Paradise Lost in LA

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”
John Milton, Paradise Lost

By Ken Sheetz

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Hypnotherapist Peter Bedard CreateYourHealth.com

Unless I had Peter Bedard as witness no one might ever believe all that happened to me on MLK Day.  Monday, as posted on my page on Facebook, I was set to have myself put under deep hypnosis by Peter, who I trust, obviously, as I’ve never allowed myself put under before.  In advance of the session I prepared a series of questions based on some of the tough skeptics I’d faced on Facebook in fund-raising that got me to Antarctica.  Peter would ask:

1. Were there ETs, German ghosts and Gods really guiding you to the South Pole to help save earth from a Mayan pole shift or was it all in your imagination?

2. Are you seeking fame or cult status from any of this work you are doing?

3. (Assuming it’s all legit as I feel it is) Does the Orion Ohom who speaks through you have any wisdom or warning to share about humanity’s future post 12/21/12?

4. What is the power behind the 24 meditation videos you are posting to http://dreamshield.org to help humanity?

The idea: Film me under hypnosis and share all, no matter the results to challenge the naysayers.  But in the days since leaving Antarctica on 12.20.12, leading to the visit with Peter back home in LA many odd things began to happen, phones going dead, ATMs taking my credit card then going blank, forcing me to travel 7,000 miles without cash or credit, PayPal strangely disabled upon my return with messed up balances, cooking “accidents”, lost luggage, friends acting like strangers and strangers like friends, getting super low on funds but getting by just fine without money and more.

But, stubborn person I am, I pushed on ignoring all signs to do the hypno interview with Peter.   On Monday morning I showered, dressed, gathered my camera gear and headed off in a car a friend has kindly borrowed to me and for whom I am house sitting: Successful actor/insurance agent Tom Katsis.  It’s been my car all month, a treat for me over the cost renting them as needed as usual.  Tom has almost single-handed created the soft landing for my meteoric return from Antarctica after mounting a film production in the most remote and expensive place to travel to on earth.  The meditation videos would not be posting until Spring without him and the way things are going with my electronics who knows if they might have vanished forever by now.

Despite the money from the crowd I am personally out of pockets thousands of dollars for unexpected costs.  I’ve never been financially weaker in my life.  But I don’t worry about money like I used to as I continue to press on in the editing of the 24 meditation videos in the solitude of Tom’s home.  At least I have gained that much faith in the beings helping me.

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Lucifer Takes His Throne Milton’s “Paradise Lost”

Back to MLK day.  As I reached the Silver Lake area my Android phone’s navigation voice began to lead me in circles.  I kept ending up back on Angus Street.  Angus, as followers of my work know, is a Scottish earth angel spirit badass enforcer of the Galactic council protecting of our world as we ascend.  Peter was not available to guide me to his office despite repeated phone calls to help lead me out of the 30 minutes of the Angus-loop I was strangely trapped in.  It’s amazing how dependent we are on these cell phones for navigation now.

Silver Lake seemed to have no gas stations to ask directions where the Android guided me.  Worse though, I felt a cloud of confusion come over me.  A growing fear something was wrong about all this.

Peter finally rang me on the phone and told me the Android navigator had led me in circles 20 minutes away from his offices.  He had reached me just as the Android led me a dead-end on a tiny street, so narrow I could barely turn Tom’s Saab around.  Problem was navigation uses lots of juice and now my phone was running out of power.  Peter guided me all the way to the 110 for Pasadena and then I lost him.

The Android navigation was all I had again.  Suddenly every electric system in the car began to give signals of failure with a cacophony of beeping in concert with all the emergency lights, smack in the middle of the 110.  I pulled off an exit instantly and then the car completely conked out.  I coasted off the ramp and was stuck on a hill unable to push the car to a safe spot.

I’d had lots of coffee, as I do when I edit, before heading out and the hour in the car meant I needed to relieve myself.  There was not a bush in sight and I did my best to hide my business from cars going by.

Tom told me the nine-year old car might act up as he turned over the keys to me, but I never suspected anything like this, never experienced anything like the beeps and lights that sent me here on a side road called Stadium Way.  No worries.  There was AAA coverage for emergency service on the car Tom had assured me before he left town and I dailed the first AAA number I found.  “Closed for MLK day” the voice mail said.  My phone was nearly dead.  I decided to try Peter again while still could.

He explained the Android had taken me further away and that I was now 30 minutes away from him and that he had a client in 40.  The trip was a total waste.  But he was willing to cancel the appointment and come get me as I had no cash for tow trucks and still no operating credit card.

