My Testimony…as a Believer*

I was born into a family of very nominal Christians, known as Methodists. The Bible sat on the bookshelf. My Father only prayed before dinner at Christmas and Easter.

I was quite talented, performing in singing, dancing and playing the piano from the time I was three. At the end of a recital performance when I was four, I saw a dark angel, an extraordinary being, which appeared to be standing behind my Mother. My first thought was that it must be my Father, but then I saw that my father was kneeling in the aisle of the auditorium, taking a photo. The air around the figure was an intense combination of white and black, vibrating. It was quite handsome; it’s eyes, however, were sullen red coals. I was shocked, and frightened at this vision. Then I noticed that the same glints of red also came through my Mother’s eyes. Later, I named the apparition “Lermontov” after Anton Wallbrook, who played the role of the dictatorial ballet manager in a movie called The Red Shoes. He had a resemblance to this entity. (Much later, in 2011, I went back to the Klein Auditorium in Bridgeport, CT. I laid hands on its doors and rebuked the enemy I had seen there.)

As a result of my encounter, I felt I had no choice but to hide the fulness of the gifts given to me until I was old enough to take responsibility for them. Unfortunately, that was not a good choice. However, as a result, I had what I thought of as a ‘typical’ childhood, though in a dysfunctional family. Nothing could have been further from the truth. There was more going on. My Mother was causing me bodily harm and my Father was protecting her. My sister, four years younger was no help, and, in fact, seemed to hide in the shadows and gloat when I was being persecuted. When family came to visit, there seemed to be a lot of whispering and conspiring of some sort. In utter hypocrisy, my family did attend church regularly and the church was a significant part of our lives. It was, as could be expected, a superficial environment. Ironically, the church was stunningly beautiful and had a full pipe organ, so every Sunday I was treated to Bach’s Toccata and Fugues. They also had paid soloists in the choir, so the lovely hymns were exquisitely-sung. At Christmastime they performed the Messiah. My love and reverence for the music of Bach and Handel started there…

At seven, after performing the Waltz of the Flowers on toe…the youngest one in the class, my Mother abruptly pulled me out of ballet, claiming now it was my sister’s tun. She also refused the horse riding lessons I had begged for, and instead insisted that I study art. I was, however, allowed to learn the instrument of my choice…the flute. That puzzled me at the time. Though it seemed I could hear the dark angel at night above our house, I was surprised that the energy of the flute was calming and seemed to be protecting me. How could this be possible, I wondered?

Then, a series of events turned things upside down. My Father almost died by suicide during my freshman year in college. I was horrified, and came to believe that the church had failed him, and God had failed him. I decided I could have no longer have faith in that God. At that time I had no understanding that Yeshua was taking the family apart because of what was happening to me behind the scenes. I unfortunately and foolishly stopped playing the flute. That summer, after my Mother returned from visiting my Father in the hospital, it felt like she tried to put a curse on me. The air around her turned white and black, and as she spoke, three black frogs came out of her mouth. It was quite terrifying to see.

After I graduated with honors from college, my Mother kicked me out of her house because I had found a job in New York City rather than in Fairfield. It dawned on me that the reason for sending me to college was not to gain an education, but to find a rich man to marry. That agenda had failed miserably. Again, this was God rescuing me from further abuse in that house. At the time I had no idea of this. The experience was quite traumatic.

I then met a man at the place where I worked whom I considered a knight in shining armor, as he took care of me. We married and moved to San Francisco. I looked at different kinds of religions, read new age books, briefly became a Rosicrucian, and came to think that Yeshua was one of the great prophets, but not the Messiah. But when I became pregnant with our first child, I had a terrible sense of unworthiness that I did not deserve to be a mother because I was not saved. But this was 1969, and I did not know how to be saved. So I read the Bible every night. I went to a Catholic church. I prayed the rosary.

When our first child was six weeks old, we moved to Boston, still gravely convicted that I did not deserve to be a mother. I then found out that I was expecting again. How could God be so good to me? I asked in astonishment. I was rebellious and unworthy. I could not believe this miracle, that God would bless me with not just one child, but two!

