by Tarra Light
The Commandant could not see my sword. He was blind to the Truth. “The state controls the Truth,” he proclaimed. “The state decides what is real, what is right, and what is true. Submit now to the authority of the Reich.”
“My allegiance is to the Truth,” I replied. The power of Truth overcame my fear. Knowing the Truth gave me the courage to speak it: “The Truth cannot be compromised. It cannot be amended, revised, or updated. The Truth is whole unto itself. Those who tamper with the Truth are prisoners of illusion. Those who live the Truth are free.”
I hoped these words would penetrate his defenses. Perhaps they would open a window in his mind to let in the light.
Death Wish
THE CRUEL DEATH OF her dear friend Rosetta broke Jezra’s spirit. The shock afflicted her soul. The fire of grief consumed her. To escape her suffering, Jezra courted death. She danced with death, flirted with death, and played stone games with the grim reaper. The angels of mercy circled around her, watching, waiting for her final moment to escort her soul from this world to the next.
As healers, we recognized when a person had lost their will to live, when they believed that life was vacant of hope and meaning. Death was busy honoring these calls, arranging for a timely exit from this world, whether by starvation or sickness, accident or torture. The fact that Jezra was caught in the crossfire was not a coincidence. It was her way out of her misery, her method of suicide.
The Incinerators
THE DAY AFTER THE massacre, clouds of black smoke billowed from the tall chimneys of the incinerators. An acrid stench permeated the air. Our lungs burned as we inhaled the blood and bones of our brethren. The incinerators were located in a far corner of the camp, distant from the barracks where we lived. Only once had I seen them, but I never forgot.
At least cremation was a more sanitary method of corpse disposal than burial. The healing sisters took risks by sneaking out to the long trenches where the gravediggers worked. With them they carried rags and scraps of cloth for the men to cover their noses and mouths, to protect them from contracting the diseases of human decay.
Karmic Justice
“WHY DO INNOCENT PEOPLE have to die? Is there justice in the world? If God is love, why does He permit these atrocities?” I demanded answers from my mentor.
Boris heard my words, but did not answer right away. My grief from Jezra’s death had overwhelmed me. “Take a deep breath and calm yourself, my child.” He waited a moment for me to regain my composure. “Realize that we interpret life according to our belief systems, yet our beliefs are not real; they are only constructs of the mind derived from our life experience,” explained the professor.
“Oh, Boris, don’t be so scholarly when my heart is broken. Speak plainly.”
“What I mean is—there are no victims. Jezra chose her life and death,” he answered.
“How can you say that?” I screamed at him, speaking out loud. My blood boiled with righteous anger.
“Before a soul incarnates on Earth, it makes many choices about the nature and circumstances of its new life. The soul meets with its spiritual advisors and discusses its options. During these counseling sessions, the soul asks questions and receives guidance. Then it makes agreements, arranges to meet other souls, and sets up experiences from which it can learn and evolve. This is how destiny is manifested.”
“Why would anyone choose to suffer? Wouldn’t everyone want candy and cake rather than sickness and poverty?”
“The soul has karmic debts to pay off before it can be free,” he explained. “When people act out of harmony with God’s Law of Love, they accrue a karmic debt. At some future time they will reap the consequences of what they had sown, and the account will be balanced. During these prebirth meetings, the soul maps out plans for its next life. It is advised concerning its karmic record and chooses the lessons to be learned that can resolve the karma.”
“That means we are not victims,” I exclaimed.
“Now you understand,” he answered. “When we are born, we forget the choices we made. Then it appears that things happen to us without justification.”
“But what about the death camps, genocide, and mass extermination? Who would choose to come to Auschwitz?”
“Decades ago, a clarion call was sounded in the heavens. Millions of souls heard and answered the call. They lined up at the Karmic Gates, volunteering for this mission. They said, ‘We will sacrifice our lives so the world will choose a higher way to live. All people are one. No race is superior to another.’
“Karma is the cosmic fire that purifies the soul,” explained my mentor. “Through intense and prolonged suffering, millions of souls are freeing themselves from huge karmic debts.”
“Can races and nations create karma?” I asked.
“Yes. Groups of souls make agreements and learn lessons, but on a larger scale than individuals do. Many wars result from the karmic fire of races and nations in confrontation. The friction of differing cultural beliefs and values explodes into violence. Ideals of racial destiny and superiority provide the justification for killing.”
“Why does history repeat itself?” I asked.
“Because humanity has not learned from past experience. The same lessons come to us in new packaging until we learn to practice compassion, forgiveness, and reverence for life.”
“What is the cause of war?” I asked.
“Limited thinking,” he answered. “People fight over territory and natural resources because they believe that there is not enough for everyone. Justice in the world is necessary for peace among the nations. When people come from the heart, humanity will begin a new era of global cooperation. The rich nations will willingly share their resources, and hunger and poverty can be eliminated.”
“What is the lesson that war is teaching us?” I wanted to know.
“Conflict in the world is a reflection of the inner struggles of the human psyche. We are all at war within ourselves. We are all responsible. Since all people are one, one person at peace can save the world.”
