What do I mean by my being ‘locked out’ by the Minnesota Orchestra…

For the first time in almost 200 years the sound of new Mozart was heard on the stage at Orchestra Hall. But it was not heard during a concert, nor was it given a proper introduction. Instead, the man I call “Monostatos” enticed me and die zauberflote to ‘practice’ on the darkened stage. The sound was heard throughout the building because the sound system was connected to the stage. Week after week, during our captivity at the hands of Monostatos, I played pieces from the flute and violin repertoire. To what end? Colleagues of Monostatos, in effect, crawled out of the woodwork, behaving very strangely. Everyone knew what was happening. But have you heard the slightest bit of excitement about these extraordinary circumstances? No. Instead, Monostatos and his buddies have done everything in their power to slander my credibility as a musican and, yes, even cause me bodily harm.

During the recent lockout of the players, I began to wonder if their being locked out had any connection to their earlier ‘lockout’ of me and die zauberflote. So I wrote to Mr. Vanska and explained my situation. I asked for die zauberflote to be heard again on that same stage. I did everything I could think of to bring die zauberflote to the attention of the Board as well. I felt that this could be an opportunity to resolve both their issues and mine.

But, unfortunately, that did not happen. To this day, that letter has, in fact, gone unanswered…

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An as-yet undefined subplot in the opera Die Zauberflote as prophecy…

There are some straightforward characters in Mozart’s last major opera, The Magic Flute, that correspond to those in real life — my Mother,for example — the real-life Queen of the Night who managed to bewitch just about everyone (but me); my Father, who gave me my first flute; Monostatos, who is a player with the Minnesota Orchestra, and of course, my three children, who are represented as such. The reality, however, may be even more profound than the opera (granted, Wolf didn’t have all the time in the world either) in that the children who save Pamina from despair when Tamino is silent are actually her own children. Filled with fury, the Queen of the Night comes after the children and tries to use them in her machinations, attempting to leave Pamina bereft, and thereby contributing greatly to Pamina’s despair. Monostatos also goes after the children and attempts to enlist them to the Queen’s agenda…

…and so, all that is left for Pamina is the wondrous sound and assurance of die zauberflote…

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Vortex of the Evil Eye…let’s ‘talk turkey’…

When my Father wanted the truth about something he would say ‘let’s talk turkey’.  Well, it is ironic that it is at Thanksgiving time of year when things are starting to fall into place about what has been going around me and one of my family members — in secret, in a deadly conspiracy of silence.  In fact, the knives have been out for us, but we were apparently not supposed to know  it.

There are those who  have a connection to us who have attempted to, and in some cases, succeeded, in causing us bodily harm through the ingestion of toxic substances of some sort without our permission or consent.  This has not gone unnoticed, unobserved or undocumented.  However, those who have been knowingly involved appear to think they are above the law — or that those who could help us will remain silent.  Let me simply say that is not the case.  In fact, victim reports are being filed in all the right places.

God is in charge, and we trust Him to be our Vindicator in this quest for justice.

I believe Wolfgang Mozart, too, was surrounded by a Vortex of the Evil Eye — those close to him who agreed to  his assassination.  Wolf did not survive.  But his Zauberflote is bringing us through and getting the truth out.

Will Orchestra Hall go dark for good this time?


Tangled up in a vortex…

A vortex of time and space swirls around.  It is confusing and often loud, but not everyone can hear it.  It surrounds the Zauberflote…There are waves of energy coming through it continually…sometimes waves of shalom, other times waves of angst.  There is a dark angel in the vortex, trying to control the waves.  There are a few people in the vortex; some past, some present. Impressions of them filter through…There are influences…there is night and fog, a threat of oblivion, as the night angel tries to silence the living, but by the zauber they manage to escape…there are impressions of things to come, and odd coincidences that bring new things to life…it is magical, and at times frightening…we are all caught up in it…all the real-life characters of the opera…the Queen of the Night is gone now, but another — a paler version — tries to take her place.  Monostatos is not just one man, still spinning falsehoods and madly conducting a small orchestral group…but also a large orchestra of the same name, pulling the wool over the eyes of the citizens who support them…keeping secret what they know is happening…

The vortex stretches from Vienna to New York, and from there, to Minnesota…we are all tangled up it it, and right now things are not really making sense…we seem to be tumbling, falling apart, losing each other as the lies are unmasked and the truth comes to the light…and in it all, in the sound of the flute, is a voice…

After the lockout…

I gave a series of concerts in the Art Room of the Hennepin Avenue Methodist Church. One was all-Mozart, one all-Bach, and in a third was mixed. As I put up posters everywhere from Orchestra Hall to Dinkytown, the hang-up phone calls to the phone number I had posted continued, as well as the ongoing shunning by Monostatos and other players. I became concerned, not only for my own well-being, but for that of my children.

