They took food out of the mouths of my children…

Such was my life after being locked out by the Minnesota Orchestra bass player I call “Monostatos” and his cohorts. I performed concert after concert to showcase the lovely Zauberflote, but when I put up posters that included my phone number to request tickets, I received only hundreds of hang-up calls. This was incredibly distressing to us. I was especially concerned about the effect on my children.

None of them attended, of course. They could have lifted a finger to help, but did not…

Such was our life in those days. I remember feeling so jealous of our neighbors, who were lovely people who had escaped from Iran. The air around our townhomes was always full of rich perfumes and the smell of fresh fruit. They juiced melons and berries and their home overflowed with nurishment. I wished that I could have showered my lovely children with the same sort of excess.

But instead, after giving a series of concerts at the Art Room of the Hennepin Avenue Methodist Church, payments for those concerts forced me to by.a bag of potatoes, which at least I could afford. We ate potatoes in every form for a month. I called it “Potato January”. We still talk ruefully of those days…

<sigh>…

The Bob Dylan connection…looks like it’s all about the stones…

How strange it seems to be bringing it all back home to the first time I heard Bob Dylan’s song Like a Rolling Stone. I had been kicked out of my family’s home in Fairfield Connecticut right after graduating from Bucknell University, Phi Beta Kappa and University Honors (one of two and the only woman to do that) because I had taken a job in New York City. I found myself on a lazy Saturday afternoon walking down 57th street with thirty dollars to my name and a month’s railroad pass. My first month’s salary was going to pay the employment agency that found the job for me — at MONY, on 1740 Broadway. I found a place to stay and it all worked out ok, but when I first heard that song the following year, I thought it had been written about me. All I could hear was the screeching, mocking voice of Dylan. I tuned him out after that. For a very long time.

But now it is all coming together, and the connection makes sense, as it looks like Bob Dylan and his people had been receiving information about me from my birth family, without my knowledge and consent. And some of it seems to have ended up in some of his songs. The intent appears to be to create a false reality that would cause me to lose hope…

I discuss this at my blog, Dylagence…https://dylagence.wordpress.com/

Here is an example…

And at the center of the vortex…

It looks like Bob Dylan has been stoning me, to try to cause me to feel slandered and humiliated…and encouraging his insider fans to do the same with the oblique references in some songs coming from ‘inside’ information from my birth family…

The Dylan connection seems to be in the vortex.

I can’t change that, even if I wanted to.

The battle seems to be in the vortex.

The battle is already won…

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?

Update…November 24, 2020

As the entire world reels in the waves of devastation of CV-19 we wonder what happened to our old lives, and what, if anything, will carry over into our new reality.  In fact, it seems that these waves of sludge are getting the truth out about what actually happened to Wolfgang Mozart and why.

My family and I are a part of this.  So, it seems, is Bob Dylan, who has been painting our story for the world to see — among the many things he has accomplished.  Dylan is a Mason, and so was Mozart, so it is understandable that this is how all that has been concealed for almost 300 years is being blasted out. However, the cost is astronomical, to our countries and to us personally.  Many of our loved ones are in. harm’s way simply by going to work.

I have a blog about the Dylan connection at https://dylagence.wordpress.com/

Oh. And Orchestra Hall has been dark since March…

I call this Minnegeddon…

As we all try to keep up with this…we can remember to be thankful…

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…

The Mozart ‘tornado’ concert…

After Monostatos left my children and me, after having held us hostage for about 666 days, I decided that despite the threats to my life and slander of my character I would not be silenced. And so, with the resources at my disposal — which were limited by having been musically ‘locked out’ by Monostatos and his cohorts at the Minnesota Orchestra — I booked the Art Room at the Hennepin Avenue Methodist Church for an all-Mozart concert. The photo for the posters was taken by one of their own. A poster hung in the stage entry of Orchestra Hall. It included a phone number to request tickets. My answering machine took quite a beating, as tens, if not hundreds of hang-up calls were made every night from that point on. I figured Monostatos may have had something to do with that, and did my best to brush it off.

