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…


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…

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…


It was the first of February

A cold winter day

with brilliant sunlight struggling to chase away

some gray doubts and questions

Could this really work?

Could we make a life together

in the bitter frigid North?

With his moving all the way

from Ann Arbor to Minnesota

to start a new life?

He cut his hair off the next day

I asked him why

He mumbled, ‘I can’t say’

and left me wondering

and so we went on

harboring some sort of mystery that grew

like an octopus between us

But things that came apart

we mended and repaired

and we remembered that

at the time of a scuzzy comet

we had met

through JFK’s assassination

each of us looking for answers


We traveled to Dallas

to see for ourselves

but did that help?

Or were we under the thrall of an

invisible man? A Leviathan?

We could not tell…

Something underneath

was stalking our success

our home at times divided

over what, we did not know

We whirled around in the darkness

searching for stability

we’d try to catch it

but then it would somehow slip away

We bravely fought together

united we were so strong

though still the ground was shifting

and it wasn’t very long

before we sensed a gentle, frantic helplessness

we’d try to grab our dream and instead choke it

like rose petals

it seemed to scatter

hopelessly into the wind

I could not hold onto him for very long

it seemed no more than a day

Suddenly, the air turned to ice

and bitter frigid wind blew through

I called out, but it was too late

He died in my arms in the

blazing noonday sun

on JFK’s birthday…

then heat

enveloped us in mockery

there was so much left to say

He was like a moonbeam

fragile yet incandescently bright

he slipped away into

the vortex

of fog and of night

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…

Is this possible Bob Dylan connection taking us to Warp Speed?

In the early years when I had moved to Minnesota from Boston — via San Francisco and New York City — I had never heard of Gustav Mahler. His music had been the rave of New York for some time — Leonard Bernstein being one of Mahler’s greatest champions. But I attended a luncheon concert of the Minnesota Orchestra quite by chance, and my life changed forever…

This was back in the days when the Minnesota Orchestra was not great. The players were bored. They were more interested in their poker games in the downstairs lounge at Orchestra Hall than they were in the music they were performing. They knew all the old war horses by heart. They did not even need a conductor. Even worse, the one they had most of the time was reportedly becoming senile. He had had to stop mid-stream in a performance of the Stravinsky Sacre du Printemps because he had become hopelessly confused.

–I should say that I was studying flute with Sid Zeitlin, the Principal Flute, at that time, sometimes at Orchestra Hall, so my recollections are either from things I saw first-hand or heard via him–

So there I was, sitting calmly in my seat on the isle, mid-section of the main floor, that morning, expecting to fall asleep as during a bad sermon, but still mildly hopeful of hearing something truly musical. I don’t recall the rest of the program. Whatever it was had completely lulled me into complacency.

The guest conductor that day was Klaus Tennstedt. I had not heard of him either, and was not terribly impressed with his first half of the concert.

I was prepared to accept yet another grim reminder of how not to perform orchestral music.

But then, the Mahler First Symphony began.

The ‘Titan’, it was called.

My ears perked up. Before long I was listening with my entire being. His world came alive to me. I was no longer just sitting in a cushioned seat — I was transported to another time and place.

The Third Movement, with its mocking motif of “Frere Jacques” caused me to sit up in shock. It was as though Mahler was describing the fallen angel in the Mozart vortex who attacks my family and me. Who had caused my Father to nearly succeed in ending his own life. How could he possibly know this? I wondered. Nobody else had ever done this.

The opening passage of the last movement shrieked inside my head. Mahler was speaking to me from the vortex. I shook my head in disbelief. I thought I was going to faint.

How did Mahler get inside my head? I asked myself…

And so he had…

And my quest began in earnest…

I became a frantic and fanatic Mahlerian. I have been so ever since.

And, according to his wife, Alma, Mahler’s final words were “Mozart! Mozart! Mozart!’

Mahler was the first inter-continental conductor, transiting by ship from Europe to New York. He was one of the first conductors of the orchestra that became the New York Phil. Carnegie Hall was his venue.