As I sat in the sunlight, the Bible in my hands, I heard a voice in my head, repeating the scripture, “And who do you say that I am?” “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God,” said Peter. I knew that God was speaking to me. I knew I was saved. I was giddy with rejoicing.

And I began once again to play the flute. I promised God that, no matter what, I would play it every day… The only saved person I knew of was Saul/Paul, and I took his example to heart. I decided I did not just want to be a Christian, I wanted to be a disciple — to give back what had been given to me. But I returned to a Methodist Church, but because its teachings were so shallow, I learned nothing about the Word.

We moved to Minnesota and joined the Good Samaritan Methodist Church. My husband had a serious drinking problem and could become violent. When he assaulted me after our daughter was born I vowed that she would never have to live as I had, and left him. We divorced shortly after that.

I then began to study the flute seriously, with Sid Zeitlin at the Minnesota Orchestra, and later as a flute performance major at the UofM. But some strange things happened there that didn’t make sense and were quite overwhelming. I did not ask Yeshua if I should back away from the Minnesota Orchestra. In hindsight, I wish I had. I then met an orchestra bass player, who seemed like another prince charming. He pressured me to marry him, but I said I could only marry someone who was saved. Then he said he had watched Billy Graham and had become saved. He declared that he loved my three children. We did marry, and he later adopted my children, as my first husband had refused to pay for their care.

However, as we were packing up to move from our two apartments into a townhouse right after our wedding, I noticed his appearance suddenly change, his face and eyes glowed a sullen golden and there seemed to be something rippling under his skin. Later I came to think he might have shape-shifted before my eyes. I had never seen anything like it. I became frightened and devastated, realizing with a shock of despair that I did not really know the person I had married. I quickly came to see that just about all he had said was a lie. But why? I had no answer.

For about 666 days this man controlled every aspect of our lives. I could not afford to leave as he controlled all the money. He ridiculed me as a person and as a musician and also caused me bodily harm. But I did have the heady experience of practicing on the darkened stage at Orchestra Hall. I was also recorded there. It was a dream of mine come true, but it had come at a terrible price. It dawned on me that he was more interested in my children than in me, and so I began to fear and grieve for them, for what might be happening to them.

My children and I were going to the Jesus People Church, and I pleaded with them for their help and prayer. They pointed me to the scripture about the saved not being bound if the unsaved person leaves. They also told me to submit to him. I did so, and I prayed day and night. Lo and behold, when I started asking him serious questions about our relationship, he packed up in one half-hour and went to stay with a colleague from the Minnesota Orchestra.

By this time, I realized that this was the Zauberflote, and that it was a gift of the Holy Spirit. Evangelist Brian Ruud declared this when I played a movement from a Bach sonata at his revival meeting in St. Paul. Though I did not have much understanding of how the Holy Spirit works, I did realize that this could account for why there was so much havoc with the orchestra members and at the UofM. I found myself, essentially, locked out of the Minnesota Orchestra. When the players were themselves locked out in 2012, I realized that this could be in response to their treatment of the Zauberflote and myself.

I stayed single, and supported myself outside of music after that. It was a difficult and tumultuous experience. I was heartbroken and disappointed for the hopes which I had had for my children. My children were in the midst of a spiritual maelstrom. There were many issues in our lives and challenges that, at the time didn’t seem to make any sense. But I can see now that the enemy, this dark angel I had seen long ago, and still hear, at times, was trying to turn our lives upside down and turn us against each other. I had met a good Christian friend by this time who taught me about spiritual warfare, so I began to do battle in situations, using it, that appeared hopeless in the natural realm. Gradually, I would see the negative situations give way to stability and shalom. How could this be? I wondered. It was the grace of God, using the Zauberflote…

And, of course, I played the flute every day and did some performing. Somehow, things always managed to work for good, even though there were terrifying circumstances. I began more and more to see that the energy of the flute was helping to get the truth out of whatever challenging situation we might be facing, and then put everyone in a safe place. It was truly astounding. I could not thank the Lord enough. And, though I was not consciously aware of it, I sensed at that time, I sensed that the persecution I was experiencing was also a part of this great gift. In fact, I bear the stripes of Yeshua…these are they are but mild and temporal afflictions.

