I was having coffee here at the lovely B&B of Terra Sonora’s this morning. Sipping away and looking out at red rock mountains when I heard an angel’s urgent whisper, “Thou must tarry not on the road to Antarctica!”
Patrick Flanagan 12.12.12 Antarctica, A 24 Time Zone Sponsor
I’d been driving myself crazy for days with variation of travel plans since the amazing super scientist and author Patrick Flanagan, who many consider the reincarnation of Nicolas Tesla, had made a $1500 donation that really set the indiegogo.com/coolestmeditationever afire.
What made things so complex that I got confused was a good thing. I am pleased to announce that I have been invited to head a panel about the Antarctica mission to shift the polarity of human consciousness in Chichen Itza, Mexico. How cool is that I also get meet up with my friend, teacher and client Miguel Angel Ruiz who is keynote speaker?
So instead of getting back to the states from Rio, my first stop, as my guides tell me as I must visit the Christ statue which I have seen in visions was once a space elevator the ancient astronauts gave us that we were not ready for evolution-wise and so lost our rights to, I needed to be in Mexico, precisely on 12.21.12. What a wonderful way to have my travel plans complicated.
I meant to get working on it again today first thing, but I dillydallied on this distraction we call the web. A few days ago I created a destination bubble diagram and was getting ready to look at it after coffee. Before I left my room to start the day a Scot I channel frequently, well, more like shouted at me, “Stop making this trip South so bloody damn complicated, Kenny lad! Get your ass to Rio on a one way ticket and let it all flow like ten damn healers in Sedona at http://retreatsinsedona.com/ have been trying to get through your thick 13th crystal skull for three week. FLOW!”
Angus McPherson was right I realized. I listen to my spirit guides far more these days after kicking myself for ignoring them so often these past 2 years. Still I delayed, after coffee I would make a ticket to Rio. Just one problem, I was about $600 short on the donations based on first quotes for tickets.
While sipping on coffee and pondering, I heard a much sweeter angelic voice than Angus’, “Thou must not tarry on the road to Antarctica.” That’s all the clue I needed. I tarried not and rushed to my computer, amused at the angelic dialect I’d heard. I am staying in an angel channel’s B&B after all. And “lo”, to angel speak myself, here was a button on the search page on Priceline for flexible time travel that “doth” witnessed before. I pushed it and the One way ticket price dropped by $1,200. I “jest” not. The power of 12 in action for 12.12.12.
So I leave beautiful Sedona on the 17th with time to visit my family in Vegas on the way. I am going to bet $12 on #12 on the roulette wheel on my layover, baby!
I arrive in Rio on 11/19 at 2AM. Keep supporting on the link below. We’re halfway to Antarctica!
This morning I had a profound vision in Sedona, on the road to Antarctica, of one of 24 time zone meditations I will conduct on 12.12.12 with your support.
I have little ego about all this. It’s brilliant work I am simply channeling by the spirit guides.
WAR TO PEACE VISION
The vision I saw today was shift of man’s predilection to War to overriding Peace.I stood on the ice of Antarctica on 12.12.12 and raised my hands which tingled with massive energy. Weapons, from hand guns to atomic missiles, smashed from the ice the medicine wheel I had laid out in the snow. The sound of sorrow of the collective human soul became a raging vortex of all the weapons of the earth spinning high about the arctic landscape. A hurricane of death.I saw my tiny human form, my crystal skull glowing through my 60 year-old pale skin, skin, strike the snow with my walking stick, like some modern Gandalf. “SHIFT!” my voice echoed through the crystals of icebergs nearby. A chill, not from the cold, but the magnetism of South Pole, sent a shiver down my spine.
Doves of dazzling white sprung to flight from the snow. — One dove of peace for each weapon of death. The doves began to glow with an intensity greater than the sun. The angelic doves grabbed hold of the weapons with impossibly sharp talons and drew out negative energy from the weapons. Around and around the doves worked their magic until the weapons turned white-hot, molten.The melting weapons and doves forged themselves into single molten blob. The silver blog sank, steaming into the mile thick ice sheet of Antarctica. I peered over the precipice into the deep shaft and beheld a silver spaceship lifting off!