I had found a very good accompanist to work with. That was surprising, as most pianists seemed to have only a limited understanding of how to perform Mozart. I was pleased and relieved — something good will come of this, I thought. Despite the answering machine omen, that is…

Everything was going beautifully. I gave a pre-concert at the Minneapolis Public Library during lunchtime a few days earlier, that was very well received. I had learned by then to trust die zauberflote — and also to expect a lot of twists and turns. Little did I know what lay ahead…

The morning of that June 14th was just gorgeous. It was becoming a bit humid, but that was to be expected at this time of year. I gave my darling children, who would be coming with me, a brief lecture on not running around and making noise while I was performing. I naively thought that would be the worst of my concerns.

Then the weather began to change. A friend called to tell me that it looked like there was a tornado atop the IDS building in downtown Minneapolis. Another friend called to say they would not be able to make the concert because a large tree had fallen across their driveway in the Kenwood area. I quickly assessed our situation — the weather was still good in Hopkins, so we packed up to head downtown. Then the accompanist called to say that a tornado had touched down on his apartment building and he was suffering a panic attack. Also, his ride had canceled due to the weather. I asked if he could take a bus, but he refused. I called another friend who lived nearby and they offered to give him a ride. Other friends called to let me know that they were stuck in the Har Mar mall, where another tornado had hit, and would not be able to attend.

Though tempted to give up in anguish at the sudden and frightening turn of events, I headed downtown with my children and flute. The Art Room was humid. As I warmed up, sweat was dripping down my chin, and my fingers were sliding on the keys. Great! I thought. What next?

But gradually people trickled in. Ashen, my accompanist finally arrived, looking like he had seen a ghost. The skies had settled. The flurry of tornadoes had stopped. My children were playing quietly, as a neighbor kept an eye on them.

And then the concert flew by. Literally, lifted on wings. The culminating piece was Wolf’s D Major Flute Concerto. The extraordinary shalom of die zauberflote was heard throughout the room, to delighted and at times even rapturous applause — as much for my gifted accompanist as for me…

Once again, the darkness had lost…and all was well…and die zauberflote had been taken out of the night of the darkened stage at Orchestra Hall into the light of day, and of the common people, the salt of the earth…

What is Minnegeddon?

Minnegeddon is a name I chose to account for a number of seemingly-unrelated events that, in fact, may be connected to the lock-out of me, the Other Mozart, by players of the Minnesota Orchestra.  That happened some time ago, and may have been the underlying reason for the recent 18-month-long lockout of the players by Management. Don’t get me wrong — I am not trying to spin some crazy story.  And, I could be mistaken. However, there have been enough odd events for me to want to attempt to define a framework for them.

You see, I play die zauberflote.  Not the opera.  The real magic flute.  The players are well aware of this, and staged a revolt because, apparently, its sound put their playing somehow at a disadvantage.  Not that I had anything to do with this, mind you.  I was always friendly and humbled by the opportunities I believed I had been given by the man I call “Monostatos” and his colleagues to practice on the darkened stage at Orchestra Hall.  As other players crawled out of the woodwork I at first thought I was winning them over.  But there was instead apparently an agenda at work — to discredit me with slander and make sure that I never had the chance to compete with them again.  My three wonderful children have also suffered greatly because of the vicious cruelty of “Monostatos” — who also happens to be their ex-stepfather.  I cannot tell you depth of the the anguish that I have experienced on their behalf.

But you see, die zauberflote always works the same way.  Whenever it is played — with a proper introduction or total disrespect — it goes in and gets all the truth out.  Then it starts using everything for good.  It stops even the hidden agendas in their tracks.  And then, those who plotted against it end up with the consequences intended for their victim.

Believe me, after all this time, I am something of an expert on this.

