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Monday, January 19, 2015

The Nazi

There are some experiences that I have had that affect me so deeply that I almost don't want to tell anyone about them.  It's so personal to me and I will often spend days, weeks even, thinking about what happened and contemplating what it could all mean.  When I met a Nazi Officer in my dreams I had the same reaction.  It ripped me inside and out, it punched me in the gut, and wounded me so deeply in my soul that it took me a long time to recover.  Now that it's been several months I think I'm finally ready to tell my story.

Sometimes when I tell people about my "dreams" I am often met with skepticism because most people say "but they're just dreams."  I agree that we often have simple dreams where we experience some craziness and wake up pondering "WHAT DOES IT MEAN??"  But there are other occasions, at least in my experience, where dreams turn into something else.  Some call it astral projection, astral travel, or another name that people prefer.  I simply call it traveling.  When I travel, which happens at least once a month, I know that my astral self (soul) leaves my body and goes to other planes and/or dimensions.  It's where I meet with spirits, have powerful visions, learn new things about the afterlife, and so much more.  When I am traveling, time has a completely new meaning.  During my travels days and months pass overnight.  It's pretty incredible and often disorienting.  I wake up in the morning thinking I've been gone for months and have to force myself to quickly come back to reality so I don't suffer from severe confusion and panic.  When I met the Nazi I was gone for over three months.  THREE solid months!  That was the longest I had ever been gone.

That specific night I went to sleep like I normally do and immediately found myself standing in a very old warehouse.  It was several stories high and I was on the top floor.  I found myself turning a corner and stumbling upon two men having an altercation.  One had a gun and the other looked terrified and very dirty and disheveled.  He pleaded over and over for his life but the gun holding man just glared at him with hate in his eyes.  Then he pulled the trigger.  I watched the man's blood splatter all over the walls and even on my face.  I watched the life go out of his eyes as he lay in a pool of his own blood.  Two other men in uniform came running and stood there staring.  The gunman kicked the man into a small box of a room (which I realized was a very old lift), spit on him, and closed the door.  The other two men pulled the chords so that the elevator would go down.  I heard the gunman tell them to dump him in the basement.  I stood there with my hands covering my mouth so that I wouldn't make any noise.  No one noticed me and the second I had my chance I turned and ran in the other direction.

I ran through a maze of hallways, down several flights of stairs, and finally made it to the ground floor.  I ran into a huge room and skidded to a stop as I found myself in a room full of men.  They all wore funny looking uniforms that felt oddly familiar.  They were all standing at attention facing a stage with one tall podium in the center.  The gunman walked up to the stage and stood in front of the crowd.  He was explaining to them that the threat had passed and that he took care of it.  They all cheered and clapped and he waved for them to be quiet.  He spoke some more about their next mission and as he spoke I noticed the swastika on his arm.  Then I noticed all the swastikas.  They were nazis.  It occurred to me at that moment that they were all speaking German and that I understood them perfectly.  I had never spoken another language like that before so it shocked and amazed me.  I slowly backed out of the room praying I would go unnoticed and then began running toward what I hoped was the exit.  It wasn't.

I threw the door open and ran smack into a man who was younger than me.  He looked to be in his mid-twenties, very handsome, and very cruel.  He looked down at me with a scary smile and said he'd been looking for me.  He grabbed my arm and started dragging me back in the direction I had come from.  We went up three flights of stairs and ended up in a hallway that looked like some sort of dormitory.  Men were walking around half dressed, some drying off their hair with towels as if they just got out of the shower, and when I glanced into the open doorways I saw beds and desks that reminded me of the old hotel rooms I'd seen in movies.  The man holding me captive sneered at me and said "You just wait.  You're in for a nice surprise."  We stopped abruptly at a door in the middle of the hallway and he knocked three solid times.  The door swung open and the gunman was standing there.  When he looked down at me his eyes softened and he broke out in a brilliant smile.  He was almost handsome despite his scary demeanor.  "Finally!" he said and stepped aside as I was pushed with force inside his room.

I tripped over a bag that was lying in the middle of the floor and went flying into the wall. The gunman let out a cry of surprise and ran to my aid.  He helped me up, looked me over for injuries, and set me on his bed.  The man who captured me saluted his officer (the gunman) and left.  The gunman shut the door and turned to face me.  "Let's go to bed.  It's been a long day." he said as he started to strip down to just a crisp white undershirt and underwear.  I sat on the bed shaking and watching him, unsure of what to do next.  He climbed into bed, raised the covers, and gestured for me to get under them.  I did as I was told and laid down on my pillow in such a stiff way that my entire body was beginning to ache.  He scooted closer to me in the bed and brushed the hair out of my face.  "Why are you trembling, my dear?  I will not hurt you."  If I hadn't watched him murder someone I might have believed him.  His voice was so kind at that moment that I was beyond confused.  "You will sleep in my bed from now on." he mumbled in my ear and then he fell asleep.