No UFO, this was a human made spaceship. I heard angelic singing as the ship roared past. Humanity’s war energy had shifted from war to peace to reach the stars.
Will this really happen when I reach Antarctica? My spirit guides won’t say. So we’ll only know when I get there.
Life is what happens when we make other plans – John Lennon
By Ken Sheetz
I am so glad I listened to my spirit guides and turned around from my trip to Sedona, on route to Antarctica, to visit Bradley Quick in the hospital when I heard the news of his cancer.
Bradley passed like his name, Quick. His end was not a long drawn out affair but one of grace and humor where he broke all visit records at St. Joseph’s hospital.
Considering that hospital is in Burbank, the entertainment capital of the world that says a lot about the man Bradley Quick.
His family was pleasantly surprised by his amazing popularity and the love people have for him as they paid their last respects, still hoping he’d pull off a miracle and get well.Bradley work of his charity for http://thecoolchangefoundation.org/, which I hope carries on his amazing work in curing people of addiction through the media with broadcasts daily as a beacon of hope, is cool indeed.I was his roomie in barter for social media for 18 very cool months.
Bradley sang every day. Not well but joyously. Like all human relationships we had our ups and downs. Early in our Odd couple lifestyle I even punched Bradley in the face once over a territory fight over spitting in my sink one day. Bradley had Hep C and I was furious he’d spit in the one spot I reserved for washing my dishes!But I pulled the punch because Bradley would not put up his fists when I asked him to duke it out. He staggered back after my punch and still would not fight, despite being in better shape and ten years my junior.
We got past it and it became one of our favorite stories of my transformation under his daily life coaching.We got way past our original territory battles and I made over 150 videos with over 1 million views on YouTube and built Bradley’s popular LiveStream channel http://www.livestream.com/coolchange. But without question I got the better end of the barter with Mr. B. Thanks for teaching me how to be cool, Bradley Quick. I will dedicate a meditation for you on 12.12.12 in Antarctica and I know you’ll be at my side with the penguins for the completion of the planetary shift mission you set me on for http://dreamshield.org/With love on the road to Antarctica, Ken Sheetz
“A very merry un-birthday to you!” – From Disney’s adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”
By Ken Sheetz
I don’t enjoy my birthday. But it still comes every September 21st, usually the Equinox when it’s not a leap year like this one. The reason I don’t like my birthday? My father, who died 18 months ago, gave me more than a traditional birthday spanking when I turned thirteen. You see, back in 1965 my dad got it in his head that age thirteen was manhood. When I popped my kid brother Bruce in the jaw for teasing me about it getting a savings bond instead of the space toy I wanted, Dad popped his cork and beat me to within an inch of my life.
So, each year around my birthday I go through what the shrinks call “anniversary depression”. I hoped all the personal growth DreamShield has brought that my 2012 birthday might be different. But a few days away from my birthday arrival the old anniversary rage at my dad, a shockingly gargantuan amount, boiled up in me like a volcano. Desperate to minimize my birthday blues, I disabled the notifications on my Facebook page before turning in for the night in the Great Spirits Ranch RV, determined to rough my birthday out in solitude.
Dad’s been dead 18 months now. A wonderful man when not drinking, Dad loved adventure. In a November 2011 vision of him Dad was on the adventure of all time, aboard a sleek silver bullet shaped ship traveling faster than the speed of light. When I asked my dead father where his amazing space ship was going he said he’d let me know when the time was right.
Apparently, the time had come because at 4 AM on the morning of my 2012 birthday, as I lay awake in bed staring at the RV ceiling, dreading the coming day’s annual sorrow, I heard my dead father say, “Ready to know where my space ship has been heading, Ken?”
“Sure,” I said warily.
“Close your eyes.”
