“If we concede that corporations rule the world, then advertising is its propaganda machine.” – Ken Sheetz
The typical visions I have of the angels work of manifesting a gentle 2012 is generally mellow and magical. But this one I report of, dear reader, is anything but. The work of freeing the mind and soul of the people from the slavery to the old ways that are killing this world sometimes comes at a price when the dark forces ignore Gia. As the old TV commercial from happy days once said, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.”
So if you are troubled by violence, this blog post is not for you. Also, I do not condone violence against any living creature. The violence I sometimes witness in these visions is not physical but a battle of good versus evil and happens on another plane reality that I pray somehow affects ours. But, yes, as always I remain skeptical of my visions, and ask you to be as well, because all this could be a product my overactive imagination.
The sun had not yet risen on the meditation gardens I have been living in for the planning of 11.11.11 at BushWillows. I was tired from my Thanksgiving travels via bus, returning from a sad visit to a family more interested in slot machines than turkey dinner and catching up on my life.
I lifted off from my body, left it behind in my humble but lovely room and hovered above LA. I gazed up at the DreamShield spinning through the colorful morning sky. “Take me where the angels are working on a gentle 2012,” I said.
Zoom! I shot faster than the speed of light and in a blink New York lay beneath me. I slowed my flight, thinking I was heading for Wall Street since the 11.11.11 meditation had been to free the hearts of the world’s banks. Then the Galactic badass known as Angus McPherson was at my side in full battle armor and said with a grin…
“Morning, Ken. Don the ethereal armor your father made for you. Aye. You’re gonna need it.”
I closed my eyes and willed the armor my father’s ghost had made me to appear. It’s fire-red and makes me as invulnerable as the angels. “Where to Angus?” I said pulling forth the dazzling sword I had been given by Archangel Michael when I helped him in Rome.
“Look below!” Angus shouted with an excitement I’d not heard from him in a long time.
An epic battle to rival “Lord Of The Rings” was in full swing as demons in crisp business suits battled the angels on Madison Avenue. Soon Angus and I were in the middle of the fray, battling back to back beneath the morning sun.
A demon charged me and I swung my sword. Bad idea for the demon as his severed head rolled between Angus’ legs. “Fine work! But top this!” Angus bellowed as he beheaded three Madison Avenue demons in one fell swoop.
As I laughed a demon in a tank opened fire with the blast of a ray gun. I felt a sting despite my ethereal armor. I raised a metal gloved hand and intercepted the beam. With a thrust of my arm I tossed the ray back and the demon tank exploded, shattering every window of a skyscraper.
A young female angel applauded me when a demon ran her through with a bayonet and she vaporized.
“Angels can’t die!” I shouted in horror to Angus.
“Yes, they can, laddie. At least from this plane of reality!” said Angus pointing at a humming-bird the angel had transformed into.
I became far more serious about the battle. “Can I die?”
“Of your course, ya twit! Stay sharp!” said Angus, slaying a demon sneaking up me.
Archangel Micheal battled his way to us, demons falling at his feet and withering to dust that was like dissipating static. “Take out that abomination!” Michael said pointing up the street through the battle ground to an audience of zombies in bleachers watching a giant screen at the end of Madison Avenue.
On the screen, before a spinning hypo wheel, a sexy woman drank diet cola. The zombies in the audience, most badly overweight, popped open diet colas and drank along.
“Aye. Mind controlling bastards! Still up for this, Kenny?”
I answered with a charge through the battle for the hypno screen. Hundreds of demons in business suits were dispatched with an ease and grace I have never experienced in real life. In no time Angus and I battled our way the big screen.
On the hypno screen a rapper proclaimed violence as way of life, riding in a souped up car. “Kill those mo fos!” The angry rapper said pointing a bejeweled finger at Angus and me. The crowd of zombies rose from the bleachers and sped for Angus and me in a raging stampede.
I raised my sword, ready to cut them down.
“No, laddie! We canna slay the innocent! They’re human not demon!” shouted Angus.
“Great. So what do we do?”