The Zauberflote was blessing us…prying us out of the jaws of the dark angel…

Then I met the love of my life ten years later, and he was a great blessing to us all, until he unexpectedly died in my arms in 2016.

After this, my first husband’s son died by suicide in 2018, and abject grief became my companion once again. There were days when I could hardly open my mouth to speak. I began to wear sunglasses, so that people could not see my tears. Still, I continue to make a sacrifice of praise, knowing that God has a wonderful plan…

I had been a part of a Messianic congregation off-and-on, since 2010. I had always felt this gift of the flute was a gift for the Jewish people, and most specifically the Jews who had survived the Holocaust. But I was not able to effectively communicate with the leadership about the Zauberflote. They ended up getting bits and pieces of my testimony, and it wouldn’t have made much sense. And then, some negative things were happening to them, which I reluctantly realized could be connected to the convicting power of the Zauberflote.

So, with sadness I stepped back, to wait for direction from Yeshua…

Just last week there was a surprise encounter which I can see was a blessing..

And so I am stepping out in faith and moving forward, not knowing whither…with my testimony and the Zauberflote. I invite you to help me in this historic endeavor if you feel led to do so. I ask that you not believe what I say, but test what I say and pray about it….

And if you would like me to play the Zauberflote for your needs, please let me know….I will be publishing the songs that come out of this weekly prayer time….

When you hear the Zauberflote you are blessed…

You can be richly blessed,

You can be blessed beyond all measure…

What are you able to receive?

Listen to the Zauberflote…and come into shalom…

https://open.spotify.com/search/shabbat%20shalom%20pamela%20brown

*Mozart 4 Believers…

Nearly 2800 Days…

Update September 10, 2022

I tend to consider these people as part of a “No Crowned Heads” group, as they have continually and assiduously pushed the agendas of my birth family, which appear to be to treat me as though I am already dead, pilfer my work, slander me behind my back and try to obtain possessions that are rightfully mine. It is hard to imagine what more they can do to try to silence me…

Update August 25, 2022

I had a kind of vision today that was quite distressing. It was of these people, who, rather than have any empathy for what happened to me in my birth family were comfortable supporting them and actually feuding over the blood money extracted from me by my birth family through the persecution…At least one of them has also acquired items that are rightfully mine (and I should have the sole right to distribute) behind my back, from my sister, “Starla”…

Original post:

That’s how long it’s been since I told two of my closest family members that I always figured I had been given poison of some sort by my Mother when I was a child. I don’t know what kind of reaction I expected. I did think there would be a reaction of some sort or other.

Was I in for a surprise.

There was no visible reaction from either of them. In fact, they just sat in stony silence.

I don’t consider myself an expert in human behavior. A lot of times I miss the full impact of what someone is trying to convey. But this time, I had enough common sense to say…well…this doesn’t make sense at all…

I had told them of my abusive childhood, long ago. I should have grabbed a hint back then, when my comments were dismissed. At the time, of course, that was puzzling, but anything connected to an extreme testimony, such as mine, is going to be a shock, and some people do not want to hear about it, so I never made any demands of them…

However, I have become somewhat wiser through the years. I decided to simply monitor their behavior from this point on and see what transpired…

My dear husband, Donner, was present that day. He cried. He asked me why I had to tell them. That made no sense to me.

Before long, my dear husband had died in my arms, unexpectedly. I cannot even now fully cope with the trauma of losing him on that dark day.

Not long after that, one of these family members tried to pressure me to put my dear stepson, Kevin, under my roof. He had severe mental illness issues and at that time lived in LA. After talking with him and researching alternatives available, it appeared that he would prefer to return to his mother’s home in Florida. Tragically, that did not happen. He died by suicide, walking in front of a train.

That second tragedy lead me to a bizarre connection to Bob Dylan. At that time, everything seemed to explode. You can read about all this at my blog, Dylagence…https://dylagence.wordpress.com/

Through all of this, these two have maintained a stony silence. I can only ask at this point what it is that they want to conceal. Ironically, the stonewalling may not make much difference, as it looks like Bob has told everyone the truth of what happened to me in a few of his songs…the ones containing a reference to the nightingale.