Healing Karma
“IS THE JEWISH RACE carrying a karmic debt from the past?” I wondered.
“That is true,” answered my mentor. “The karmic origins of the Holocaust date back to the time of Exodus. In the days of the Hebrew Bible, people were disconnected from their emotions. It was an accepted norm for one race to annihilate another without feeling remorse.
“When the Israelites invaded the Land of Canaan, they believed they had the right to conquer the region. Because they slaughtered all the people that lived there, they accrued a karmic debt. To free themselves from the web of karma, the Jewish people need to release their anger and blame and find compassion for those who persecuted them.”
“In the midst of our suffering, do you expect us to be capable of offering forgiveness?” I asked.
“That is the challenge that you face by being here, my child,” he answered.
Avenue of Escape
I PRAYED FOR DELIVERANCE FROM the endless struggle and horror of my days. My deliverance was death. I longed to escape. “I am ready,” I told God. “Take me. Take me. I trust in You to find me a way out.”
I knew I would not live to see the bright smile of victory. I would not live to witness the Day of Liberation. My fate rested in the hands of God.
The Blue Room
AS MY FEISTY TONGUE spoke words of Truth to open Heinrich Schuller’s mind, I realized that I was sabotaging my survival. A severe punishment would be forthcoming. My time to walk this earth was short.
Two days after my confrontation with the Commandant, a guard yanked me by the arm and dragged me into the yard. Unfolding a handwritten note, he read:
Rebel child:
Truth is treason.
Squelch your tongue.
Submit or die.
Commandant Schuller
The guard took me to a waiting vehicle. The driver was a drone, a mechanical man at the wheel. To scare me he pushed down hard on the throttle
and revved the engine, making it roar. Then he drove down one dirt road and up the next, then around the corner and down again.
We arrived at the maintenance sector of the camp—where the repair shops, utility buildings, and storage sheds were located. At the end of a long dirt road stood a blue concrete building. It was square in shape, perhaps six meters on each side. After parking the vehicle on the shaded side, the driver signaled for me to get out. He pushed open the heavy steel door and shoved me inside. Behind me, I heard the door swing on its hinges and clank shut.
My body began to quiver and shake as I realized where I was. Echoes of terror reverberated off the walls. Pangs of panic tightened my gut. A bully reached behind me and bolted the door. A second man pushed me into the corner of the room and ordered me to undress. I dropped my dusty clothes into a pile on the floor.
All at once, the three bullies pounced on me. They overpowered me with brute force and threw me down onto a long narrow table in the center of the room. I looked up into their faces, grim and grotesque, as they pulled tight the straps against my skinny naked body. Clink—one cold metal buckle was fastened across my chest. Clink—a second metal buckle was fastened tight across my thighs. Electrodes attached to long wires were taped to my arms and legs.
Eager to begin the torture, a fat bully sat behind the control panel, puffing on an imported cigar. He blew smoke rings into the air and flicked the burning ashes onto my naked torso. He leaned over to check the readings on the big dials, then grabbed the end of a long metal handle.
Strapped down on the table, I felt vulnerable and ashamed. My tender pubescent body was being scrutinized by the eyes of evil. What wretched minds seek sadistic pleasure from the agony of their fellow humans?
Snugly gripping the electric throttle with his palm and fingers, the control man began to pull down the handle. The current surged through me as I tensed and writhed on the table. I was screaming, screaming, screaming until he pulled up the handle. End of the first assault. The second time, one of the electrodes was thrust up my anus. The pain was unbearable. I do not want to remember. The third time, an electrode was inserted into my vagina. I could not scream. I felt powerless and paralyzed, a prisoner of terror. One more time, and I could not see. During the last assault I passed out.
I woke up some time later. I found myself lying naked in front of the blue room. The sky was black, and the air was cold. From my heart I prayed: “Father God, please save my life. Give me the strength to reach my bed tonight. Thank you. Amen.”
My Recovery
FOR TWO DAYS AND nights I lay motionless. Even the slightest twist or turn caused excruciating pain. My bones ached. My nerves were fried. I could not eat. I could barely see. Clumps of hair fell out of my head. Old Mother stood by my bedside, praying for a miracle healing. Then Aniela and Klara came to channel divine energy. They held their hands above my head and heart, and healing energy emanated from their palms. The healers whom I had trained gave me the healing that saved my life.
Word spread quickly throughout the nation of crows. “Natasza is ailing. Gather food and flowers.” My crow allies foraged the fields and the forests near the abandoned potato farm. They returned with juicy red berries, succulent plums, and other fruits of the season. They carried sprigs of mint in their beaks and medicinal herbs. They plundered the nests of neighboring birds and brought me the eggs of the finch and the starling. They gathered the blossoms of daisies and wild roses.
Praising the crows for their dedication to our cause, Aniela graciously accepted these gifts from the bosom of nature, the greatest mother of all. She held them up to her heart, then gently sprinkled the flower petals around my head. The fragrance of flowers offered the essence of healing.
Like their Jewish counterparts, the crows were genetically adapted for survival. A clever and intelligent mind was a valued feature of bird and human alike.