“Crash the screen while I hold the innocents off!”
Angus willed down power from the DreamShield, which I could see spinning in the sky, high above New York. Angus McPherson held forth his beefy hands and a force field appeared. Zombie innocents ran into the force wall blindly and most were knocked out cold. Those that weren’t were knocked out by Angus and his badass band of angels, hand to hand with a firm love.
I charged for the screen, the sword glowing. The rapper on the big screen transformed into a handsome game show host and shouted to happy trumpets…
“Ken Sheetz, you just won the Super Jackpot!”
Gold coins rained from the big screen! Money! Precious gems!
Suddenly I was no longer in the battlefield of Madison Avenue. I was a young millionaire again back in my million dollar Lake Forest home’s family room. It was early morning 1989. My wife Gloria, in her cute flannel jammies, danced as she modeled a mink coat I’d just given her.
“Soft! Feel, Ken!” Gloria cooed as she brushed the sleeve of the mink coat against my cheek.
“Gloria… we’re not married anymore. It’s 2011, not 1989” I said sadly.
“You’ve been up reading your science fiction books again about time travel.” She said kissing me softly, smothering me in soft mink. I could even smell her perfume I’d bought her back then, Channel No. 5.
Before I could say a word I heard the shuffling of little pajama feet on the oak floors.
“Daddy! Jon, Daddy’s home!” said my little girl Janelle, miraculously an adorable 7-year-old again, as she ran joyously for me, followed by my 10-year-old, Jonathan. Both hugged me at the knees. My heart broke. This was all so real. Maybe I had been reading Kurt Vonegut too late again last night and my lonely impoverished life in 2011 was the dream.
But as I looked down at my kids I could see I still wore my fire-red ethereal armor. In the shiny reflection of the armor I could see images of the angels battling on Madison Avenue. The zombies were climbing to their feet and charging Angus again.
“Dad, I won Super Mario, Brothers!” Jonathan boasted, snapping me from watching Angus hold off the zombies.
“I love you all but this is not real,” I said the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
“Silly! Let’s watch some TV,” Gloria nervously said as she clicked on the TV set in the hutch.
The game show host appeared on the family room TV. The hypno wheel spun behind him as he laughed wickedly. Gloria and the kids went into a trance. “This can all be real, again Ken. You can be rich and young again, be with your family. Simply lay down the sword.”
“No!” I shouted menacing the TV with my glowing sword.
“You’d rather be a pauper, feel the sting old age? No health insurance, no family to love you, no car? That’s what waits for you in 2011 if you swing that sword!”
My old-meditating-self appeared alone on the TV screen, laying in bed in modest room I rent. The camera panned to show my frayed clothes, my old worn out shoes.
“The angels laugh at you, Ken. You know that. Screw the angels. Be rich and powerful again. Serve the true power of this world, corporations. Corporations that loved you, made you rich once, and will make you rich again if you but serve them!”
This game show host sure knew my weak spots. But that backfired. It was too slick of an ad campaign he’d fashioned.
“Serve corporations killing this planet? I am more than me!” I seethed. “I am one with this world! And it’s time to care for this world in peace!”
” Poverty is not peace!’ the game show host shouted, sweat now appearing, Nixon-like, on his upper lip.
“I choose a better world, not for me and my kids, but their kids’ kids!” I shouted and swung the mighty sword for the shocked host in the TV set. Sparks flew. The power of the DreamShield joined with my sword.
I was back on Madison Avenue as my sword crashed through the giant hypo screen. Shock waves of static energy raced up the street, vaporizing the demons in business suits. The zombies suddenly stopped fighting and looked around in dismay not knowing how they ended up in the middle of war-zone in New York.
“Victory!” shouted Angus, taking me up on his shoulder as the angels and freed humans cheered and danced all around me.
Tears in my eyes, I blinked fully awake from my deep meditation.
“Dear God. I hope that was real,” I said and rose from my humble bed to make breakfast, alone but not alone. One with the world, richer than ever, I opened the door and breathed the fresh morning California air.
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