I closed my eyes and saw Dad’s silver space ship once again rocketing through the stars. But I knew in that instant this was not outer space. Dad’s ship was traveling to the center of my inner universe.
Soon Dad and I were standing on the freshly mowed lawn of our old home in Bay View Wisconsin. I breathed in the fresh air of 1965 that wafted off Lake Michigan. Invisible to all but each other, Dad’s ghost and I watched as the blue Chevrolet family station wagon pulled up to the curb.
Mom, a young beauty again in her 30s, was first to hop out of the car with her favorite Bruce, five-years-old again, in tow.
Ghost Dad watched with some shame as his drunken 1965 self stepped from the car and slammed the door shut so hard and loose piece of chrome fell off. “You ungrateful little shit,” said 1965 Dad lighting up a smoke. “You don’t like your savings bond I’ll burn it, but no more damn toys! I was working and supporting my Ma and sisters when I was thirteen.”
My brother Fred, age eleven and my thirteen-year-old self hopped from the car, avoiding Dad as he did his drunken best to fix the fallen chrome.
“A savings bond is cool, Kenny.” said Fred, still my best friend to this day.
“I wanna model space station.” I grumbled.
“Don’t know when to quit do you, boy?” said 1965 Dad, cutting his finger on the sharp chrome, angrier by the second.
Smelling his chance to amplify family drama, Bruce ran up to Fred and me laughing. “Ha! Ha! Ken got a stupid savings bond for his birthday!”
My younger self reared back for a punch, the punch to my smartass baby brother’s jaw that would send my father into a drunken rage. A rage where he’d beat me to a point I felt I was going to die and did in a way.
But my ghost father had other plans. He simply reached out and held my 1965 self’s hand back. So I never hit my baby brother. My 1965 father stormed in the house to fix his cut finger. Fred and I ran off giggling from relief to hide out in the tree house until Dad sobered up.
My spirit self stood for a moment with my ghost father. I listed in stunned peaceful silence as seagulls sang over Lake Michigan. It was all so simple, so elegant a solution. My ghost father had traveled back time to change the past. And now there never was a beating on my lucky thirteenth.
“Happy birthday, Ken,” Dad said, tears of pride and joy welling in his blue eyes.
I woke in bed weeping and thanking my father. I could feel it to my core. Deep healing. I was 100% cured of my anniversary depression.
Friday morning, my 2012 birthday, I woke filled with renewed energy, not only for my arrival date on the planet earth but life. A scientist/artist/builder pal, Brian Kutza, offered me a ride off the ranch to the grand opening of John D. Riley’s new gallery and healing center happening that night in Santa Monica and I gladly accepted.
Photo by Brian Kutza
While Brian dropped me off in Santa Monica to pick up his divine compliment Ellen and his adorable daughter Kendra in Pasadena I saw RESIDENT EVIL 5 and bought some new clothes as a birthday gift to myself. At John’s party I met beautiful new friends and happily told guests it was my birthday. I thought to myself at one point, “So this is the joy people normally feel on their birthdays!”
Today September 22nd, the 2012 leap year Equinox, I told my brother Fred about my birthday visit from Dad’s ghost. Fred was very happy for me.
Badly beaten on my 13th birthday? Nope. Never happened in this Golden Age we are entering where miracles await us all. Happy Equinox 2012.
Please support my mission to reach Antarctica before the Mayan Calendar ends for a pole shift meditation at DreamShield.org
Almost every wise saying has an opposite one, no less wise, to balance it. – George Sanatayana
By Ken Sheetz
I was born on September 21st, time of the Equinox depending on the year. This year the Equinox is actually on the 22nd. Long before my spirit work, the Equinox was more magical than just my birthday. This morning, 9/10/2012, weeks ahead of the Equinox, I had a vision of the Yin and Yang symbol representing, not female and male, but the balance of my dark side and light side.