So, as the opera Die Zauberflote, contains tests of all the elements, wind and waves and tragedy and building collapses in areas where the flute has been played might only to be expected.  And, since this is an opera, staged in the greatest house in the world — or it was when I was a child going to it on class trips every year — it is only logical that as Minnegeddon is playing out in Minnesota it has also created tumult at the Met…http://slippedisc.com/2018/03/just-in-james-levine-sues-the-met-for-unfair-dismissal/#comment-418133

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vortex of the Evil Eye…

When I began writing the draft for what has become “Vienna Mystery” I had a strong conviction that the real story of what happened to Wolfgang Mozart was yet to be revealed.  In all my research — and I have read everything I could find on his life, both in English and German — it became evident to me that there was a mystery of grand proportions around his death and the events that led up to it.  The irreverent movie “Amadeus” skirts around these issues, but in a mocking way — as though to say that there was so much lawlessness around what happened to Wolf that nobody would ever be able to get through it, much less communicate the truth in any manner that was coherent.

Gradually, I came to see that there appeared to be a vortex around Wolf, that consisted of those who flattered him to his face and worked to destroy him behind his back.  They acted in secret and in stealth.  This vortex of ill-intent surrounded Wolf, so that he was unable to see outside of it.  Instead, it seemed that he was dragged further and further down into it.

And then he died.

There was no autopsy.

There was no burial spot.

Those in the vortex expressed shock and dismay.  But then they quickly went about their business.  In at least one case, that involved making money off of Wolf’s music.

At one point I had an insight — that if a person of stature is removed from office, so to speak, that is not simply called a ‘murder’.  It is an assassination.  If this vortex of ill-intent consisted of people who had agreed to Wolf’s demise and then sandbagged him and tricked him until that happened, that would be an assassination that was supposed to remain undetected.

And, in unintended irony, did the dreadful “Amadeus” spill the beans? What if the vortex consisted not simply of Salieri, who is something of a red herring, but of all of those around him?

What if Mozart had been poisoned, not to kill him outright, but in small doses, to try to weaken him, so that he would then succumb to death by ‘natural causes’?

Oh wait — didn’t Wolf even say something to that effect himself?

While I was digging into those revelations, though I did find it curious that some of those around me seemed to find my involvement in research of the assassination of JFK somewhat hilarious, I was blessed with ignorance that something similar had happened to me.

I was systematically poisoned by my birth family.  I think the reason was to weaken me, and, in my case, control me.  I think this sinister treatment was part of a campaign to create a false persona.  I could be wrong.

Perhaps the one remaining member of my birth family, my sister Angela,  can clear that up for me.

 

 

 

 

A Simple Christmas…M4B*

Because of the persecution at the hands of my birth family, which included being systematically poisoned in their attempts to control this great gift of shalom that is die zauberflote and try to use it against God’s will, Christmas has a special meaning for me. I learned it the hard way. At the time, I could not understand why it seemed that God had abandoned me to people who insisted on turning themselves into monsters. Yet nonetheless I willingly stood in ankle-deep icy mud, at times with tears running down my face, and sang Christmas carols with the neighborhood children in my hometown of Fairfield, Connecticut. Although I came to realize that the persecution would intensify during the holidays, I never lost my love of every piece of music connected to Yeshua, the Messiah.

But much of the hooplah came to make me quite miserable. The tree, the tinsel, the cotton batting on the mantle with a cardboard sleigh and reindeer, and of course, “Santa Claus” — whoever that was — came to represent to me an abyss of hopelessness.

“Let’s have our Christmas!” my Mother would chuckle, as she got out her notepad to record which gift was from whom, so we could immediately send thank-you notes for everything under the tree.

Well, that was it. The Bible sat dusty and untouched on a bookshelf, and everything swirled around who got what. And of course, I seemed to end up with items I had never wished for nor could ever use. That seemed to be part of the orchestration.

At the time, being quite young, it was all very confusing. Now, looking back, I can see how God has used everything for good, for I literally cannot tolerate anything having to do with Christmas that does not directly lift up the Lord Jesus Christ. I no longer ‘celebrate’ what I call ‘Xmas’. No tree. No lights. No wrappings. Just the music. And The Presence.