As I waited for Peter I decided to turn the Saab ignition and it started up smooth as silk.  I called Peter and we agreed it was too late for the filming and, besides, I told Peter, this all felt too weird to be coincidence.  I told him it felt like the ETs were unhappy with the idea of this interrogation of myself I was trying to do.

Heading back to Tom’s place in Sherman Oaks, the incredible sense of disorientation began to lift when suddenly the lights and beeps started again.  This time I was ready, put the car into neutral and coasted the car, flashers going.  I was coasting slower and slower.  I broke a sweat as there was no shoulder to the 101 here.  Lucky there was enough slope I made it past the insanely dangerous part of the 101.

The Saab coasted onto the ramp for Santa Monica Blvd and I pulled onto a shoulder, just big enough for one car in distress.  Now, there somehow was full battery power so the flashers worked.  LAPD was Johnny on the spot and the officer asked what my plans were.  I said the car was behaving erratically, sounded awful and I would call AAA.  All the time worrying to myself how low my cell phone power was to in fact make such a call.  The cop asked if I knew my coordinates and, having to think a moment through my confusion, I finally told him, ” Santa Monica and the 101.”  Then he was off and I was alone with Tom’s Saab.

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Paradise Lost

I opened the hood and the motor fan was racing. The engine heat was intense.  I checked the oil, full.  Checked the coolant, boiling. Nothing to do but call AAA I decided.  So I dug into Tom’s papers and found the national toll-free AAA number.  The operator asked for Tom’s card number and I explained it was not in the car..  The operator coldly explained there was nothing they could do without Tom’s ID.  I said, “Just look up his name and address and find his number on your computer.”  The operator calmly said “No, sir –” just as the Android went dead.

I had been editing for 3 weeks solid since getting back to LA.  All to get the cool footage from Antarctica, that includes an amazing rescue at sea and wedding, up on Youtube.  And it has paid off.  News services are broadcasting clips now in 180 markets.  But in my rush to make the editing happen I’ve burned the last of my cash reserves.  I sat on that lonely ramp without power, without money, wondering what the hell this was all about and how I’d ever solve this one.

Then I surrendered to the moment,  “Sorry I doubted you guys.  This wasn’t about proving something to doubters on FB but my own doubts,” I said the blue LA sky as cars whisked past on the 101.  A joyous flow I was now out of synch with.  Another hour passed, again my middle-aged old kidneys got the better of me and I used the Saab as cover.  I tried the Saab again and it started up a bit then conked out again.  Now, I could tell that if the Saab cooled a little more it would run again, but not enough to get me home the way it sounded.

If I was to rescue Tom’s car from a city tow truck and the impound lot that would cost a small fortune I had to take action.  I could see a few shops at the top of the Santa Monica Blvd ramp that looked open despite the MLK holiday.  I  decided to risk leaving Tom’s car to try to find a phone. How I’d know anyone’s number without the Android I had no idea.  But I slung my camera bag over my shoulder and made my way along the treacherous dirt path after the emergency asphalt ended.  An expedition more dangerous that anything I’d experienced in the eight days of expeditions in Antarctica.

I entered a copy store and the women running it were busy.  Persian was my guess, fearing a language barrier might be an issue.   Finally I caught the eye of a young lady who spoke perfect English.  Yes, I was back in America after all.  I explained my situation and she offered me her Iphone to call.  But I didn’t know anyone’s number by heart in this speed dial era.  I asked if I could use the PC on the store counter and she kindly agreed.

Soon I had Peter Bedard on the phone, Peter, who as you can see in blogs below was the savior of the Antartica boat trip.  But all the snafus with PayPal and a deadbeat donor of a $1,111 commitment, who I could strangle by this point for all the trouble he’s caused me, had still left Peter holding the bag on $444.  So when he asked me what I needed, and that to me was a tow, he said the most he could do for me is get me back to base in Sherman Oaks.  I accepted knowing there I’d have the web and be able to charge up my usually trusty Android phone for help.

I was a miffed that someone I was trying to promote by subjecting myself to hypnosis, something I’ve never let anyone do, was unwilling to pay for a tow, especially after all he’d done for Antarctica. But, deciding that was all ego, I kept my big mouth shut.  I told Peter I needed to move the Saab for that plan to work, to buy time to solve the AAA situtation.  I asked Peter to call me back at the copy lady’s Iphone number in 10 minutes and hurried back to the Saab.

Making my way back along the dangerous dirt path again, I hopped in the now simmering Saab interior and thankfully it rumbled to life.  I edged the Saab into ramp traffic  and up the short bit of the ramp until  a huge white pickup truck blocked my way.  The damn truck was not making the legal right turn and the Saab was ready to stall out again.  It would be in a rotten spot that would get the Saab towed for sure.  So I laid on the horn with a sharp blast.  The white pickup truck moved about a foot and stopped again.  I looked around and could see no sign of a no right turn sign so this time I honked to horn continuously.