The man I call “Monostatos” had enlisted the MO lawyers to try to keep from having to pay child support for the children he had so enthusiastically adopted just over a year earlier. He had also threatened my life on a number of occasions, including two which involved calling the Police in Hopkins, where we lived. I did not press charges at that time because I had no doubt that I would not live to see my children grow up if I did. For the same foolish reason I also did not ask for a restraining order. I decided to go under the radar and protect my children.

Our lives were not easy. All of this was extremely difficult for my children, who are the most flexible and good-natured people that I know…to this day. All the hopes they had for a stable environment, as well as mine for them, came crushing down on us, while Monostatos and his colleagues played on as if nothing had happened. I felt as though, by deliberately denying our credentials, they were taking food from the mouths of my children. In fact, I found a cruel irony in their vigorous complaints about all the hardships they had to endure during their own 18-month lockout.

But then, that is how the Zauberflote works — what others intend for us becomes their own fate…

Did Mozart really have the last laugh in ‘Amadeus’?

In addition to Tom Hulce’s crazy-sounding giggle as he played Mozart in the movie “Amadeus”, we experience it yet again as the credits roll. Cute, we might be tempted to think. It is certainly consistent with the characaturish treatment of Mozart during the movie, which happens to slander just about everything about him — except his music.

But, if there really is an occult secret being held by ‘insiders’ about what really happened to Mozart and how he actually died, and that secret has an effect on us even today, could this ‘last laugh’ actually signal something else?

The movie “Amadeus” was created by those who consider themselves insiders in the saga of Mozart. It is supposed to give the general public the impression that they too can participate in this ‘secret knowledge’.

But have the conspirators, instead, created a big problem for themselves? If those who consider themselves ‘insiders’ start to take on the characteristics of the “Amadeus” version of Mozart — even perhaps including the crazy laugh — have they not given themselves away?

And, if that is the case, does not Mozart really have the last laugh?

Inside his head…

I am excluded, locked-out, ridiculed
They glare at me with side-eyes, as though
I am some sort of circus freak
They seem to lie in wait —
Who will be the next to try to take me out?
I wonder…
Perhaps I will slide by them, unharmed, this time
He has already delivered me from so many dangers.
I know I am only here because of His saving grace
that protects me.
And I must shine on, shine on.

Hurricane Dorian and my family…

Hurricane Dorian has been stalled over the Bahamas, and is now moving toward the coast of Florida. Hopefully, it will skirt the coast; but it seems to be increasing in size. It was the most powerful storm of the year at one point…thankfully, now it is only a Category 2.

When I first heard there was to be a hurricane by that name, I said, “Uh-oh.” I had a bad feeling about it. Not because of the story, “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, about a man who remained young while committing criminal acts, while the painting of him aged instead, but for an odd connection. In my saga based on our family, Piper to the Alternative, Pamina’s father’s name is Dorian. His character is duplicitous and deceitful. He does come to a bad end.

To add to my concern, the monster storm Katrina, of 2005, was my daughter’s nickname. Her birth father called her, “Katrina, Katrina, ballerina.” So I was already on guard for a potentially devastating storm.

Dorian has so far wreaked untold havoc on the Bahamas — my parents used to vacation there, to play golf, before he became very ill. It’s headed toward Florida, where his condition allowed them to leave Flemington, New Jersey for a winter trip. They went to Cape Canaveral to witness a launch of the space shuttle. It was the Challenger liftoff, a terrible tragedy.

And so I am playing die zauberflote and joining many of you in sending prayers to all in the path of Dorian, in hopes that lives will be spared and property damage minimal…and all these odd coincidences without merit…

A dressage master, a ‘riding block’ and a 200-year-old mystery…

Some time ago “Miles” and I rode for a respected dressage master who had spent many years with the legendary Nuno Oliviera. It was a hot spring day at a barn south of the Twin Cities, and we trotted in 20-meter circles for nearly an hour. I kept tossing off layers of clothing, and “Miles” was pouring sweat. Afterward, JP said to me, “I think you can accomplish anything you want, but first you have to get through a riding block.” “What do you mean?” I asked. He said, “I can’t tell you that. You have to figure that out.” The following day “Miles” was trailored back (with horses they were going to ride on the eventing course) and JP went out of his way to tell our barn owner and manager the same thing, with great intensity. I was thoroughly bewildered by that time, yet extremely grateful. It seemed like a door had been opened, and even though I had no idea what was on the other side, it would ultimately be good. Little did I know that I had started on a course that has in some ways turned my life upside down forever.