I realized that it was Mahler who had brought the Mozart vortex from Vienna to New York.

At a great price — he died at an early date and in a tragic way…

His widow, Alma, remarried and lived a long life. She maintained a home in NYC until her death in 1964.

But what happened after that? The fallen angel kept trying to attack and entrap my children and me in Minnesota. We seemed to be free-falling into the vortex ourselves, with no direction known.

That is, until this unique and completely unexpected possible connection to Minnesota-born Bob Dylan surfaced.

And now, it just may be that this is what is catapulting us into our destiny after all…

Delta Flight

I had my feet up on a couch at JFK, looking at the toes of my Airs

While we waited to see which plane

would take us far away

The hump-backed 747’s were lined up outside

one smaller jet in the middle

We were to fly all night across the sea

to a country that was new to me,

a place I had avoided until now.

Vienna calling, Falco said.

And how.

The UMD singers, my daughter in their midst

my future son-in-law

my younger son came with

as a chaperone, no less

He could out-party all the rest

And so the time dragged by

I squeezed a world-design stress ball

and watched the sky

At last we boarded, and you should see

the face I must have made as we passed by

the giant planes and ended up in a

two-engine miniature

Austrian Airlines, you see,

is run by Delta too…

I settled into a window seat over the wing,

heavy with foreboding

we need at least three engines for the

November turbulence over the


Just then the cabin was filled with

another company of youngsters,

A band of cheerleaders from various schools

in uniform

pom-poms slammed into overheads

squealing and yelling far above

the more measured choir tones.

We took off into the night sky

That looks like Long Island, I sigh

Just about over Center Moriches

the plane began to shudder and pitch

We’re in for quite a ride…

For four hours we lunged around the sky

Dames und Herren, you are about to die

I kept hearing in my head

The wings flapped like a bird

I didn’t know they could do that

And with every thunderous settling as we

staggered across the sky

the cheerleaders shrieked and yelled

with voices pitched so high

they could have strangled themselves…

But with each garbled announcement

we climbed a thousand feet

Not one of us stopped to wonder

when we would ever eat

But finally we rose above the fractured waves of air

and saw the lights of parallel flights

we might make it there

after all

The stewards brought mystery meat

which I could not digest the thought of

much less the actuality

I did not have the courage to get up and stretch

so sat numbly the rest of the nine hour ride

We gave a great cheer as we landed in a foggy soup

And as we waited to depart

a Mozart piece tugged at my heart

playing softly through the intercom

A Salzburg piece, a divertimento

pure and sweet

and all at once I knew

this just might be the start of our

historic dream come true.

If only I could find a place to pee!

My daughter guarded the men’s room for me,

We’d seen it first, I could not wait

such was our fate

I heard that piece in my head again today

And wept for all the heartache that has come our way

since then

and also wondered if anyone had really cried

for what happened to Wolfgang Mozart

when he died.

It may be that a Minnegeddon is here

and that we have by now all learned to fear

an unknown judgment from

the evil of those days

A nation he never knew must justify

the way it treated him

And only God can tell

if we are headed into Heaven or to Hell…

The enemy I see…

When we think of Wolfgang Mozart we see a sublime genius of such brilliance that he was hunted down wherever he went. We see a man surrounded by people who was, in fact, immensely alone. We see someone who succumbed to the excitement of the Enlightenment and occult by becoming a Mason, and a man who supposedly mismanaged his money and left a terrible mess for his family. But what we don’t see is that which we are not supposed to know.

Much about Mozart’s life has, in fact, been deliberately concealed. This was done for nefarious reasons — most importantly, money. If the world knew the truth about the gifts that Mozart brought with him into this world, the monetary system of this planet might be changed. Nations rising and falling might be different. War might even become a thing of the past.