I think that’s me…

So from now on, it looks like it’s a whole new ballgame…

Who knows where all this will lead?

Why I teach…

I can say in all honesty, looking back over my experiences, that without my teachers I would not be alive today. In fact, I probably would have died long ago. The persecution by my birth family was so severe I barely had the will or energy to keep on going at times.

Most of my teachers had no idea what was going on in my family’s house. How could they? A possibility of being caused bodily harm, verbal and emotional abuse were not subjects even discussed back then. And how would they have known? I did not have the words to tell them.

Some of my teachers seemed to sense something. I love them, every single one of them. A few of them tried to help. The first was a piano teacher who insisted on teaching me chord structure and voicing at a very young age. I had started taking piano lessons by the time I was three years old. My Mother uncovered my composition book and promptly fired the teacher.

The band director at Andrew Warde High School went out of his way for me. He mentored me into a spot as the Principal Flute of the University of Bridgeport Orchestra when I was a sophomore, as Warde had only a band. He enlisted the help of a teacher there as well. The teacher my Mother selected had me practicing Kulau exercises to perfection. But with the university teacher, before I knew it, I had learned the Mozart D Major Flute Concerto. I used it for the Connecticut Allstate audition and won a spot as first flute in their Concert Band. Mr. German then insisted I perform the Concerto for the school, which I did, to an astonished and enthusiastic response. I then went into the Girl’s bathroom and broke down sobbing. No one from my birth family attended the performance.

It was the first performance of Mozart playing Mozart in about two hundred years. My best friend, Allison, attempted to console me, to no avail.

And so my school life became my real life, while my family life remained a quagmire. Each day I would deliberately close the door on the darkness of the Fairfield house and strive to do my best at school.

I can give you many other examples of teachers who went out of their way for me. They did not know me personally, nor were they likely doing anything different for me than they did for all the other students. But it was because of their mentoring that I kept on going.

And so, when I teach, I am shot out of a cannon every morning. I am a substitute in the public and charter schools of our area, so I usually have a different assignment every day. I don’t know who I will work with, or what will happen. To complicate things, the schools of today are a far cry from the ones I attended. I frequently feel like a sojourner in a foreign land.

But that’s another story.

I just hope that I am able to give back in some small measure what was given to me. I hope that I can provide a nurturing word or validating response that will be of value to the students. I want to make sure I don’t leave anyone out…just in case there is one dealing with what seems like an unfathomable darkness at home…

Desperately trying to turn a pig’s ear into a silk purse (vintage FB post from pre-lockout days….)

Originally published August 14, 2010…

Somebody (or bodies) has been throwing money at the Minnesota Orchestra. They have made repeated trips to Europe in the last ten years; each time, it is claimed the trip is paid for by an ‘anonymous donor’. Each trip costs at least a million dollars, so these donors must have much more than that available to them. This time it is the Proms in the UK; didn’t they do the same thing last year with the same caveat? How ironic.

Do they think that if the MO is thrown up against the wall of greatness enough times, some of it will stick? Whomever is coming up with all this money is wasting their time as well — they should have first paid the 50 dollars, or whatever it would take, to have their name changed. They used to be called the Minneapolis Symphony; but those glorious smalltown days are over. They insisted on having a wider scope, a greater message to deliver — so they are stuck with the inglorious tag of Minnesota — or Monostatos — One State. They are dragging themselves down with chains of their own making, oblivious to it all. Hilarious.

August 14, 2021

Hint: They’re still at it, only on a tad smaller scale. And, yes, when I was naively studying flute with Sid Zeitlin, the MO’s Principal Flute, he spent the better part of a lesson chastising me for over the MO’s name change. At the time, it made no sense whatsoever…

But now, I think this may be Minnegeddon, where the truth of what happened to Wolfgang Mozart is revealed…and the Minnesota Orchestra and their standing-bass player William Schrickel have a part in that…

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…

Mr. Schrickel and Mozart’s Zauberflote…

During the approximately 666 days that my children and I were pretty much held hostage by this man there were a number of experiences that, at that time, did not make much sense. Hindsight being what it is, however, I now feel I have some sense of perspective.

