells within my chest—not because I built this monument myself, but because my empire created such a wonder. It feels like the glorious legacy of my ancestors, and I am merely the successor. I feel deeply proud of those who came before me.

Next, the scene shifts. I find myself sitting within a lush oasis, surrounded by vibrant greenery despite the endless desert outside. I am seated upon a grand throne. In this scene, my clothes have changed; I am no longer shirtless, but wear a white robe adorned with intricate gold patterns, paired with a traditional skirt-like garment below. Servants move quietly around me. It is a moment of pure, uninterrupted peace—nothing is happening. This sanctuary is closer to the Pyramid than the sand dune from before; the structure is still to my right, but now it looms behind me. I am in my late thirties. The number 38 flashes clearly in my mind.

THE YOUNG OFFICIAL: LIFE IN THE FLOODED CITY

The vision expands, and the surrounding outdoor architecture transforms into majestic white stone. I see palm trees lining the streets and water flowing gracefully through stone channels that run parallel to the roads. The settlement is growing, expanding into a bustling town.

Now, I am walking through a vibrant market square. The merchant stalls are crafted from stretched fabric and heavy leather, with exotic goods displayed beneath them. I am wandering through the fruit section as crowds of people bustle about, some even leading camels through the narrow pathways. The entire city’s color palette is a warm blend of stark white and sun-bleached yellow. Interestingly, the citizens around me have no idea who I am. Although a small retinue accompanies me, the merchants go about their business as usual. A woman emerges from a stall, her head respectfully covered, and offers me a woven bag of fresh fruit.

From the very moment I first gazed at the Pyramid, a singular emotion has anchored this entire past-life regression: I am deeply enjoying the prosperity of my empire. I am simply inheriting a legacy built by giant hands before me, but I carry immense pride for that heritage. The people around me do not feel distant or detached. At this point in the memory, I don’t feel like a supreme Pharaoh anymore; I feel more like a high-ranking official—younger and more carefree than the ruler I initially envisioned. Even my stride has become more casual and relaxed.

My family home features soaring stone columns with an open-air corridor supported by heavy pillars, surrounded by sprawling, lush gardens. The desert feels far away now; trees are everywhere. I watch several women walking back and forth through the courtyards. I prefer standing outside on the shaded corridor of my house—much like my father, who I sense is a powerful prime minister or a grand vizier. The corridor is my absolute favorite spot because it is flooded with bright, natural light, whereas the interior of the stone house remains perpetually dark. From this vantage point, I can gaze at the garden and quietly watch the women pass by. In this specific memory, I am quite young—perhaps even younger than I was at the market.

My household consists of my father, my mother, and another woman whose exact relationship to me is unclear. I rarely see my father. He is a strict, imposing figure, constantly away at the royal palace attending meetings with the King. My mother, on the other hand, has soft, curly hair. She is incredibly gentle, kind-hearted, and good. The other woman feels like an older sister, though she exists only as a distant, fading memory… because she left us. She was married off—not to a nobleman of our own land, but to a man from a foreign country, a completely different tribe.

My daily routine is painfully normal; I simply wander through the vibrant market, slacking off and wasting time. Occasionally, I sit down to read ancient texts with my mother. I love holding a piece of fruit, sitting on the sunlit corridor, eating slowly, and just existing there. I am around 17 years old. I have absolutely no goals in life… and beneath the surface, I feel a creeping sense of boredom. Every single day feels exactly the same. Life is effortless, everything comes too easily, but just wandering aimlessly gets exhausting. I simply don’t know what else to do. I am forced to study extensively—astronomy, geography, and complex mathematics. A private tutor comes to instruct me daily. Sometimes my mother sits beside me during these long hours, though in truth, she only sits there because she worries I will dose off; she stays to keep me awake. I harbor a deep fascination for astronomy, but I dislike mathematics… well, math is tolerable. There is also a tedious subject on writing and deciphering ancient scripts, which my mother mostly teaches me, but I resent it. I much prefer the stars and numbers. My tutor wears pure white robes, sporting long hair and a sweeping beard. His hair is bound neatly in a white cloth. He emanates the energy of someone from ancient India, even though his skin is very dark. He is extraordinarily tall.