But we, the common people — the salt of the earth — are to be kept in the dark by these elitists who hold the dark secret of what happened to Mozart close to their hearts — or what is left of them. They smile at us and then usher us into servitude, while they rule the world. They send out coded hints of disasters to come that throw us into a panic. They laugh at us, because they know and we don’t…

But this Corona pandemic is changing everything. That which was concealed is now being revealed. It is easy for us to accept the possibility that Mozart at some point realized he had to separate himself from those closest to him in order to stay alive as long as he did. He learned that there was danger at every turn, and that smiling faces could conceal an assassin’s vicious intent.

Mozart told us about these things, but nobody listened to him. He said that he felt he was being systematically poisoned by those who had timed the hour of his death. He even named the substance — aqua toffana.

Now, perhaps, everyone will take another look…

But there was a further evil attacking Mozart, more deadly than his closest family and friends. I believe it was a dark angel that guarded this extra gift Mozart had been given that was the reason for his untimely death. This dark angel attacked him and his family members, trying to turn them all into monsters — into assassins. All they had to do was administer one small dose of poison and then stick close to him. Then they could steal this precious gift and use it for themselves. And so, one by one, nearly everyone close to him was compromised.

Did Mozart ever actually see this dark angel? I do not know. But we do know something he did see, which may represent the dark angel in human form — the mysterious visitor who, at the end of his life, enticed him to write his own requium under someone else’s name because he was in such need of money.

This is the hidden theme of the movie Amadeus. The insiders are showing us while concealing the truth what actually happened.

We just need to know how to look…

As the poet and songwriter Bob Dylan said in Slow Train Coming…the enemy I see wears a cloak of decency…

A Bob Dylan connection to Monostatos?

Update June 13, 2022

Based on my understanding of what Bob Dylan is currently up to, he does indeed fit the character of Monostatos in the opera The Magic Flute…in fact, he is THE Monostatos — the others are purely secondary…

Bob is on the road again with another leg of the RARW tour…

Monostatos is really a minor character in this opera. But he does create a lot of havoc for Pamina over a long period of time. He is, in fact, obsessed with Pamina, and determined to possess her. Monostatos is ruthless and unscrupulous. He also has a connection to the Queen of the Night…

Bob seems to have taken this role to the extreme. He apparently wants to make sure everybody notices him. It seems to be working, but in a rather pale manner when compared to the outrage his early performances caused. He doesn’t play guitar now…he sits at the piano. The lyrics happen to be on top of the piano. He doesn’t switch up his songs either. It has been same-old, same-old all the way through, so far… It doesn’t seem like he’s switching up the lyrics, to give his insiders, the Dylinquents, realtime tracking information about his targets, which happen to include my family and me. But maybe the AI voice-amping he’s using doesn’t allow for that.

Bob has been doing this for a long time. In fact, if a cogent definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, Bob definitely falls into that category. In fact, with every performance, the opposite is happening…more that was concealed is being revealed. He is kicking the remaining sludge out of the Mozart vortex, and now everyone can see what has been going on…

Unfortunately, he has also been kicking up a lot of negative energy, resulting in terrible weather situations — on Memorial Day, for example, 15 tornadoes tore through the state. Then there have been a series of tragedies of another sort…his last leg took a zig zag through Texas.

Update July 24, 2021

Following the recent Shadow Kingdom show, it appears Bob Dylan may be placing himself as part of the cadre Monostatos, from the opera The Magic Flute. Another member is bass player Bill Schrickel of the Minnesota Orchestra. There are a few others as well, including my flute teacher at the MO and a horn player who went to the NYPhil and recently got into trouble there. It looks like they represent the wicked servant in the temple of Sarastro who tries to terrify Pamina. When Sarastro understands what they are doing, he kicks them out of the temple.

Whatever is going on, their actions are coming to light. If this does prove to be the case, might we then have to respectfully ask how it correlates that Dylan was said to ‘go back to his Jewish roots’ following his conversion to Christianity, when the law of Deuteronomy and Leviticus is at the very heart of the Jewish faith?

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