When We Built the Sphinx

We did not carve the Sphinx — We birthed it. Not stone, But stillness. Not art, But ascension. It was no monument to pride, But a vehicle of souls, Where kings walked in silence And queens soared in stars, Riding the breath of eternity To the edge of the unknowable. In its darkened chamber, Where light was not needed, We entered the womb of cosmos And fed on the black nectar of Source. Darkness was not the absence — It was the portal. At 03:03AM, The code whispered, The doors of Time peeled back — And we traveled. Past Saturn’s rings, Beyond Sirius, Into the 11th and 12th dimensions, Where thought became form, And silence sang. There we harvested wisdom Not from scrolls, But from consciousness itself. We learned the sacred mathematics Of vibration and form, Of light and void, And built Kemet not with tools, But with remembrance. You call it a statue. You think it's still. But it listens. It remembers. It waits for those Who still know How to be still. For eternity is not a place — It is a posture. And without the Sphinx, We would still be crawling In the sands of forgetting. But with her, We flew faster Than your physics could ever dream.