Free Angel of Auschwitz by Tarra Light

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:
    Victory to the Light!

Victory to the Truth!
    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.

Magdalena
    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 notprepared 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.”

The Bedside Angel
    F ROM THEN ON, IN my work at the camp, I was aware of the