He looks nothing like the local population. The people of my homeland are typically short, solid, and heavily muscular, with dark skin. I, too, am muscular, but I am not very tall.

Next, I see a family meal taking place inside my home. We are gathered around a rectangular table with four chairs, though only three of us are seated. The spread consists of a plate of rich olives, a large abundance of roasted meat, and some fish… but there are barely any vegetables, just meat. We eat entirely with our hands. There are ornate silver spoons laid out, but I prefer picking the olives directly from the fish platter. They are likely the only ‘green’ item on the table; there are a few leafy greens scattered about, but the olives are what I crave the most.

 

A SIGNIFICANT DAY: THE WEDDING AND THE CROWN

Suddenly, two disjointed images flash rapidly before my eyes. The first is a horrific vision of something burning—the unmistakable chaos of war. But in the next second, I am standing at my sister’s wedding. The ceremony is simple, almost understated, with delicate flower petals being showered upon the couple. I walk over to greet my new brother-in-law. Shortly after, the newlyweds depart for the distant border, crossing a wide river, and then the vision fades into nothingness. At that time, I was still very young. My mother wept softly as my sister left, while my father… I couldn’t decipher his expression. His stoic face hovered somewhere between regret and rigid pride. I just felt a profound wave of disappointment. The house was already quiet enough with just my mother—who spoke very sweetly but constantly pressured me to study—and now, the only person I could truly talk to was gone. I was incredibly close to my sister. I loved her deeply. She had raven-black hair, was breathtakingly beautiful, and had been my constant companion since childhood. We used to forge wooden swords and playfully fight each other in the courtyard. Those days were filled with pure joy.

But at her wedding, she was miserable. She did not love the man she was marrying. It was a cold, political alliance—a sacrifice for the state—and she had resigned herself to her duty.

Then, the burning vision returns with a heavy sigh… It was a violent coup to overthrow the reigning King. My father was the mastermind who orchestrated the entire rebellion. My gentle mother… she was killed in the crossfire of that brutal battle. Once the palace was secured, my father maintained his iron grip on the state as the supreme national advisor, and he forced me to ascend the throne as the new Pharaoh. But he didn’t do it out of love for me. He did it entirely for himself. He was too cowardly to bear the brunt of public outrage and history’s judgment, so he installed me as a puppet king to take the blame, while he pulled the strings of absolute power from the shadows. However, his triumph was short-lived; not long after the coup, he passed away.

I faced absolutely no resistance when I claimed the crown. During that era, the temples were filled with powerful sorcerers and magicians. My father controlled them completely, and because the priesthood followed him blindly, the fearful populace fell into line. This coup wasn’t a sweeping nationwide uprising; it was a localized, bloody civil war contained within the walls of the capital’s palace. The sorcerers, driven by sheer terror of my father, forced the masses to submit.

Once I became Pharaoh, I utterly despised my father’s ruthless actions. But a dark thought took root: now that I was king, I finally possessed absolute power. Before this, my life was an empty void without a single purpose. So, when the crown was placed on my head, I began to treat the empire like a game—a sandbox where I could ruthlessly sculpt the environment and the nation exactly how I wanted.

To break free from my father’s suffocating shadow, I had him systematically poisoned. It was a slow, agonizingly gradual process. I had never hated the previous Pharaoh whom my father overthrew; in fact, I still revered the legacy of the old kings. I didn’t introduce any sweeping, dramatic reforms to the empire. I felt my father’s bloody revolution was entirely unnecessary, though I was hyper-aware that without his sins, I would never have become king. Yet, a hollow truth echoed in my soul: whether I wore the crown or not, I remained fundamentally the same. I had no desire to change the country. I left the laws and systems exactly as the previous Pharaohs had left them, because the empire was already peaceful enough.

