Angel of Auschwitz (9 page)

Through the grace of love, a new day will dawn when the world is reborn, the Day of Liberation of the human spirit. The day will come when the madness ends, when humanity awakens and says “no” to war. A new sun will rise over the land of the free. Godspeed to the Light! No one can hold back the dawn.

M
ONTHS EARLIER
, I
HAD
arrived at Auschwitz a shy and introverted child. The harsh reality of camp life quickened my maturation into adulthood. With the adept coaching of my mentor, I cracked open my shell of fear and emerged a defiant, outspoken rebel.

My cause was freedom—the liberation of my people. Every cry of woundedness broke open my heart. Every outrage and injustice rekindled the fire of my zeal. My sense of purpose and love for my people gave me the strength to carry on. Living the Truth meant honoring my commitment to God. In divine partnership, I walked the path of my destiny.

Words of inspiration flashed into my mind to help me rise above the unfolding human tragedy. “Natasza, you must forge a will of iron upon the anvil of your faith. Your faith will keep your spirits buoyant above the undertow of despair.”

M
Y FAITH WAS CHALLENGED
by adversity. My will was strong, and that sustained me. I prayed for increasing strength to survive the struggle of the days to come. I prayed for God to intervene on my behalf, to protect me from the force of evil.

A flash of lightening streaked above me, and a crash of thunder opened up the sky. An angel of Light descended from the realms of heaven. He wore a helmet and armor of gold.

“I am Michael, warrior angel of the Lord,” he introduced himself. “I fight for freedom and justice. I carry the Sword of Truth.

“Child of Light,” he said, “God has sent me in answer to your prayers. To those who serve the Great One, He offers a gift of grace. To those who serve in the army of Light, He offers a weapon to fight the Adversary. It is the gift of our Father to the brave ones who dare to speak the truth. Now, raise your right hand to receive the sword,” Michael instructed me. “As you use the sword, a mighty blue flame issues forth, giving you the power of protection. Sparks of blue fire will bounce off the blade when it comes in contact with negativity.”

“Thank you, bright angel,” I am deeply grateful,” I responded.

“Wield the sword to cut through lies and deception, to conquer ignorance and evil. All who use the sword amplify the vibration of Truth in the world. Spiritual warriors uphold the Light,” Michael declared. Holding up his flaming blue sword, he proclaimed:

I held with love the Sword of Truth, a gift of grace from God. I took a stance to wield the sword, to stand up for the truth. I felt a fierceness of purpose, a fearlessness and sense of power. I was ready to battle agents of evil over
who controls the Truth
. I was ready to confront the forces of Darkness. I was ready for what lay ahead. Someday I would meet the Commandant. We would fight a duel with words. My sword would empower my words of Truth, to blaze forth at the midnight hour.

C
OMFORTING THE DYING BECAME
the bedrock of my ministry. To understand the process of passing over, I was invited to witness the death of an old gypsy woman.

As the first rays of dawn’s light filtered through the dusty windows of my barracks, Boris’s transparent image appeared at the foot of my bed. “Wake up, Natasza. Come with me,” he beckoned. “Let us go now to meet Magdalena.”

Ever so quietly, I tiptoed down the center hallway, opened the door, and walked out into the cool mist of the morning. Boris walked next to me. As he merged his astral field with my physical substance, I became invisible.

Our crow allies awaited us. Ten black crows stood in a row on the roof ridgeline of barracks 14. Their black feathers glistened, reflecting the shimmering light of the rising sun. As we walked below the bird overseers, a scout crow flapped his wings and took off. Flying a short distance to the northwest, he landed on the roof of a barracks, designating the spot where Magdalena lay below.

Her time of transition was near. Her pulse was weak and her breathing shallow. A beatific smile graced her pale and wrinkled face. A halo of opalescent light surrounded her head and shoulders. She emanated sublimity and peace. I was amazed to see an angelic side to death. I had believed that death was a painful tragedy to be feared and dreaded. Now I realized a higher truth—that for souls that are ready, death is welcome. The imprisoned spirit is eager to break free from bondage to the flesh. The gypsy’s soul soared free like a bird gliding through the air.

During the days of my childhood my parents had shielded me from harsh reality. In family discussions the subject of death was considered taboo. No one before Boris had dared to show me that there were many faces to death, just as there were many paths to walk in life. Boris knew death intimately because he was a ghost. His spirit was alive in the astral world, the next step beyond our reality.

My ghost mentor explained, “Observe the difference between natural death, such as with Magdalena, and sudden death, death that was not
prepared for. The multitude of souls that I carry on my shoulders died suddenly. They are still in shock and do not realize that they are dead. Rather than entering the realms of Light, they have become earthbound. They would be wandering about in confusion if they had not attached themselves to me.”

F
ROM THEN ON, IN
my work at the camp, I was aware of the needs of the soul as it made its transition. As I listened to the whispered words of the dying, my heart of compassion opened and felt their pain. I wept as they told their stories of tragedy and woe. At their behest I prayed for the salvation of lost loved ones. To assuage their fears I assured them of God’s unfailing love.

Sometimes I sat on the floor beside the bed to hold the hand of a grandmother. Sometimes I sat on the edge of the bed to stroke the forehead of a child. Sometimes I stood at the foot of the bed to pray for a wounded daughter. To those who could not be consoled by words nor comforted by touch, I sang songs that I made up specially for each person. The perfect words came to me as I looked deeply into their eyes. Uplifting melodies gave wings to their spirits.