Finally,  just as the Saab was about to stall, the anal retentive trucker raced off.  But a block ahead the white was blocking the quick left turn I needed to make in the Jon’s foods parking lot!  But as I got close the driver saw me in the mirror, emergency lights flashing, engine smoking and got what was happening and cleared the way for me to rumble past in the car that seemed to be falling apart by the second.

The Saab shuddered as I killed the ignition and coasted into a parking place.  Now I realized how badly dehydrated I was and hurried into the Jon’s store to grab a quick water.  Nothing was quick for me this MLK day.   A huge line was at every counter.  I said screw and walked out with the water.  If anyone stopped me I’d explain I was going to pass out from being on the road for 4 hours now, lost in LA.  But no one did.

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Lucifer’s Fall from Milton’s “Paradise Lost”

I hurried back for copy shop and a heard a loud angry voice behind me that sounded a drunk, “I’ll kill your mother!”  I turned around no one was there.  This had turned from freaky to scary.  But I realized I was slow in turning around.  Could have just been a drunk prankster.  I chose to think so.  My guides put me in odd situations but they are always gentle and it didn’t fit to make a death threat on my innocent 82-year-old mother.

Inside the copy shop the young lady smiled sadly and said I’d missed my friend’s call.  I asked if I could try to reach Perter and use her Iphone.  The young Persian happily agreed, getting a kick out of this like a living reality show.  I thought about America and what jerks we are to Iranian people.  I’ve never met one I didn’t like.  They are great people with a culture far older than ours.  All this energy came through from her.  The water had refreshed me.  I got Peter on the second try and he was on the way.

I thanked the ladies of the copy store and exchanged contact info.  I wanted to be in touch.  The older woman asked me who I was and what I was doing stuck here.  I explained the filming of the hypnosis and the beings I wanted to go deeper exploring.  She said, “Take all this trouble as a sign to maybe not look so deep, my friend.”  I nodded yes and could have kissed her for her kindness she and what must have been her daughter had shown me and hurried back to the Jon’s parking lot.

Soon Peter was there in his sporty yellow car.  I hopped in and we rode in tense silence for Sherman Oaks, 20 miles away.  Peter has a huge heart and I knew he was feeling bad about not being able to help me more than this ride back to base.  So I broke the silence with a recap of all the weird stuff I was going through.  Peter, who runs holistic business called CreateYouHealth that’s packed with good info, asked, “Why do you think the beings don’t want you to be hypnotized?”

I thought as Peter, a good driver like most spirit people I meet, gracefully dodged traffic up the 101 for my home base in Sherman Oaks, the part of LA I always feel at home in.   I answered, “The Angus galactic spirit is angry about my lack of faith after all he and the beings have seen and done with me.  I feel like I am being fucked with.  Punished like some kid and I don’t like it.”

Rather than looking at me like I was nuts Peter said, “You know, you can tell the beings that treatment is totally unacceptable to you.  I know I did when they were messing with me.”

Tears welled in my eyes.  Here was a brother doing all for me he could.  Soon I was home and I gave Peter the best hug in a car I could manage.

I won’t bore you with the hellish 2 more hours of getting AAA to call Tom in Asia and then AAA losing the reference info and my having to go through the whole authorization again.  The whole time it felt like the corporate shell game of taking our money and then making it difficult to use the services when you need them.  I’ve done million dollar real estate deals that were less complicated than getting a tow as a guest car user.

After this painful 2 hours I needed to get myself back to the Saab again some 20 miles away.  I called a few friends having my phone back in service again.  In no time at all a beautiful light worker and friend came to my rescue and we made it back as the AAA tow truck just before they were ready to leave.

When I was all over my amazing friend offered dinner at El Tacito.   I was trembling from the stress of the day and her solution was to hold my hand as we each downed big glasses of frosted amber Mexican beer.  We had fun talking about the Shift.  A fine end to a day of being lost in the Paradise of LA.

BTW, I am still way out of synch with this reality.  Peter sensed it and said I need to realign my energy.  In other words, I am causing the trouble not my guides.  I am not quite in this dimension.  In fact,  I just reproofed this entire blog as what I had worked for 2 hours on in the second draft just vanished.   So apologies if there are typos.  Sigh….

And will I go for another try with Peter on the hypo therapy session?  Yes, if I can truly know I believe in my heart all this is true and more than more overactive imagination, name of my production company in honor of a loving, if misguided, grandmother, who never tired of trying to break my belief in my visions as a child.

One thought on “Paradise Lost in LA

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