And I am richly blessed…I invite you to do the same…:-)

*M4B=Mozart For Believers

“Minnegeddon”, and what it might mean to you…M4B*

As the locked-out Other Mozart I have a unique perspective. In fact, I sincerely doubt that anyone who knows me — be they friend or foe — would disagree with that statement. I see things, as it were, from inside an opera — things are either blissfully wonderful or truly horrible. I even saw what I call a ‘dark angel’ long ago, whom I came to believe goes out of its way to try to cause trouble for me and my family, so I have no doubt that there is an adversary I have to deal with every day…

If my thesis is correct — that Wolf was given an unusual gift of shalom — of the Holy Spirit — that those around him tried to steal from him and refused to confirm — then it follows logically that his death, whatever the technical cause, was an assassination. In fact, looking from my perspective, it seems a miracle that he was able to live as long as he did and succeed in giving us such a prodigious output of masterpieces that have held their own and are beloved over two hundred years later.

And, if it is the case that Wolf was assassinated because of a gift of the Holy Spirit, there is enormous support in the Word that God will not let that go unpunished. In fact, we learn from Annanias and Sephira, that anyone who deliberately tries to steal from God can drop dead on the spot. We can, in fact, see after Wolf’s death, that some rather strange things happened to those around him, including Salieri, who went mad, Puchberg, who died broke, and Constanze, who turned into a money-mongering hypocrite, pretending to further Wolf’s work but really just wanting to make money.

But I doubt that the saga ends there. I think, throughout history, that those who produce and perform Wolf’s music, while having contempt for him and his Gift (the movie “Amadeus” is a litany of that contempt, imo), run the same risk those who knew him did. They too are forever affected by his music, as this Gift is carried with it, wherever Wolf’s music goes.

And so, I believe, a Minnegeddon has begun. All that has been hidden about Wolf is coming out into the open. All the money stolen from this Gift is returning to God. And those who act in deliberate contempt can face dire consequences. In fact, from what I see, people stumble into what I call the Kingdom of the Night. It is a kingdom with a heirarchy. At its head, pretending to be a gentle Christ, is the dark angel I call The Night Magician. The actual heavens are closed, and these unfortunate souls seem stuck in this ultimately frightening place, until they come to the real God with real repentance. This kingdom has its own churches and schools, so many do not realize they have been deceived. The lucky ones are those who do not fit, and who are ‘chastised’. They may encounter imbalance in their life, they may even hear this dark angel attacking them. Such happened, in fact, to the player I call “Monostatos”, who kept hearing what they said was a ‘riding-crop voice’.

If I am correct, as events play out, everything having any connection to Wolf will, in fact, end up being turned inside-out. And, if you have anything to do with Wolf or his music, or me and die zauberflote, the same may be true for you…

*M4B=Mozart For Believers

The life of the locked-out Other Mozart…

“You can’t play under pressure,” the lowest-of-the-low — the player I call “Monostatos” — whispered in my ear as we stood on the darkened stage at Orchestra Hall. I had been invited often weekly to ‘practice’ on this stage, and the sounds of die zauberflote soared even throughout the building when I did. Mozart, Bach, Neilsen, Khatchaturian, Mahler were my usual contributions — at times playing violin as well as flute concertos. But Monostatos, as usual, was not being truthful. What he meant to say was that I was surrounded by adversaries who managed to control almost every area of my life. Monostatos himself led the cadre of players who crawled out of the woodwork to make strange statements and even odder requests. This could only be described as a very bizarre experience.

But Monostatos had miscalculated. I had learned long ago to observe the behavior of people when they heard die zauberflote for the first time. That had happened over a year earlier, in this case. Monostatos’ reaction had been especially interesting. He lay in wait, as it were, and then attempted to falsely criticize me. I could have told him then that, ‘well, this sound is perfect, so I can do whatever I want,” but I bit back those words. Instead, I observed. And I waited for die zauberflote to do what Wolf had promised in the opera long ago — to stop evil in its tracks and use everything for good. Miraculously, as I hope you will see, that is what has happened…:-)