At the same time Mr. Schrickel was enticing me to practice on the stage at Orchestra Hall with the Zauberflote (who could resist) there were also odd things going on behind the scenes. For one, it seemed we usually ended up in some sort of heated dispute over something or other after the practice sessions. This was all supposed to be my fault. This happened so frequently I began to wonder if there was some sort of agenda. Now that has become obvious. Creating trauma is how the Zauberflote was thought to be vampirized, to create, in effect, blood money for the attacker. (I think Wolf was treated this way too, and for just this reason…)

But another strange theme began to surface. I was being blamed for not making money. Rather than helping to establish my credentials on the world stage, he was making demands that I earn money from sources outside the world of music. Frantically, I began to look for temporary work. I did not understand what was happening. One of my first jobs was scrubbing floors at Abbot-Northwestern Hospital. He seemed pleased by that, and one morning held my hands, looking at them as though they were prized possessions. When I was offered a permanent job, I felt validated to know I had done my best. He seemed puzzled by that. Uncomfortable somehow. I graciously declined, and went on to other opportunities…

I think this is Minnegeddon…everything is Zauber now…

The first time I remember using the term “Minnegeddon” was back when I was a flute performance major at the UofM.  I was talking to a friend after a theory class.  I said, “Someday I think there is going to be a Minnegeddon at Orchestra Hall.” At that time it didn’t really make sense to me.  But now it does.

Minnegeddon, to me, today, means that the whole truth about what happened to Wolfgang Mozart, which has been a closely-guarded and highly occult secret, is being revealed.  Since his death, which I now call an assassination, in December 1791, only a chosen few have known the truth.  And these people have used their hidden knowledge to control the public into believing things that are not only false but detrimental to them. I think the underlying reason for the persecution (I’ll explain that later) and assassination of Mozart was a gift that everyone he was in contact with who understood it refused to acknowledge.  It was a gift that went far beyond his unsurpassed musical gifts.  It was a gift of an essence, of perfection.  No other musical voice had this gift.  In spiritual terms, it was a gift of the Holy Spirit — a priceless entrance from the natural into another realm — the kingdom of God.

Mozart himself had some sense of the grandeur of the struggle between good and evil in his life. But what he may not have known until late in the game was that he had been, for most of his life, surrounded by a vortex of the evil eye — people claiming to be his friends, who had in fact agreed to his gradual murder by way of systematic poisoning and what we would today call mind control. The objective of this deadly treatment was to be a form of alchemy —  to use the energy of the gift for selfish means…

The portrayal of Mozart in the movie “Amadeus” was perhaps deliberately constructed by those in the inner circle who were trying to keep the truth about what really happened to him from coming out.  In JFK research, this would be called a ‘limited hangout’, as clues were given, but everything returned to Mozart’s being manic, irresponsible and immature. Blame the victim. It as worked, as in the schools of today Mozart’s ‘inability to handle money’ is regularly discussed.  That is false, as he was doing his best under circumstances he was unable to completely understand.

So now the truth is coming out in a most unusual way.  The dreadful CV-19 has, in effect, everyone distrustful of everyone else.  Everyone is separated. We all have to watch everything we do.  Anyone can infect us.  We can’t see the germs.  This is ironically consistent, to my thinking, of how Mozart lived for as long as he did.

But, as if the pandemic itself were not enough — slowing down the economy of most of the world and darkening the stages of all the venues where Mozart’s works were sometimes carelessly performed by people who had no interest or empathy for what had happened to him, we also have plagues of locusts and this violent sandstorm in West Africa just a few days ago.

But the sound of Mozart’s gift lives on in the Zauberflote that I play. I too have been surrounded by those having ill intent, some of whom have caused me bodily harm.  I won’t go into details here about that, except to say that I believe his Zauberflote…the gift for which he gave his life… protects us, and gives us an alternative to fear and despair… it always helps…

9.13.20

Now we are also dealing with the terrible wildfires on the West Coast…

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