Two years ago, as I worked on the first complete manuscript for Legacy episode III, I described a scene in an underground Martian city where the main story line characters were talking to one another while boarding a tram. Then suddenly, without my control, words flowed through from May Len, the female character in the story, “You were xxxxx.” At first, I had never heard of “xxxxx,” ever, and I wondered, who is this guy and where did this stuff come from? Though I was immediately drawn to nostalgia, I was rather doubtful, left the text as it was, figured I’d check it out someday, and moved on with the story.
About a year later, I had a dream where I was a young child playing a harpsichord in an old musty conservatory in Rome. A light shone behind me from a window illuminating the harpsichord keyboard and the score console above it, yet not enough to enliven the wide study hall that measured a good 15 feet in each direction. The time was the late 1600’s.
Sitting to my left on the same bench was my music teacher dressed in an ornate white furrowed overcoat and a slightly pointed wig that imparted respectful status. I was playing innovative music, my own composition, one might term today as “classical” style. At the time, it was not considered accepted tenure since Baroque was the thing and anything else was strictly forbidden by the church. My teacher listened emotionless until he had enough, silently raised my hands off the keyboard, and slowly placed them on my laps. He then played a brief excerpt of what I had been assigned to play, looking at me silently with a stern bow, and asked me to do as he had done.
I was deeply wounded and let down by his limiting nature. But not far away in front of the harpsichord, I noticed a balding monk stood watching us closely on a hallway leading out of the study hall. Having listened to my radical musical style, he arrived promptly to ensure we followed the musical rules stipulated by the church. Fearing being detained by the Inquisition, for I had already suffered their wrath in the life previous, I apologized to my teacher and did as told. Then, the face of this monk turned to that of a dear Unarius student I’ve known for many years.
When I woke up, I recalled what I wrote about “xxxxx” a year prior. I likewise recalled countless prior dreams where I composed and directed various Baroque “complete” symphonies from start to finish, one after another, in ornate chamber concert halls of old times—songs I had never heard before. Then, I decided it was time to do research, still being rather doubtful.
I looked up “xxxxx” on Wikipedia and, lo and behold, there it was, a picture of my teacher from the dream! Giovanni Bononcini! Then, after looking at many of “xxxxx” scores for composition style, orchestration methodology, listening to them, and seeing pictures of “xxxxx,” I was convinced.
Giuseppe Valentini, a not so well known music composer and violinist that worked for prince Michelangelo Caetani (a relative of my present family line) and succeeded Corelli as director of the San Luigi dei Francesi concertino!
At the Unarius Center, I had an opportunity to meet my old maestro Giovanni and shared this vision with that individual. I was doing an electronic orchestration to fit this individual's approval and requirements, and of course I was not allowed to "deviate" from those requirements. As for the monk, I did not have the chance to do likewise, but someday I hope to, if the moment is right. I can now appreciate where many of my musical inhibitions came from.
Submitted by: Roberto on 12/31/2015
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