I served as a guide for the departing spirit to the realms of Light. I learned to recognize the stages of the dying process, and the release work necessary to free the soul. Boris taught me to identify beliefs and emotions that the dying person needed to let go of. He explained, “Traumatic events cause wounds of the psyche. Rage, terror, guilt, and hatred become like lesions of the psyche, just as boils and abscesses are the lesions of the flesh. They become the baggage that one takes on the journey from this life to the next. They attach to the soul to bring about future learning and karma. You must teach the people about forgiveness,” he emphasized. “Forgiveness heals the heart and frees the soul.”

Boris nicknamed me “the Bedside Angel.” My comrades called me “the Angel of Auschwitz.”

P
ART
F
OUR
Healing Apprenticeship

S
TRONG AND ABLE-BODIED ADULTS
were hauled off to farms and factories to work as slaves for the Nazi war machine. It was left to the children, assisted by a few of the old women, to take care of the sick and injured.

As my spiritual mentor, Boris oversaw my ministerial training. Love was the essence of his teaching. He taught me the Divine Law of Love and Unity. “The diseases and afflictions of humanity result from violations of this one basic law,” he explained. “We are all part of one whole. We must call on feelings of love even for those who persecute us.”

I learned the art of compassionate counseling. “Listen with an open heart,” he advised me. “Be patient, gentle, and kind.” I discovered that the healing power of love was more profound than the wisest words. Forgiveness can heal the wounds of time.

As my gift of healing unfolded, I began to channel more energy. Hands-on healing draws out darkness and brings in light. Boris taught me to remain calm and centered in the heart. My temptation was to indulge my emotions. My challenge was to rise above the rage, the grief, the degradation.

After these spiritual preparations, I was ready for the practical phase of my training. Boris taught me everything he knew and could remember about nursing, first aid, and medicine. He had studied these subjects at the University of Warsaw fifty years before. He taught me how to examine and diagnose, and how to treat the common ailments in the camp. I learned the basics of first aid and emergency care. We had no books, no charts to study. Boris focused his mind and projected into my third eye simple diagrams of the organs and systems of the body. These pictures I stored in my memory, my mental reference library.

T
HE CELLS OF THE
body exhibit a natural intelligence because the consciousness of the Creator is alive within them. The essence of God combines with the essence of the soul to create the sentience of the cells. The innate wisdom of the body functions best without the interference of the mind.

With its instincts for survival, the body can sense danger and protect and defend itself. Without supervision from the mind, the heart keeps beating and the lungs expand and contract. Without the responsibility of regulating biology, the conscious mind is free to explore and create. The mind can trust the wisdom of the body to govern itself.

W
ATER IS
M
OTHER
N
ATURE’S
remedy for almost every condition. It is the universal elixir that purifies and heals. One liter of clean water could save the life of a small child dehydrated from diarrhea or night sweats. A damp cloth placed on the forehead could reduce fever. Water was needed to clean wounds and treat for shock and loss of blood.

Water for drinking was stored in large wooden barrels. As time passed, the water became stagnant and slimy green with algae. Flies and spiders crawled under the lid and drowned in the reservoir below.

As I lifted my drinking cup, I observed the teeming abundance of life and death floating around in my water. My scientific mind became fascinated with the different kinds of bugs and spiders and how their bodies had adapted for survival. Dead flies floated on the surface, their iridescent green eyes seemingly watching me. The insect wings and spider legs settled to the bottom of the cup, forming a fragile layer of broken bodies. As I examined the layer of insect parts, it occurred to me that if the water could be filtered with a cloth or mesh, most of the debris could be separated out. A portion of the microorganisms would be caught by the cloth.

Water for washing was in short supply. We were unable to keep ourselves clean. As I lay in bed before falling asleep, I learned to identify each woman and girl in my barracks by the distinctive smell of her body odor. Life in captivity stimulated my survival instincts.

T
HE LATRINES SERVED AS
incubation chambers, fertile breeding grounds for all kinds of germs. The decomposing human waste attracted vermin and flies that carried the microbes of disease to the farthest reaches of Auschwitz.

Disease spread readily from person to person. Due to lack of sanitation and overcrowded living conditions, epidemics and flare-ups were part of everyday reality. Contaminated drinking water caused many to die, especially from dysentery, typhoid fever, and cholera. Overcrowded living conditions contributed to the spread of airborne infections. Sneezing, coughing, and close contact through touching caused many to come down with influenza, tuberculosis, and pneumonia. Lack of adequate water to wash and bathe resulted in outbreaks of hepatitis and cases of tetanus. Malnutrition, chronic fear, and victimization weakened the immune response of the body.

Stomachaches were commonplace, accompanied by nausea and cramping. I watched women run out of my barracks to wretch in the yard, to vomit the rotten food. Soon afterward, they came down with fevers or suffered from diarrhea and ailments of the bowels. Dehydration was a major factor leading to death among young children and the elderly.

Women and girls were vulnerable to the sexual perversity of the iron men. The ongoing threat of sexual violation caused their bodies to produce an excess of adrenalin. Chronic stress resulted in a state of adrenalin poisoning, accompanied by headaches, nausea, and vomiting.

As I comforted dozens of women and girls in the wake of sexual assault, I observed a natural purging response of the body. Within twenty-four hours of a rape, many of the victims threw up to vent their rage and purify themselves of the invasive male energy. The repercussions of rape carried some victims to their graves. Once they discovered sores on their private parts, they knew their days were numbered. It grieved me to watch my sisters suffer the shame and the pain of syphilis and gonorrhea, as I was unable to save them from the scythe of the grim reaper.