Angel of Auschwitz (4 page)

By some inexplicable act of grace, my heart opened to the love of God. My fear dissolved in the presence of love. A current of healing energy flowed from my heart, streamed down my arms, and out my palms. My hands began to tingle and radiate warmth. The bleeding stopped, and the pain subsided.

Hiking back toward the farmhouse, I pondered the miracle of healing. My young mind understood little of the gifts of God. Crossing over the crest of the hill, I sensed a presence I could not see. Silently, a voice spoke in my mind. “Child of mercy, awaken. You have been blessed with divine gifts. Destiny is calling you to minister to the House of Judah.” My eyes scanned the vast horizon, searching for the source of this message. Staring at me from the pinnacle of a lonesome pine was a black and gray hawk. His sharp eyes locked onto mine.

Who are you, talking bird?
I wondered.

“I am a messenger sent to foretell your future. Birds and angels will be your allies as you share your gift of healing with your people. Your sense of purpose will give you the strength to survive. Rise above! Rise above!” With these words, the great bird spread wide his wings and let out a cry that shattered the silence like a peal of thunder in the night when the world is asleep.

Thrilled with my newfound ability, I wanted to try out my healing hands on the animals of Uncle Jacob’s farm. As I entered the barn, the horses and goats gathered around me. They became my first patients, so eager to experience human love. Next, I entered the chicken coop to work on the hens. I wanted to see if the healing energy would make them lay more and bigger eggs. I wondered if the baby chicks would grow up smarter than their mothers.

Returning to my village I sought out volunteers to receive my healing touch. Birds with broken wings, sick dogs and cats, wounded ants and spiders—all became beneficiaries of my gift. When my mother had a headache or a school friend had a fever, I felt an inner calling to offer help. Healing became my passion: I was overjoyed to see the sick get well.

I
T WAS ALREADY DARK
and I was undressing for the night. Looking out my bedroom window, I was surprised to see a young child opening the gate to our yard. He stepped onto the back porch and knocked on the kitchen door. Mother promptly answered and invited the newcomer in.

“I am Aron, son of Filip and Marta,” the child introduced himself with eloquence and candor. “My sister Petra is dying of pneumonia. You daughter, Natasza, has a reputation among the people of our village. We have heard that she works miracles of mercy with her healing hands. Please ask her to save my sister from the jaws of death.”

Mother came to fetch me from my upstairs bedroom. I was eight and a half years old, too young to venture out alone. Walking by Aron’s side, mother and I traversed the quiet lanes and tree-lined avenues, passing through our neighborhood of well-kept homes and tended gardens, and arrived at a ramshackle house on the far side of our village.

As I answered the call to service, I was led away from the safe and familiar and out into the unknown. Opening the front door of Aron’s house, I was assailed by the odor of must and decay, shocked by the lack of cleanliness and order. A lone kerosene lamp flickered by the stove. Two small children stepped out from the shadows and came forward to greet us. I wondered where the parents were, but I did not ask.

Aron lit a tapered candle and showed me to the room of the sick child. While I was ministering to Petra, Mother sat in the kitchen with the little ones and told them stories of long ago. In the beginning, as I was learning the art of healing, I preferred to work alone. I wanted to develop my concentration and ability to sense the flow of energy. I tiptoed to the bed, surveying the face and body of the child by candlelight. She appeared to be sleeping soundly. Her breathing was labored and shallow. Her skin was an unearthly shade of blue.

“Dear heavenly Father,” I prayed out loud, “thank You for honoring me by bestowing upon me Your sacred gifts. May I infuse the spirit of life into this ailing child. May I be a channel of healing love, an instrument of Your grace. Amen.” Then, closing my eyes, I communed with
her essence. “Yes, I want to live,” shouted the voice of her soul in my mind. “I have much yet to do with my life.”

Then I placed my hands over her heart. They moved spontaneously across her body, guided by an unseen force. They rested in one place for a while and then moved to another. I could feel the power and pulse of the healing rays course through me. I could see light emanating from my palms. My heart was open and so full of love that tears streamed down my face. As I stood beside young Petra, I heard the sweet song of angels serenading the sleeping girl. As the night progressed, color returned to her face, and her breathing deepened. She did not awaken during the entire treatment. Closing the door to her room, I gave thanks for answered prayer.

F
AR FROM THE QUIET
of the Polish countryside, in the heart of Germany, a madman rose to power. He proclaimed the superiority of a master race, and determined to exterminate the Jewish people from the face of the Earth.

Four abreast, the brownshirts marched down the streets of Berlin, carrying burning torches in the night. The spectacle of the torch-lit marches stirred the blood of the bystanders, triggering subconscious memories of ancestral pagan rituals—of blood sacrifice and fire magic.

