Echoes of Auschwitz: Channeling a Past Life of Courage and Bravery

When I closed my eyes that night, I didn’t realize I’d be drifting into a past life again. These memories only surface every few years, and I always find myself wondering why they appear when they do.

I found myself as a man—a tall, handsome young man with blonde hair and light eyes. I felt light, agile, and a little restless. When I looked around, I couldn’t help but sense that we were in the middle of a war, even though there were no immediate signs of it. A cobbled street stretched before me, lined with old cars. It felt European—like the UK, but more beautiful.

Another man stood beside me, looking just like me. He felt like a brother or a best friend, someone I’d known for all my life. His sense of urgency was contagious, and it began to rub off on me. He grabbed my wrist and told me he was going left. I knew I was heading in the opposite direction, north, on the same mission but fulfilling a different part. The weight of what was to come hit me like a wave, and then, just as suddenly, I felt courage pour into me, almost like it was coming from his heart.

I realized we weren’t supposed to be outside—they were coming. I had to be quick to fulfill my mission. An old woman standing in the doorway of a shop tried to coax me inside, but I refused. I could feel the imminence of weapons, soldiers, and guns. Yet instead of fleeing, I volunteered to get caught.

The next thing I knew, I was underground, standing in line. Single lights hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh glow over the room. Two or three Nazis stood at the front of the line. I felt strangely as though I were in a bargaining position, keen to maneuver my way out of a situation I had knowingly walked into. Looking back, I realize my “brother” and I were working within the system in some underground capacity. There may have been more of us, but part of my mission was to go directly into the camps. It felt like I had drawn the short end of the stick, yet I also felt it was my duty—and so I did it.

The people in the line were individuals of value to the Nazis—politicians and leaders, people they could torture for information. I stared intently at the officer as I moved up the line, studying him with every step. To the right of us, I saw a gas chamber where they conducted horrific experiments, testing how long people could survive without breaking. I knew I had to avoid that fate. Summoning courage, I began asking the Nazi questions, engaging him. He seemed to take a liking to me, and I managed to avoid the gas chamber.

In a flash, I woke up. I couldn’t help but feel deeply moved and fascinated by this past life. The Lauren I am now is a 28-year-old woman whose closest encounter with war was when my friend dragged me to army cadets at the age of 14. Aside from talking to boys (a thrill for someone from an all-girls school), I hated the stiff movements, jumping jacks, and disciplined nature. I wanted to run a mile.

As I replayed the memory throughout the morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it had surfaced for a reason. My partner and I moved like passing ships, and it was hard to focus on my mum duties. I kept replaying the moment I left for what I instinctively knew was Auschwitz. It fascinated and unsettled me. Compelled, I began to research: “volunteer at Auschwitz,” “spy in Auschwitz.”

To my astonishment, I came across Witold Pilecki, a remarkable figure in World War II history. Known for his unparalleled bravery, Pilecki voluntarily infiltrated Auschwitz to gather intelligence and organize resistance.

Witold Pilecki’s story struck me deeply—not just because of his extraordinary courage, but because of the path he chose. Born into a specific role defined by his gender, race, and place in society, he was fated to follow a certain trajectory. Yet, he chose differently. He defied expectations, stepping into unimaginable danger with bravery and purpose. That courage mirrored something I had been grappling with in my own life. Recently, my views on politics had begun to shift. I found myself growing braver, more willing to step outside the identity and box I had confined myself to for years. I was beginning to trust my own voice and ideas, rather than simply playing the role society had handed me. I was learning that courage—being heart-led—is not just a spiritual practice; it is a way of life.

The more I read, the more real it felt. My heart felt an undeniable resonance with his story—and with the name Jan Włodarkiewicz, Pilecki’s collaborator and dear friend. Together, they co-founded the Secret Polish Army in 1939. Was this the “brother” I had seen in my vision? Was I channeling Pilecki’s courage and purpose?

As I read on, my jaw dropped. According to the Jewish Virtual Library:

“In a mission demonstrating extraordinary courage, Pilecki volunteered to be imprisoned at Auschwitz concentration camp to gather intelligence and organize resistance from within. He was the only known person to undertake such a mission voluntarily.”

My heart raced as I realized the depth of this connection.

Discovering Pilecki’s story made me question how much of his courage and sacrifice might live on in me today. What does it mean to embody bravery—not just in extraordinary circumstances, but in everyday life? I’m still sitting with that question, feeling its resonance in my heart.