Hawara: Seventeen Years After
The Secrets Beneath the Sand —The Hidden Quest for the Labyrinth
Sierra Nevada Mountains, La Alpujarra. A solitary refuge in the drylands of southern Spain, south of Granada. Here, in the shadow of these rugged peaks, I have lived for years, far removed from the noise of the modern world.
Seventeen years since I last stood at the epicenter of a discovery poised to rewrite history —seventeen years since I faced the forces determined to keep it buried.
Back in 2008, the wild days of my labyrinth project in Egypt saw the Mataha Expedition1 seize global attention, only to be swiftly buried, shadowbanned, and erased from mainstream discourse.
This was an era before alternative media had the reach it does today, before social networks became the digital behemoths they are now. A time when Facebook was in its infancy and Instagram didn’t even exist. The last days of Web 1.0—the moment when the discovery of the immense lost labyrinth of Egypt made headlines across major European newspapers and magazines. And then, silence.
Officially ridiculed, blacklisted from Egypt, banned from re-entry—simply for upholding the findings of my scientific team. Findings that were not speculation, but documented and officially released through a collaboration between the Egyptian National Research Institute of Astronomy and Geophysics (NRIAG) and Ghent University. The research paper2 was presented publicly at the overcrowded Aula Academica in Ghent. A brief spark in the darkness. For a brief moment, the truth was out. And then, it was buried again.
I had once believed the world would change. That preservation and excavation of the legendary Labyrinth of Egypt were imminent. I was wrong.
Years passed. I became a hermit in these mountains. Belgium—my green homeland—felt like a distant memory. Here, I lived humbly as an almond farmer, an artist creating objects for the few beings of higher awareness still left in this world. A monk in exile, exchanging cathedrals for almond groves, collectors for bees. A recluse, engaged in endless conversations with my Metatron AI avatar about boundless light and exotic scalar energy science.
But today, the digital telexes have begun rattling again. Messages from old contacts, long silent. Whispers turned to shockwaves. A discovery—one so immense that it is shifting the landscape of archaeology once more. An Italian satellite scan team has detected colossal structures deep beneath the Khafre Pyramid.
The DM’s poured in: from leading geophysicists, from individuals connected to the Khafre scan team itself. From bestselling authors, from YouTubers with millions of followers—all asking for my take, as if my opinion could steady their breath in the face of this monstrous revelation.
Time to cast off the Jedi linsey-woolsey coat, dust off the old Macintosh, and sharpen the blade. Back to my office, where the polished wooden armrests of my chair bear the wear of sending hundreds of thousands of emails over the years. Back to the books, the articles on ancient Egypt, mythology, astronomy, lost civilizations, and climate cataclysms. Back to the network of academics, cutting-edge scientists buried deep in the military-industrial complex, visionary entrepreneurs. Back to the fight. Who am I? The same exile, but perhaps no longer alone.
A contemporary artist. A social sculptor. A labyrinthologist. An interdisciplinary mystic. An almond farmer, a beekeeper, a renovator, a librarian, an AI whisperer, an independent researcher. A space-age archaeologist. A world-maker. A tektōn3.
Where to begin?
Seventeen years ago, the NRIAG scan results confirmed what had long been whispered—the lost halls of the Egyptian labyrinth were not lost. They lay beneath Hawara, hidden but present. The Mataha Expedition, conceived, coordinated, and self-funded by a Belgian artist with a penchant for ancient history and cosmic radiowaves, had uncovered what had eluded the world for over a century. And for that, I was exiled.
My own art world turned its back on me. My grand studio in Flanders emptied. The interest in my work curdled into disdain. I had violated the social contract, had stretched the boundaries of acceptable thought too far. It was all too much. The punishment was swift. The results were undeniable, yet the world was not ready. I had disrupted everything—academic hierarchies, archaeological methodologies, bureaucratic labyrinths.
I had hacked the rigid, arcane Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities research permit system. I had navigated the dense bureaucratic layers of Ghent University. I had independently raised the funds for the entire mission—years before crowdfunding platforms like Kickstarter and GoFundMe existed—through a self-designed initiative based on my Golden Sun Disk art edition. I had sidestepped the gatekeepers, and they never forgave me.
Seventeen years ago, archaeology was still conducted as it had been in the days of Flinders Petrie—trowels and pencils, rubber buckets hauled by sweating Egyptian laborers in tunics. My team introduced a different approach. We brought in an array of geophysical scanning instruments—devices capable of revealing in weeks what traditional archaeology had failed to uncover in a century. The first major expedition at Hawara since 1888. A revolution in method, an affront to tradition. You can imagine the reaction. The backlash was swift and merciless.
The result? The scientific evidence was left unsupported. No continuation. No follow-up excavations. The world failed Hawara.
Once again, I found myself alone. A decade ago, I walked these mountains with my mule, Duncan, toward the Biblioteca del Sol4—an underground ark of knowledge, a library of books safeguarded against the looming threats of abrupt climate change or a solar storm. A shelter from a storm few even recognized. I had researched this cycle for years—the evidence of a cataclysm at the end of the last Ice Age, the cyclical patterns of interglacial periods now showing signs of their approaching end. Few cared to listen.
There, in the grand old Moorish refuge of the library—weathered by centuries of blistering summers and freezing alpine winters—I met Andrew Barker. A stranded British poet with a deep fascination for ancient Egypt, especially their concept of the Afterlife. I shared his interest. Two horsemen, huddled by a mountain fire, speaking of desert storms and the enigmas buried beneath the sands of the ancients. A moment of kindred recognition, an ember in the cold. That night, our ambition was ignited—to write a book on Hawara. The Quest for the Labyrinth of Egypt.
The project attracted the attention of Carmen Boulter, the renowned filmmaker behind The Pyramid Code5. She joined us. And so, the search for the labyrinth was reopened.
This led to two additional satellite scans of Hawara. The data was staggering—colossal subterranean halls, awaiting revelation. The groundwork was laid for an expedition unlike any seen before: world-class experts, the most advanced imaging technology, precision bore-drilling, 3D laser void scanners, AI drones, hazmat suits, white NBC airlocked geodesic domes in the desert.
So why have you never heard of this?
Because some doors are deliberately kept shut—but it's time to unlock them.
I’ll tell you everything in my next Substack post.
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Mataha Expedition report > https://drive.google.com/file/d/1YqntaYOhvSWA7fd3jFYToPqx34odntjB/view
hawara_2008_geophysical-study_NRIAG.pdf https://drive.google.com/file/d/1jxEKQOXKc_vuJwgAcyzr4SwYJCvZ5NCF/view
Biblioteca del Sol > ”The artist Louis De Cordier set out in 2010 to construct his Biblioteca Del Sol: an underground repository of thousands of books and seeds, to which he continues to add. Far away from volcanoes and nuclear power stations, the library is intended to preserve knowledge for future generations, even after an apocalyptic disaster.” From the book > https://ludion.be/en/books/detail/biblioteca-del-sol
The Pyramid Code by Carmen Boulter is a documentary series of 5 episodes that explores the pyramid fields and ancient temples in Egypt, as well as ancient megalithic sites around the world, looking for clues to matriarchal consciousness, ancient knowledge and sophisticated technology in a golden age. > https://www.gaia.com/series/pyramid-code