|The Schtetl room at the Holocaust Museum.|
When the idea came to me today to go to the Holocaust Museum, I didn't immediately get on board with it. I was involved in a convo with the Holy Grail, my beloved Abbott Suger's chalice, when the lightbulb above my head lit up. I was thinking about the conclusion of the Days of Awe, wondering how best to wrap up the powerful healing work of this year's holiday.
A trip to the Holocaust Museum is always a bit daunting, naturally, but after all the contact I've had with the ancestors this year, it made sense. First there was a dinner with old friends who suddenly began channeling my ancestors, complaining about the small portions they serve in restaurants. Believe me this is completely uncharacteristic of these guys who worry about every calorie and won't go to buffets because they're appalled by all the food. After that was the way too palpable visit from my father. A couple of days later, I was out at dinner with a friend when a waiter - not even our waiter - felt compelled to stop by the table and immediately begin laying out his family's Holocaust history. It was bizarre. I have no idea why he felt he should tell us everything, even the tattoo number of his grandfather. I'm sure he didn't see my tattoo. Even weirder - he was French. Crazy.
Throughout the High Holy Days, Holocaust related synchronicities have arisen every day. It has been off the charts, I tell you. The above: just a few examples.
I checked with my spirit guides before setting out for the museum.
Me: The Holocaust Museum - bad idea?
Spirit Guides: If you're doing this to get rid of your ancestors, forget it. But if you want to pay your respects and strengthen your healing skills, especially for trauma, then by all means, go.
Me: (secretly disappointed it wouldn't help me convince my ancestors to move along) Hmmm. OK.
In fact I had been hoping the ancestors would go away. They are cranky and relentless. I keep wondering what I should do for them. How can I help? It's bewildering.
Instead of marching straight over, I asked for signs. I wanted auguries. I wanted a confirmation or two or three. First I saw two park police on horses. We had a nice chat. Oh those magnificent animals. I felt this was a sign pointing to GO. Then I ran into one of the people who regularly hangs out at the table of good vibes at the coffee shop. I never see those people anywhere except on the Hill, but I did today right in front of the Smithsonian Castle. Another auspicious sign. I looked up, hoping for one more sign. At that very moment, Brother Sun came out from behind the clouds just enough to be visible but not blinding. Crepuscular rays streamed out from the clouds surrounding the sun, just like God in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
|Park Police horses. That's Delilah on the right, Big Mack on the left.|
OK. I went to the museum. I did not linger in the first part of the exhibit, the rise of Nazism. It was congested in there, even thought there are not many tourists in town. I went straight to the Auschwitz bunk, stopping only in the Shtetl room so I could gaze at all those beautiful portraits. You're not supposed to take pictures but I took just one, of that beautiful room.
Once inside the Auschwitz bunk, I closed my eyes to see if I could learn something I don't already know. In my mind's eye I saw Durga floating down into the room, on a horse I thought, instead of a lion. I heard the clanking of her weapons as she spread her many arms. The demon of fear sprinted around the bunk, trying to elude her. It even tried to scare her. The look on her face was calm and beneficent as she slit its throat. Then the room filled with a milky white light and I "heard" the 21 Taras speaking in harmonious, sing-song unison about the long life of the spirit. It was spooky and ethereal. When the mist faded, I sensed Kuan Yin saying, "Let go, let go, it's almost all over now, let go." It was a kind, melodic voice, like Laurie Anderson's.
I have no idea how long I stood there. A minute? An hour? I can not tell you. I left immediately afterwards. I was done.
Unlike the visitation from my father, todays Extremely Powerful Mystical Experience felt gentle, even though it happened inside the Auschwitz bunk at the Holocaust Museum. How could I have ever imagined that? You can't make up this stuff.
Here's a funny thing. As I walked to the museum, I kept thinking, My God I am so Jewish! But once I had the vision, of goddesses and a bohisattva, I had to laugh. Nothing could be further from Judaism than to commune with goddesses. I find it very funny, I do.
What a crazy High Holy Days this is for me. Crazy with wonder and power.
I have the day off on Saturday, Yom Kippur. I may attend the Hill Havurah services, at least for awhile. Or maybe I'll do something else. When the first star appears Saturday night, in spite of the wonder of this year's holiday, I will feel relief. There is only so much awe I can bear in a 10 day period. Sheesh.