Chapter 3
Auschwitz
I hopped off the train at Ostrava, a dismal and ugly border town. I spent the rest of the night listening to wretched drunks puke and yell in the passenger waiting room. I made repeated dashes into the filthy toilets. I stared at a faded picture of Havel resting on a flea-bitten wall. The Velvet Revolution seemed like a distant fantasy to me now. I had watched it unfold on CNN in San Diego, four years earlier, as my father disintegrated in San Diego, after I had lost all my money. Summer was only fourteen at the time. I wondered if she had even bothered to watch all this exhilarating craziness on the tube. My mind was on dull overload.
"Proseem!" shouted the old lady at the counter. The food was awful. "Diki," I muttered. I hated Ostrava. The train for Katowice lumbered in late in the afternoon. The minute we crossed the Polish border, the energy changed dramatically. Poland was another Universe. The sleepy garbanzo-bean looking Czechs were now replaced by creatures bursting with life and energy. The Poles knew what life was about. The Poles projected real confidence and strength. Their square jagged faces were meaty faces of survivors. Mother Poland herself was a maelstrom survivor. Beautiful autumn colors filtered into my train compartment from the outside. I could see farmers harvesting their crops. A tough, but friendly Polish businessman gave me directions on how to transfer to Krakow. "We may be heading for trouble," my beefy friend sighed. "The last Russian troops will be out of Germany by late next summer, then the next war will start." These were my first memories of Poland.
In Krakow, it took what seemed like hours to make a connection with Jerzy, my Polish contact, on the creaking Polish telephone lines. The loud din of the train mobs made it hard to hear him, but Jerzy eventually showed up in a dinky matchbox car. We loaded up all my tedious cargo and took off to his apartment. It was the beginning of a new adventure.
Jerzy had not really been expecting me. He was building a little retreat center for himself. Jerzy was muscular and compact in his appearance. I liked the vibes of his place immediately. Jerzy was a serious practitioner. He translated spiritual books into Polish and made his living in Norway. Polish money was worthless and inflation made it more worthless day by day. I had found a cozy new refuge for a few days. I went to bed with thoughts of Summer on my mind. I felt very close to her. A strange joker energy filled the air. Jerzy's protectors had accepted my offerings; and I was buzzing with wild and sweaty thoughts. Poland was gonna be all right.
Krakow was bustling and beautiful. It beat out Berlin and Prague in my book; and I walked around enjoying the friendly crowds and vibrant air. I could feel an ancient resonance here. Krakow had like Prague, its own Hrad, its own Stare Mesto, and of course its own Josefov. The Poles also seemed to be far ahead of their Czech and former East German neighbors in the dirty race for entrepreneurial savviness. New little businesses were mushrooming up in all kinds of strange little corners and the Poles instinctively knew that SERVICE was important. The Red Stress was fading, even with the new old Commies back in power.
The large football-sized town square of Krakow was where all the action was. The Rynek hummed with life at all hours of the day and no cars disturbed the holy scene. Old churches and fountains made an excellent backdrop for guitar-toting poets and barefoot Polish girls. The old Alma Mater of Copernicus was close by. I rushed to pay homage to the man who put the sun at the center of our solar system. It was brilliant insights like these that transformed our weird and narrow human horizons. The Polish astronomer's statue was hidden in a corner somewhere, somewhat lost in all the jazzy hubbub. I found it and stared at it for quite awhile.
Back at Jerzy's a tarot spread confirmed that my long-term relationship with Summer was OK and secure, but that the short-run, whatever that could possibly be, was filled with obstacles. I sighed and accepted this sad and exciting state of affairs. I was on the road now and going progressively eastward. Summer was now my little wish-fulfilling gem and like all good-luck tokens had to be kept very close to one's heart.
Jerzy asked me whose side I was on in the brat war. I told him I supported the kid in Tibet. So did he. We were both relieved about this. Half the Krakow sangah had abandoned the Grand Wizard and Jerzy was at the head of the line. Jerzy was also itching to start his retreat and dumped me on the other camp's doorstep. I wasn't bullish about this new development. The new place I found myself in was dirty and over-crowded. The air also felt somewhat confusing. Jerzy was extremely embarrassed and quickly vanished into the night. My new hosts found me a place on the floor of "The Guest-room" and I quickly surrendered to the guides somewhere inside my dreams. Poland was full of surprises.