I spent that first night staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm myself down, and anchored to the bed by his muscular arm draped over me.  I ran a billion ideas through my head on how I could escape but every one of them seemed more and more unlikely and impossible.  As morning came my anxiety increased and my heart rate quickened.  I began to hyperventilate when I felt him stirring next to me.  He rolled over and looked me in the eyes.  He smiled a sleepy smile and told me we needed to talk.  He propped his pillow up on the headboard behind us and started talking.  He told me he knew what I was.  He knew I could see and communicate with spirits and he heard I was psychic and had the ability to "know" things.  He told me he needed me to help him for awhile; that I was to be his trusted aid but also his prisoner.  I would do everything he demanded of me.  EVERYTHING.  And I would do it with a happy look on my face.  "You will learn to like being with me.  I promise."  I nodded, still unable to speak, and then he kissed me on the cheek and left me in bed to cry.

After that my life instantly changed.  He took me everywhere with him. He made me watch people die after his people stabbed them.  I stood there and watched as people were tortured and injured.  I cringed and held back vomit as I heard their shrieks and felt their blood and insides splash across my skin.  It was horrific and sadly after awhile I slowly began to become desensitized to all the violence and pain.  My job was to make sure their spirits passed on so the soldiers wouldn't be haunted by them in the future.  I would reach out to other spirits to help them find answers and I would serve as a lie detector of sorts during important meetings.  He constantly reminded me of how valuable I was to him and how much he cared for me.  During our nights together we'd lie in bed and he would softly explain to me why the torture and violence was necessary.  He desperately wanted me to see him as a good person, not a monster.  It was important to him that his actions were viewed as being for the greater good.  He believed in his purpose and mission.  I never said anything to upset him.  I was always fearful of my life and would simply nod in agreement.

For three months I was his slave in every way possible.  I did everything he demanded of me, I'm ashamed to say, because I was too afraid to argue or fight him.  I only spoke when demanded to and spent most of my time daydreaming about the life I had had before I ended up in that place.  I noticed my gunman was a gentle person when we were alone; not at all like the fierce Officer he displayed in front of his men.  He did exhibit a lot of creepy tendencies though.  He would place me in front of the mirror in "our" bedroom and stand behind me, his body pressed up against my back. We'd stand like that for what seemed like hours.  He'd stroke my face, breathe deeply in my hair and neck, and whisper to me that I was beautiful and that we were both good people that would be rewarded.  I believed that he truly believed in what he was saying but I never agreed.  I would just stand there staring at our reflections and waiting for it to be over.

I can't say that I ever really grew fond of him but he became a very familiar part of my life.  I eventually learned all of his idiosyncrasies and my life slowly started to become a tiny bit easier.  The last day I was there we were doing our daily ritual of standing in front of the mirror and him whispering into my ear.  I finally mustered the energy and courage to speak back.  I softly told him that I thought it was time for me to leave.  I had to go home.  "But this is your home, my dear." he said with narrowed eyes.  I said "yes, but I have another home in another world with a family that needs me."  He sighed, nodded, and said he understood.  He said he had a family too and he misses them sometimes.  "One more night with me, please.  And then you may go."  I let out a huge breath of relief that I'm pretty sure I was holding in for the entire three month stay.  I agreed to his terms instantly.  We climbed into bed and he kissed me on the lips.  "Goodnight and goodbye my beautiful, sweet love.  I will miss you dearly."  I rolled over to my side and allowed him to cuddle me as we both fell asleep.

I woke up in the morning in my own bed, in my own home in Germany.  I was surrounded by my dog and cats and I could hear my son breathing in the other room.  I laid there with wide eyes for a few seconds and then burst into tears.  I was home.  I checked the phone on my nightstand and realized that only one night had passed.  I spent the entire night in that other world that was a three month span there.  It was awful, it was a huge relief, and it was traumatizing.  I didn't even know what to say.  I was in shock.  I took my time getting out of bed, snuggling my animals as much as I could.  When I did actually stumble out of bed I walked around in a daze.  I hated myself for participating in all that I was forced to do.  Why didn't I fight them??  But at the same time I knew if I was ever to be reunited with my family again I had no choice but to comply. I felt a very tiny longing for my gunman simply because we spent so much time together.  It had become my daily routine that it felt weird without him being right next to me.  We had many moments of kindness on his end that I saw he wasn't a complete monster.  I was in awe of experiencing first hand what some Nazis were really like.  And I was stunned that I stayed gone for three months and lived this whole other life with no one having a clue.  I eventually told my husband what happened (and even a few other people) just because I had to tell someone.  I felt like I was going crazy.

Later that first day I hopped on the computer and googled "Nazi Officer".  I remembered his face so vividly that I knew I would recognize him if I saw him.  I had to know if this was real.  If he was real.  Sure enough, as I scrolled through the pictures my breath left my body and my heart started to race.  It was him.  I clicked on his picture to see if the name matched up.  It did.  His name was Erwin Rommel and he was most definitely real.

I will remember that face for all of eternity.

I still think of him every now and then.  I try to block out that entire experience but every now and then it comes flooding back to me with so much force that I have to sit down and take deep breaths.  For someone like me, dreaming isn't just a normal part of life.  It's not something that can always be explained away with a psychological Freudian theory.  For me, going to sleep each night is equal parts terrifying and exciting.  I never know where I will go, who I will meet, how long I will be gone, and how it will affect me.  My time with the scary gunman has taught me many things about myself.  I'm a survivor.  I can get through anything.  It has also taught me that traveling in my sleep can be a very scary and dangerous thing.  I hope to one day be able to control it.  In the meantime I will continue to pray every night that I will be protected and kept from harm.  I hope to never return to that awful place for as long as I live.

Thank you for reading my blog.



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