The King’s Chamber

Once my brother had recovered from surgery and had secured respite housing, I added him to a family phone plan with our mom. Historically, he had a talent for losing or breaking phones, and with each disappearance came a new number. Keeping track of him had been a moving target. Maybe he liked it that way.

The respite housing provided meals and nursing support. His body had been altered by the tumor obstructing his colon and kidneys in ways that were hard to comprehend. He expressed gratitude for the care. For the privacy. For a space that was his.  

On one of our spring check-in calls, I asked what felt like a simple question. I wanted to be the cool big sister and perhaps facilitate a dream of his not yet realized.

“Hey RJ. What’s on your bucket list?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I want to meditate in the King’s Chambers.” 

I became still. I slowed down my thinking. His words were echoing in my head with no place to land. The King’s Chambers? What is he talking about?

I didn’t even know he meditated.

“Uhhh… what do you mean?”

“The King’s Chambers. In the pyramids. In Egypt. I want to meditate inside there.” 

He said it like this was standard bucket list material for a midwestern union ironworker – right up there with super bowl tickets and a new Harley. 

My eyebrows rose. My head tilted and it gently shook from side to side, as if he could see me through the phone. 

“Is that… a thing?” I asked. “Can people just go inside them and meditate? How does that even work?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a thing.” 

Now my brain shifted gears. Logistics. Cost. Permissions. Access. How many millions of tourists versus how many chambers?  All of a sudden this felt like a big dream.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea that was a thing. Can anyone do it, or do you need special permission?”

He declared, “I don’t need to figure it all out right now. I just know that I want to do it.”

And underneath it all was a quieter question: Since when do you meditate?

“Dude,” I asked carefully, “you meditate?”

“Yeah.” 

Just like that.

I felt strangely exposed. 

I was supposed to be the capable older sister with her life together, ready to facilitate his dream. Instead, he revealed a depth I hadn’t clocked, and I was playing catch-up. 

I used to meditate. Years ago. 

He had never left the United States before. And now he was casually requesting access to Egypt. 

I defaulted to practicality. “Well, do you have a passport?” 

“No.” 

I took a deep breath and exhaled silent relief.

“Okay. Well, that’s step one. You’re going to need a passport. Start there. I’ll help you if you need it.”

Naturally, I had to figure out what he was talking about. I consumed audiobooks blurring the fine line between science and the mystical, drawing from multiple different wisdom traditions. My social media feed was suddenly overflowing with spiritual and esoteric content. 

Then one innocent Saturday afternoon while walking my dog listening to a podcast episode, everything shifted for me. The guest being interviewed was describing with exquisite detail the intentional construction of the pyramids. He covered math and sound frequency details I never would have found myself caring about before. Then he shared his experience meditating in the king’s chamber with the resonant frequency that shifted his consciousness into another realm. 

Damn. RJ wasn’t making this shit up.  It was actually a thing.   

In the intervening months, my little brother stopped feeling like the kid I’d always known. We decided to take The Gateway Voyage, a seven-day intensive introduction to meditation and expanded consciousness course together. I had recently found my way to the Monroe Institute, despite my brother’s insistence that he had been telling me about this program for years. If he had just had one cell phone number consistently, I could have spent a half hour upscrolling my text feed to confirm this, but alas, I will never know if it really was my idea or his. 

He told me that it meant a lot to him that I was willing to explore this stuff with him. 

“Some people think some of this stuff is pretty whack.” 

After the course, he mentioned to me that he wanted to meditate in a community with others. I suggested ideas in the Twin Cities, but none were easily accessible to him. So, I just started an online group with another friend that had taken the Gateway Voyage with us. He then invited several of his friends, and I invited more of mine. We met virtually every other week. 

When it came time for us all to gather on the first video call, I took a deep breath and smiled as I looked around at all the faces. I looked at my brother. He looked at me. His baby blue eyes held mine. His stubbly beard barely hid his sunken cheeks weakened from months of chemotherapy. 

Everyone was still.

My body contracted. My heart raced as I looked around hoping someone else would start talking.

I took a deep breath and I unmuted my mic.

“Hi. I’m Heather. I’m RJ’s sister. He and I took this really awesome meditation class together last month and he thought it would be nice to get together and meditate as a group.” I paused to read the room. 

I continued. “I’m grateful that you all are here. I’m not a meditation instructor, but I’ll share what I know.” Everyone smiled and nodded. 

I invited everyone to introduce themselves and share their meditation story. It turned out most everyone was a novice. Everyone closed their eyes and got comfortable while I shared a guided meditation RJ and I had done in our other class. There was some space at the end for everyone to talk about their experience. 

After everyone had left, my brother lingered on the video call with me. “Hey Heath, do you think Mom would come and do this with us?” 

I smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know dude. Maybe. She doesn’t really know how to do video meetings, but we can invite her.”

Every other Wednesday we gathered in community to meditate together. Our mom even made it to a few. At first I shared meditations from teachers I trusted. Eventually, I found myself creating my own and guiding them in real time. 

I really thought I was helping my little brother chase a dream. I didn’t realize that he had quietly handed me the first steps of my own.