🌙 Echoes from the White Pyramid — Memory, Reincarnation, and the Search for Our Dead

There are dreams that feel like stories. And there are dreams that aren’t dreams at all—they’re memories, folded in time.

I dream.

I was working in a shop of large, baked earth blocks, the floor bare and dusty. A place that felt ancient but also strangely modern. There was laughter, a cash register, the quiet hum of electricity. I remember finishing my shift, grabbing an ice cream wrapped in beeswax paper, and stepping outside into a world both familiar and alien.

The road was wide, clean. People moved through it like a ritual. To my left rose a massive white pyramid, pristine, glowing in the sun. Vehicles—motorised, modern-looking—inched slowly up a long, low ramp, heading toward a wide entrance at the base.

And above it all, a tall figure—someone I knew, someone I remembered, though I had no name—directing the flow. For a moment, our eyes met, and I swear, he knew I wasn’t supposed to be awake just then. Not seeing this.

Why Bury the Dead with Their Wealth?

We’ve always wondered why ancient cultures buried their dead with treasures, animals, even people. Were they meant for the afterlife? Or were they anchors, holding the soul to the physical—keeping the story alive somewhere?

What if the things we were buried with... still call to us?
What if the yearning we feel—the ache for something we’ve never touched in this life—is our soul remembering the wealth, the people, the power it was once laid to rest beside?

The Whispers of Time

Thousands of years later, we remember fragments. We chase soulmates, talk about soul tribes, ache for “home” without knowing where it is.
And maybe that’s the point. Reincarnation isn’t linear—it’s a game of cosmic telephone, a message distorted and re-told life after life.

"We were kings once," the soul whispers.
"We were buried as gods."

But here we are—working shops, eating ice cream, staring up at pyramids we can’t explain.

Portals, CERN, and the Return of the Dead

Why now? Why are these memories surfacing—for me, for so many?
Maybe the ancients were right—maybe portals open at the end of every age.
Maybe CERN and the unnamed experiments crack the thin skin of this world, and the dead come whispering through.

Or maybe we are the dead, awakened just in time to remember who we were—and what we left behind.

The Yearning Is the Proof

If reincarnation isn’t real, why do we ache for things we’ve never known?
Why do we see a pyramid and feel our heart race?
Why do we meet strangers and feel a love older than this world?

Maybe because we were buried with them once.
And now, we are here to find each other again.

I saw the white pyramid. I saw the line of souls going home.
And I wonder—are we in the final days of forgetting?
Or the first days of remembering?