Not knowing where to start, I continued taking dressage lessons. But I increasingly sensed that I was riding from an external place, not from within. I realized that I was not comfortable with that. It was mechanical. JP had also said to all of us, “Don’t be a mechanical rider.” I began to sense that whatever it was had to come from within.

I began to ride during the lessons of others, and watch how they were being taught. I began to observe the different teaching styles, and strengths of the teachers. I remembered him saying something to the effect, “Don’t bother taking lessons until you figure this out.” And so, gradually and reluctantly, I let go of taking lessons.

Some of my earliest childhood memories were riding cow ponies with my Father on our visits to the barren plains of South Dakota, sitting behind the saddle, hanging on for dear life. As these frisky quarter horses took off at a gallop, turned on a dime, and generated wild craziness, I had nothing but trust to work on, as I did not hold the reins. I realized that my childhood equestrian training was probably a bit different from most. I began to wonder if my Father was testing me. For that reason, I never refused to ride. I did, however, develop internal scars. That’s probably it, I thought.

As I began to get in touch with my roots, I said to myself, “that is what I know, that is what I need to get back to.” And so, recently, I asked for the help of a horse whisperer/cowboy who works wonders with all the horses at our barn and asked to learn to ride bareback comfortably. At first, it was just in the round pen. Then in the empty outdoor arena. Then the indoor. (You can imagine the eye-rolls, I’m sure.)

But slowly, gradually, with the help of the words of Nuno, faithfully transcribed for us, we began to grow together, “Miles” and I. We still have a lot to accomplish, but we are grounded and comfortable in the process.

My family, meanwhile, has been turned upside down. After the passing of my Mother I was at last able to connect the dots of the trauma generated by my birth family, which included my having to ingest toxic substances without my knowledge or permission. I told my husband about this and his response was, “You remember this?” I told my two younger children and they acted as though they had been caught red-handed. I told my sister, the only other surviving member of my birth family, and she was outraged at me. I had no other option but to refuse to have anything more to do with her.

So now we sit in a sort of limbo, as all that was hidden about these events comes to light. And in the process, and through it all, I came to understand what a mystery there has always been about what really happened to Wolf, and how many myths and false concepts (such as the limited hang-out version in “Amadeus”) have been foisted on the unsuspecting public, and I came to realize, in the midst of my horror and dismay at the behavior of my loved ones, how lucky I am to be managing to survive. And of course, all of this is because of the gift that he suffered and died for — his extraordinary legacy — die zauberflote…

Die Zauberflote and the “Mozart Effect”…a mystery?M4B*

There was a point in time, not so long ago, when it seemed that just about everyone was enamored with the concept of the “Mozart Effect”. Why, it helps children to be smarter! It’s great to listen to during childbirth! It’s good for stress! You name it, there seemed to be some lovely quality or another at work whenever one listened to a piece of Wolfgang Mozart’s music. And this is as it should be, as it is my position that his music is a gift of God, and generates shalom.

So, it would be only natural to expect that die zauberflote — which also has the “Mozart Effect” would be welcomed with enthusiasm. Why would it not? one might ask…

But no — people, upon hearing me play die zauberflote, tend to fall into two camps — either they weep tears of joy or they become silent and may also grit their teeth. Someone even recently suggested that I ask to have a study done on the effects of people listening to die zauberflote, as the responses seem to be so profound. In fact, I have a request in at the UofM, which, ironically, is where I did my flute performance major some time ago. Ironically, the response there was — you guessed it — completely bizarre.

It puzzles me that I can go into a worldly place, such as a school, and have someone call out, “Glory be, the great lady is here!” and I can go into a congregation, or onto the darkened stage at Orchestra Hall and find silence so deep you could hear a pin drop. And then, slowly, people may start to crawl out of the woodwork, so to speak, and behave very strangely indeed.

Just one of the mysteries of die zauberflote, I guess. I should know by now…

*M4B=Mozart For Believers

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