The torchbearers headed to the great square, where a big rally was underway. The crowd stretched out as far as the eye could see. Giant loudspeakers hung from the rooftops, blaring patriotic songs. There were many long-winded speeches by the elite of the Nazi High Command. Then Hitler stepped forward. “
Sieg Heil!
Hail Victory!” A million eyes fixated in spellbound fury on the Führer as he glorified the triumph of the Aryan nation. As everyone shouted
“Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!”
a surge of electric emotion amped up the crowd. The energy was intense. The audience was mesmerized. Like a black magician, he used the power of his words to cast a spell on the group mind.

Inflamed by the fire of his oratory, the crowd got caught up in his passion, determined to serve the Third Reich to the bitter end. Some people recoiled in horror as they watched friends and family members overtaken by the mad frenzy. Those who listened with their hearts were less easily manipulated.

P
ART
T
WO
The Secret to Hitler’s Power

W
ORLD
W
AR
II
BECAME
one front in the battle between the army of Light and the forces of Darkness enacted on the global stage. On a second, less visible front, a war is being waged for control of consciousness through the use of mind control and genetic manipulation. These subjects are explored in Part Two, which presents stories about the past lives of Adolf Hitler. In these lifetimes, he developed his mastery of occult powers, which he exploited as the Führer. The politics of Nazi Germany provide a backdrop for the story of Natasza at Auschwitz.

The origins of mind control and ritual abuse go back to the cult ceremonies of the Atlantean era. These practices have evolved through the centuries, were perfected in Nazi Germany, and continue in the world today.

If you wish to continue reading Natasza’s story, you may bypass Part Two and go directly to Part Three: My Ministry.

I
N HIS YOUTH AND
past lives, Hitler studied metaphysics and the occult sciences. He studied the mythos of ancient cultures—the chants of Atlantis, the mystery schools of Egypt, and the pagan rituals of the Celts and the Druids.

Before the advent of recorded history, millennia before the Christian era, the civilization of Atlantis flourished on a grouping of islands in the North Atlantic Ocean. The people of this island culture had learned to use the power of thought to create a technologically advanced civilization. Even though they developed magnificent machines and ingenious inventions, their level of spiritual maturity lagged behind their attainment of mental powers.

It was the misapplication of power using crystals that caused a catastrophic end to this civilization. A terrible explosion rocked the Earth, and the islands sank beneath the sea. The world will continue to face the threat of destruction until humanity learns to place the mind in service to the heart.

As a girl incarnating during the Atlantean time, Hera—Hitler in that lifetime—was initiated into a cult of young women. They gathered together under the dark cloak of night at a sacred meeting place deep in the forest. The leader of the cult was a high priestess of ritual magic. The young girls were in awe of her power and wanted to take some of it for themselves. Hera was impressed with the leader; she observed and studied how to wield power.

The women watched the heavens and the cycles and seasons of nature. The stars foretold the timing of the opening of the portals when the gods and demons from the other side could enter their reality.

The priestess began to chant. The young women joined as one voice in a chorus, echoing her intonations. The voices reached a crescendo, creating a force field of group emotion. A bonfire burned in the night,
the sparks flying into the darkness. Firelight reflected off the stone slabs where the victims lay in bondage. The slabs were the altars of sacrifice to the gods. The slayer held up her ceremonial dagger, slowly running her fingers down the long blade, along the sharpened cutting edge. The ebony handle was carved into the shape of a serpent’s head. The ruby eyes of the snake glowed in anticipation of the drinking of the blood. The high priestess invoked the deities, the demons of the Dark. Then the slayer let out a piercing shriek as she stabbed the first victim. Intoxicated by madness, she went from captive to captive, unleashing the fury of her knife until all lay dead.

After the killings, branches were strewn across the warm bodies. Holding a flaming torch high above her head, the priestess called forth the god of fire and lit the pyres. Standing in the flickering light of the bonfire, the women passed a goblet from hand to hand. Sipping the blood of the innocent, they ingested the sacred substance of spirit.

The cult was Hera’s classroom; the priestess was her teacher. Here she learned black magic and the dark side of power. She learned to use sound to manipulate the group mind. As she observed the effects of tones on the psyche, she observed how the chanting of her cultmates triggered the slayer to kill. Rhythm and repetition induced a state of trance that opened the subconscious to being programmed.

During these ceremonies, she became acquainted with the gods who directed the cult. They were spirit beings of another dimension, the astral counterparts of the snakes, reptiles, and lizards known to man. They were psychic vampires who received sustenance from the energies released by sex and death.