The Jewish quarter in Krakow had an air of a lost world. Like Prague it was haunted by ghosts, but they were sweeter and warmer. I could feel my grandmother here. The grave of the great Zaddik, Rabbi Rhemu called out to me. An old Polish Jew begging for dollars skillfully guided me to the great saint's "final" resting place. I placed rocks on it for Summer and myself, for my family and for all sentient beings under stress. I knew my offerings were instantly accepted. Jewish bodhisattvahs had love for all Goys. I felt great light and protection. The black demons had failed to destroy IT. Poland had survived, despite the hideous black stress, and was now the spiritual center of Europe. I was amazed at the friendliness of the Poles. I found a helping hand wherever I went. The karma was good.
I took a bus outside the city to a Camaldolese monastery. The autumn gave the day a terrific sound and light show: wind and leaves danced furiously in front of a rainbow just for me. I was in a strange kind of heaven here. I visited the crypts. I got into an argument with a monk in Spanish. "You empty the pail to receive God," Brother Benito exclaimed. "No! You empty the pail and then throw it away." I countered. This tennis match lasted an hour and I was rewarded with a dinner of red cabbage mixed with potatoes and a ride back into town. Krakow was wet with rain, but nothing seemed to matter. I WAS HOME! I was feeling Summer's heart and the world's. I had rejected a material paradise and sent blessings, even to the brown and red demons that had tormented this magical and friendly land. Krakow was suffused with an unnatural glow that was like gold. The karmic bouncing was no longer unpleasant. I was on a graceful and billowy trip as if over a blue sea, and there were no doubts in my mind at the moment.
It was time to go to Auschwitz. I boarded a bus and gazed at the onion domes and horse carts on the road. Birch trees and autumn colored leaves flashed by my window. If this was the road to hell it was well camouflaged. I got off with a drunk twenty-something a mile from "The Museum" as the locals called it. My companion was a young and confused mongrel like myself: half of this, and half of that. German and Portuguese in this case; and sadly rejected by both cultures. I told Marush to leave his beer bottle outside the gate. He meekly complied.
The entrance to "Little Auschwitz" had the famous ARBEIT MACHT FREI letters hovering below the clouds like a sad and lonely riff. Once past this, Marush and I followed a dirt path that led directly to the prisoner's barracks and some pretty revolting exhibits. Stacks of hair, eye glasses, and suitcases greeted us and made us flinch. Small piles of Zyklon-B gas cans stood as mute testimony to GROSS and HEAVY BLACK STRESS. There was even a small-scale model of how people were processed through the gas chamber assembly-line. All this frightened Marush and he was anxious to leave. I decided to do a puja with Marush at the memorial wall where countless prisoners had been shot. I could feel a heavy pressure in the evening air, but the space began to expand as I chanted through the Tibetan texts, the blessings of the compassionate guides. I soon started feeling release and so did Marush. The locals were begging for blessings. The stress had been enormous here. Transforming this shock and evil into bliss and release was a momentous task and I could feel the protectors and guides helping out. Words were useless here.
The moon as seen from Auschwitz:
The seas on the moon are like stone and there is either a killing brightness or complete darkness — there are no gentle transitions on this dead planet. Everywhere the surface shows the effects of intense pounding. There is no atmosphere whatever. There is no life.
Auschwitz as seen from the moon:
There seems to be a haunting bottomless quality, hinting of possible enlightenment, down there, on that little plot of land. THEY ARE MINING LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS.
The facts on the ground at Auschwitz:
Marush wanted to go back to Krakow so I escorted him to the train station. I then had to find my way back to "The Museum" in the dark. The bus dropped me at the back of the camp and I got lost. The energies felt sinister and evil. I began walking away from the camp into a poorly lit road leading out into the dark and unfriendly fields. A cursing drunk stalked me and a dense and terrifying panic soon engulfed me. I was doing wrathful puja almost by accident. The drunk was my assistant. I eventually stumbled into the camp after retracing my steps from where the bus had left me. I suddenly found myself next to the crematorium and gas chamber. It was pitch black except for a few lonely lamps that silhouetted the watch-towers and barbed wire. I could hear the locals wailing and the protectors were very aggressive. I slowly walked and recited some mantrum. I was now unwittingly doing advanced Tantra in Hitler's cemetery of cemeteries. I was plowing inside BLACK and discovering more BLACK. I walked out front, finally and trudged out to a deserted highway. All puja was instant and automatic in this challenge zone. The Nakpa who had died recently and had helped Summer and me at Konopiste was helping out here too. There was a deep connection here between all three of us. Summer and I made our offerings to the Czechs with the Nakpa's approval. Now I was making my offering to the Poles here, at Auschwitz with his blessings once again.