However, I flatly refused to maintain the political alliance with the foreign nation my sister had been married off to. I loathed that kind of diplomatic manipulation, so… I… Wait… I ordered my armies to launch a full-scale invasion into their territory. The conquest was a total success… but… a tragic image emerges. I brought my sister back to the capital, but she didn’t live long after her return. She was consumed by a terminal, broken-hearted sadness… (pauses).

Looking back from the throne, it all felt so profoundly meaningless. I had destroyed a nation just to tear her away from them and put an end to political marriages. I thought that if the entire world was united under one empire, no one would ever have to sacrifice their children for alliances again. I just wanted people to be with the ones they truly loved. The truth is… I loved my sister. Not just as a brother, but with the consuming love of a man for a woman. (Upon waking from the trance, the client shared how deeply strange and taboo this felt, yet emphasized that it was the absolute truth of what their soul felt in that lifetime). I was fiercely jealous; I was utterly heartbroken when she married another. I desperately wanted her to belong to me, but she could never accept that kind of love.

THE CRUEL PHARAOH AND THE EMBRACE OF NOTHINGNESS

After ascending the throne, the absolute power began to corrupt me, and I felt myself mutating into someone incredibly cruel. The death of my sister was the catalyst that made me realize just how monstrous I had become; I had utterly abused my divine authority. When I first took the crown, I promised myself, ‘The previous kings did fine, I will simply follow their footsteps.’ But after I successfully murdered my own father, a terrifying realization set in: killing was remarkably easy.

I was no longer afraid of anything. The only thing I feared was the agonizing meaninglessness, the hollow emptiness within my own chest. I no longer felt that pure, childlike pride when I gazed out at the magnificent Pyramid. I only feared the monster looking back at me in the mirror.

Did I achieve anything monumental for my kingdom? No. I saw the vast water systems and the flowing stone channels, but I can claim no credit for them. I merely maintained what smarter men had already built. I was a nameless, forgotten ruler. My reign was short, and I accomplished nothing of merit. Absolutely nothing I did was for the welfare of my people—it was all a desperate, hollow attempt to fill the void inside me. I was perpetually bored, plagued by an existential stagnation. I even fantasized about abandoning the palace to live the simple life of a marketplace laborer, but I was too afraid of physical hardship. And yet, remaining in the palace, I did nothing. In my twisted pursuit to manufacture my own happiness through absolute power, I systematically stripped it away from everyone else… especially my sister. Ironically, during her exile, she had actually grown to love her foreign husband.

My entire ascension was built on the stolen sacrifice of a righteous king who had done nothing wrong. The initial pride and gratitude I felt for my ancestors vanished, swallowed whole by the intoxicating trap of my own power. I tried to outrun the emptiness, but I couldn’t do a thing. I realized that I was the meaninglessness itself.

Another significant day in that soul incarnation… was the day I died. I felt an overwhelming wave of relief, thinking, ‘Finally, this is enough. I can end this void right here.’ I was around 39 or 42 years old. It manifested as a natural death, but in reality, it was because my spirit had entirely given up on itself. There were doctors and servants weeping around my bed, but I didn’t want their attention. I wanted to slip into the dark completely alone. I left behind no wife, no heirs, and no lineage… because the only woman I ever wanted was my sister.

When asked if I possessed any distinctive physical marks that would cause history to remember me, the answer was no. I had no unique traits. My only defining feature was that my skin was exceptionally, unusually dark—far darker than the rest of my royal family.

And what did the people call me? How did they remember my brief reign?

They called me the MOST EASYGOING PHARAOH. Because during my time on the throne, I never forced a single citizen into slavery. My only act of aggression was the conquest of that foreign land—but it wasn’t even a massive empire, just a small, isolated tribe. The war was over before it truly began.”

Stay tuned for Part 2 of this deep regression session, where we unlock the karmic lessons of the Pharaoh’s soul.