As an adult who suffered as a child and into an adulthood from a loving father who was a “mean drunk” and a distant mother, I never liked any kind of holiday or birthday. They all seemed to set off Dad’s drinking and my emotionally unavailable mom could never make up for how rotten our resulting lives were.
Birthday’s in particular became a horror that brought out the worst in Dad. After growing up there were many surprise parties where people were shocked I was not myself. You see, I used to go into an annual depression in the weeks surrounding my birthday. But as the work of DreamShield, and good old fashioned psychology over the years has served to heal me, I have come to enjoy some birthday attention.
In 1985 I named my corporation Equinox in honor of my famous astrological birth date. Equinox Corporation’s motto was “Balanced Solutions” and the logo was equal day and night. That balanced corporation served me to build Oprah’s Studios, a $162 million skyscraper, a billion dollars worth of leases, and, after my move to Hollywood, a PBS special, 3 feature film you can buy on Amazon and hundreds of short films with over 6 million views on YouTube. But in 2009 as the recession deepened things got so bad I was forced to save the cost of maintaining Equinox and the corporate fees. I’ve been doing business bareback ever since, without the shelter of a corporation.
Closing Equinox on my birthday in 2009 was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But BuzzBroz social media services was born from that closing and DreamShield’s mission of a gentle 2012 grew out of BuzzBroz. So all has worked in divine order.
As I lay in bed this morning. thanking the ET angels I have not felt my usual depression around my birthday, I thought of the Equinox. Equal darkness and equal light upon the world. I saw an vivid image of the yin and yang symbol. I saw immediately how confined I have kept my dark energy. A behavior that has made me something of martyr in business and relationship.
Instantly upon asking for balance from the forces behind the DreamShield I saw the confined darkness within my soul set free! The freed darkness literally pounded the yin and yang symbol into a new inner symmetry to bong of the darkness expanding!
Then the yin and yang symbol began to spin until all was not a grey but an integrated energy that shone brighter.
After I started my work day had a quick test of the balance when I said “Good morning” to the ranch owner on the way to the office. Rather than return my greeting Deb began to rattle on about work she needed done. I gently but firmly stopped her and repeated “Good morning.” Deb smiled and returned my greeting. I felt whole, able to stand up for myself.
Yeah, I like the equinox of 2012. Balanced light and dark energies. The end of my fear of inner duality. That it’s happening and near my birthday makes this birthday the happiest of my life. This amazing performance expresses my joy at my inner ascension.
And be sure to join Ken for a UFO Skywatch in Malibu on 9/15 and 9/16. Details and reservations at DreamShield.org
“Suppose, then, that all men were sick or deranged, save one or two of them who were healthy and of right mind. It would then be the latter two who would be thought to be sick and deranged and the former not!” (Aristotle, Metaphysics 340BC)
By Ken Sheetz
Back in early July, I channeled my ET higher self Ohom to invite him to my UFO Skywatch on July 14th. But as you see in this video Ohom declined the invite because humanity has a virus, an insanity virus to be precise.
So when the spaceships did not come when July 14th arrived I was sad but not surprised. Humans as a species are terrifying to the ETs who see us as a greedy beings wrecking its own world, murdering each other and all life on this planet. Witness last month’s Batman killings for sheer madness with no point but violence itself, or as recent as today’s massacre at a Sihk temple in my home state of Wisconsin.
Over the past seven months, based at Great Spirits Ranch, both on and off the ranch, I’ve witnessed insanity and drug abuse in the liberal left Light Worker community, and to the far right, equally bizarre behavior. In myself I’ve battled jealousy, ego and depression. In other words as ranch owner Deb Malmazada is famed for saying, “We are all f’ked up in (human) form.”
I was losing hope entirely for a gentle shift of 2012 when one morning a 4AM the soft echoing voice of Ohom, my higher ET self and guide, woke me from a deep slumber. “Ken, we want to test a cure for the human insanity virus on you. Go to your faucet with your DreamShield coffee mug and get some fresh water.”