Courage
ANIELA SAT DOWN ON a wooden crate by my bedside. As she reached out to hold my hand, her inquiring brown eyes looked searchingly into mine. “Dearest sister,” she said, “what makes you so brave? I have watched you challenge the power of the Reich. I have seen you defy the orders of the Commandant. You are willing to endure suffering, inviting your own death, in your dedication to healing and the cause of freedom. You stand a head taller than the rest of us, even though by stature you are small.”
“Blessed Aniela,” I answered her, “what I can do is possible for all of us. I am completely committed to the mission that God has entrusted to me. Every particle of my being is focused on my life work. I know that God has confidence in my ability to succeed. When I feel the pain of my people, I cannot stand by or turn away. My heart knows true compassion. I am one with all life. I am one with you. I am one with everyone.”
“You are so wise, Natasza,” she exclaimed. “I admire your courage.”
“Courage does not mean the absence of fear,” I responded. “It means rising above the fear, not being controlled by the fear, going forward in spite of the fear. Fear is overcome by living your life purpose. Fear dissolves when you surrender to love.”
Dream Message
WHILE I WAS SLEEPING, a message was being sent to my subconscious mind. My brain waves shifted in frequency, and my psyche was cast adrift in a sea of dreams. I saw an image of myself as a truth seeker walking through a dark forest. I had wandered off the beaten trail and had lost my way in the dense underbrush. I was on an important mission, and I prayed for direction. A wayfarer appeared out of nowhere and crossed my path at just the right moment, guiding me to safety. The man hobbled slowly forward, leaning on a wooden staff. It was Boris! In his ethereal dream voice Boris called to me, “Arise, Natasza. Prepare for an emergency!”
The Beating of Uncle Jacob
THE RAIN POUNDED DOWN like hard rubber bullets, dropping from the midnight sky. Bolts of lightening broke the sky in two. Electricity charged the air.
The crows were banging their beaks on the roof of my barracks, trying to wake me up. Boris tapped me on the shoulder, then whispered in my ear, “Arise, Natasza! Destiny is calling. Come with me.”
Opening my eyes I heard the crows hammering intently on the roof above me. Quickly I dressed and grabbed my kit of medical supplies. Like a soldier preparing for battle, like a wolf before the hunt, I braced myself to face danger and death. The thunder shook the ground under my feet as I walked. Boris merged his astral presence with my auric field. Thus aligned energetically, we set forth concealed by the darkness. With Boris as my protection I was invisible to enemy eyes.
Our destination was forbidden territory, the men’s quarters of the camp. At midnight we reached barracks 22. As we stood in front of the door, he separated his energy field from mine. “You must go in alone,” he telepathed to me.
Taking a deep breath, I focused my intention and created my own shield of invisibility. Then I daringly stepped into the room, not knowing what I was going to find there.
In the center of the room was a long cot. Lying in a stupor on the cot was an old man, gaunt and frail. Three iron men surrounded him, the bullies of the Reich, kicking and beating the defenseless man. His skin was pale. His hair was white. His eyes were sunken deep within his skull. He appeared to see nothing, as if he were blind. His pointed white beard was drizzled with blood. He was my uncle Jacob!
I watched in horror, not knowing what to do. I felt the urge to plunge forward, to stop the torture, to rescue him from certain death. But I had to stand back, or both of us would have died. Helplessly, I watched as they brutalized the old man. The sergeant raised his leg and kicked Uncle Jacob’s face with the heel of his boot, breaking his nose.
No longer could I maintain my composure. A rush of adrenalin surged through me. The sheer brutality of the torture triggered me emotionally, and my shield of invisibility collapsed. In that instant, the brute sergeant spotted me. The guards grabbed me and brought me to a concrete cell. I spent the night locked inside the jail, while the rats outside ran free. The next
day I was to face the Commandant.
Debates with the Commandant
Standing in the Truth
THE COLD METAL DOOR of my concrete cell opened. Clang. “Hurry! Get ready to meet the Commandant,” the guard warned me. Moments later, two soldiers grabbed me and brought me to the doorstep of the Commandant.
After dismissing the guards, Heinrich Schuller paced back and forth across the room, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. He was mentally preparing to make his move, deliberating on the game at hand. Squaring off to face me, he played his role as my interrogator. He assumed the posture of a Grand Inquisitor looking for heretics who defied his authority. I was on trial as a freedom fighter because I stood up for the Truth.
Preparing to confront my adversary, I drew Archangel Michael’s sword. As the blue flame of Truth enveloped me, the power of Truth surged through me. All fear left me. I stood uncompromising in the Truth.
“Rebel child,” he said, challenging me, “what makes you so fearless? Why don’t you obey my orders?”
“My obedience is to the Truth,” I proclaimed. “The Truth is invincible. The Truth shall not be moved. The Light of Truth shall overcome. Victory to the Truth!”
“Fear is our number one weapon. Why don’t you succumb to fear?” he persisted.
“When I am helping others I forget about myself. The love I feel for my people overrides concerns for my survival. Fear has no power in a heart graced by love.”
“There is only one truth, Fraulein: the one manufactured by the state. Submit to authority, or you will die.”
I stood tall before my interrogator:
“Standing in the Truth, I feel no fear.