I ultimately found the "INFORMATION CENTER" and booked myself a room for the night. A priest took a liking to me and started quizzing me about "my pilgrimage." Father Pytor was a devout Catholic, but demanded the need for proof on the spiritual path. "I need to hear myself think," he aggressively announced. "God allows me this space in my mind," he added. Yet, how could any observation of God be real if the observer himself was an illusion? I wondered quietly to myself. (Jarek had also jammed on this quite heavily.) Father Pytor sensed that my seeking was genuine and the next morning drove me to "Big Auschwitz" about a mile and a half from the "Information Center." He dropped me off at "The Gate of Death." Father Pytor pointed his finger towards the gate. "There! Over there, you'll find God!" His car sped off, leaving a cloud of dust to linger as an additional reminder of my predicament. I now had to face some nasty demons and my only real weapon against them was compassion. Did I have enough of it?
I was in Birkenau. It was almost beyond description. It was at least three times larger than "Little Auschwitz." The rail tracks went right through the gate. The trains deposited the victims right in front of the gas chambers and ovens. It was a HIGHLY ORGANIZED AND INDUSTRIAL PROCESS. Humans were the input and fertilizer was the output. It was a sick Second Wave process. There seemed to be no moral constraints. I climbed the tower and gazed at the vast death factory in front of me. Despite all this, I knew I was standing on sacred ground. This vast killing machine had transformed the landscape and made it holy. This was the epicenter of BLACK STRESS.
I did my first daylight puja near some demolished barracks. The Nazis had tried to burn as many of them as possible before fleeing the advancing Russians. The huge camp complex was large and seemed to expand forever in all directions. The day was overcast and the camp seemed almost deserted. Mocking birds sat on the barbed wire fences, chirping away, oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the fiendish light surrounding the camp. The spirits were lisping, writhing, flopping and moaning. They howled and fell back in despair. They hovered everywhere. They hovered near the huge and ruined gas chambers and crematorium. The spirits knew that there had been fire above and gas below. Moloch lived here and he had devoured his children all day. I saw ash pits and shit tanks, confiscation rooms and killing fields. I did another puja near a pond filled with ashes. I could see white crosses and white Magen Davids strewn out all over the place. As I was finishing my puja, the sun came out and broke through the dark overcast skies. The guides had answered. Many spirits were being released. I was tapping light in the darkness.
I hitched a ride back to "Little Auschwitz." I prayed to the great death machine. I visited the crematorium and gas chamber. It felt DENSE. This was the epicenter of the epicenter. It was all CONCENTRATED DEATH. One could barely breathe. It was suffocating. I did puja to release from this squeeze. This death-like density seemed to resemble holy density. It was a bit uncooked and unrefined, but it was the raw manure of bliss. All the ingredients were there. All that was needed was a little holy compression. There was a surplus of fear here and a shortage of blessing. It could all be eventually transformed — of this I was certain.
I could see signs everywhere of the Jews reclaiming their holy ground. Candles and all kinds of small and large memorials dotted the landscape. MY SORROW IS CONTINUALLY BEFORE ME. This was the big message. I listened to klezmar music on my Walkman. It sounded intense and surreal. I felt like dancing and it didn't feel wrong. I was now comfortable. The night was descending, but the shock was now gone. All the pujas went well. I was completely alone, but felt no fear. It was routine now .... and it felt like bliss. I could hear the heaves of relief from all the sentient realms in this holy and dense spot of Earth. The Guides were answering all my calls for release. Their compassion was unconditional. My panic was gone. I passed the gas chambers and crematorium and felt FULL.
I got back to Krakow late in the evening humming the bars of the Polish anthem in fabulous triumph. I had survived Auschwitz and it was now time to pack up and move on to Vienna. Jerzy came over to say good-bye and told me stories about the Grand Wizard's escapades. I got two Polish guys all excited about a nutty export-import scheme involving strange wire trinkets. A guy called Lech helped me get on the train. Lech had been a philosophy major and understood that it was important to explore the mind that jumps between systems rather than the systems themselves. All systems were products of the mind, so it made sense to start at the source. Darkness was descending on Krakow and the city's numberless buildings were just beginning to sparkle on their lights. I staggered off the tram with Lech and we sniffed and stretched for a moment. It was time to board the vortex train and ride off into the secret night. Lech waved good-bye and turned into a blur as the train picked up speed.
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