I’ve learned it’s far easier to comply with these odd requests, did as I was asked, and drank. The 11.11.11 DreamShield mug glowed faintly in the darkness of the early morning as I placed the mug back on the RVs little night stand shelf and went instantly back to sleep.
I soon found myself in dream. I was running through a strange yet familiar structure, running from a demon. The demon, I somehow realized for the first time in a lifetime filled with these sorts of nightmares, was my own negative energy. So I stopped in archway and turned to face my dark side. The demon overtook me and my face twisted into monstrous forms. I panicked as leathery skin spread across my body. Bat like wings erupted from my back and razor claws burst painfully from my finger tips.
Despite my terror, I willed myself to stay in the dream. Pressure drummed in my ears until I thought my head would explode. But in time, I have no idea how long this inner battle went on, I was able to integrate all the dark energy. The horrific images of demonic transformation faded. I looked at myself in a mirror in the dream, myself once more, only stronger. A new twinkle in my eyes.
A voice called me to wakefulness with a mild Russian accent, “How is it you are feeling, Ken?”
“Like a Mac truck ran me over. Thanks. Is this my Russian physicist self from the 19th century the Damanhur have told me about?” I asked the voice.
“Da. I am interested in how your ego has been affected by the waters,” the voice replied in good humor.
Confused on how I could be in the present and past at the same time I surrendered to the moment and simply answered, “I’ll get back to you, comrade.”
“Take heart, Dreamer. The negativity visiting upon you, it is absorbed into the crystal caverns and waters below Great Spirits Ranch. There, I and the team of ET scientists work day and night for the cure to the human insanity virus.
The virus, it is a mutation of the ancient Black Plague. It is sneaky and hides in the folds of the human brain. Look for yourself, Ken!” the voice echoed in my head .
I went into meditation and watched the dark recesses of my brain folds begin to light up with blue white light. The cure was changing me. But would it work?
When that long night’s labors ended, seems I work 24 hours some days, it was about 7:30 am. I did my morning rituals as the birds sang, cleaned up after breakfast and commuted the 100 yards from the RV to my amazing office here at the ranch atop Malibu.
How, I wondered as I walked past the flowers and trees that adorn my commute, could people make themselves, human f’cked up in form me included, make life, even here in a Malibu paradise, so miserable? No wonder in the Bible stories God finally kicks out Adam and Eve out of Eden! We are a contentious cantankerous lot.
After completing my agreed to 4 hours per day of social media, that pays my room and board at the ranch, and at various other places I’ve been blessed to visit these past two years since seeing my first visions in Italy, I decided I needed a break from the electronic world.
So I volunteered to help Deb, and new ranch hand Jason, with some manual labor. We cleared brush from one of the patio areas where a new TV show’s cast and crew would be dinning over the weekend. A short while into the work, Deb turned to me and said in her harsh yet straight forward style she is famed for, in her Maryland east coast accent she has never lost despite coming to LA as a kid, “I gotta end the board part of our bargain. You’ll have to buy your own groceries from now on. And I we need to rework our whole bargain soon. I just don’t see the value of social media for my ranch.”
I could tell Deb was expecting a big scene from me, something she relishes in her cathartic way she provokes people’s issues to the surface. But much as it stung what Deb was saying, I simply shrugged while gathering leaves and said, “OK. Let’s figure something else out, Deb. All I know is I want to stay on the ranch a while longer.”
My simple peaceful reaction to Deb’s words, without debate, was exciting progress for Mr. Debate here. We both felt a thrill in my change of style and happily finished our gardening together. Deb made fabulous sandwiches for lunch to celebrate my victory over anger and ego.
I continue seeing things occurring on the ranch, the world and myself that show me the cure is far from perfected, but I am hopeful that one morning I’ll be awoken again by Ohom’s voice to drink the waters of the ranch and the cure to the human insanity virus, devouring our world from the inside out, will at last be at hand.
From the heights of these pyramids, forty centuries look down on us. Napoleon Bonaparte
By Ken Sheetz
A powerful Shaman told me, in 2011, that before 12.21.12 got here I would do a powerful meditation to correct the energetic geometry of the Luxor pyramid to match that of Giza. Now, over a year later, on June 13, 2012, the time had come to fulfill this part of my mission. Hard to believe it has already been two years now of fantastic planetary meditations to many energetic points around the world- with many more to come, so stay tuned to this blog.
Lynda Valliche
Despite being TSA-worn from the short hop flight from LA, I went straight to the Luxor hotel/casino and met my meditation partner for this DreamShield work, Lynda Valliche. I explained to Lynda what we’d be doing over a coffee in the Starbucks tucked away in the vast lobby. The actress , singer, business woman and healer was enthused to begin and so we headed into the sloped elevator and up into the pyramid.
I had booked a private room, 17-106 (any numerology experts out there?), for the meditation because I knew it would be impossible to meditate in the noisy casino/lobby or grounds of the hotel. Lynda and I chatted excitedly as we made our way to the room across the 17th floor balcony, past the endless inverted rows of rooms. I sensed ET beings taking up positions in each of the hotels hundreds of rooms to power the meditation. The air of the giant hotel was totally electric.
While I used my Mac and Google to research the proper dimensions to make the Luxor an energetic twin to Giza, Lynda took apart the cushions of a lounge chair and arranged a comfortable place for us to meditate, near the sloped glass of the curtain wall.
Ken Sheetz’s natural eagle hair pattern appeared in 2010. I said It’s proved an amazing tool in his meditations.
Soon, Lynda and I were deep in meditation. I held forth my hands to the windows, which floated in the sunlit reflection of the mirrored glass, looking quite alien. I told Lynda I sensed the ET angels in each room putting their hands forth with us. But as soon as I set the intent for the angels to create an energetic match to the Giza pyramid, I felt a resistance to the energetic expansion. After struggling a bit longer with the expansion I described the unexpected resistant energy to Lynda.
A moment later, Lynda’s guides sent her a message. She explained she was being told that the mission had changed, that she and I were now to join the Luxor to a secret pyramid somewhere else in the world. She asked me how I felt about this.
I said it rang true because the eagle pattern that appeared mystically in my hair pattern when I first saw the angels create the DreamShield in Italy in 2012, had begun to tingle. I turned my energetic of the eagle loose and it blazed out the Luxor hotel windows and was quickly in high orbit, scanning the earth at impossible speed. Soon, buried beneath a mountain in China, my mystical eagle located Lynda’s guide’s hidden pyramid. Looking through the eagle’s eyes I gazed upon a giant China pyramid as it glowed with a white energy like the Luxor’s. A shudder ran through me as the Luxor pyramid began adding thousands of levels to its ever-expanding base. Deep into the earth the Luxor rapidly grew, while the pyramid in China did the same. Heading for a collision at the earth’s magnetic iron core.
Soon the two pyramids joined, not in a collision, but gently intertwining at the spinning earth’s core. I felt pure electricity blast through me, but I was unafraid knowing Lynda and I were both well protected by the host of ET angels in the Luxor’s every room and on every new level added to the pyramid. I saw an eagle-eye vision of a new giant diamond that spanned the earth between the opposing pyramids.
The planet size diamond now began to turn and blast out a powerful wave of energy that swept across the entire universe. I marveled at the sight of alien races on many worlds welcoming this wave of new energy. I was delighted seeing our work wash over countless worlds. I was everywhere at once. One with the cosmos, realizing the shift of 2012 is universal and earth’s role far more than we realize in our human form.
The dazzling visions faded and I lowered my trembling hands. After sharing what we each saw and felt, Lydna expressed her dislike for the term “angels”. I explained it was the best term I could use given how similar the ETs that work with me look to angels, except they are 7 to 10 feet tall, blue and have spiked wings that glitter. One can imagine that primitive man would think these ETs angels Gods. The explanation seemed to satisfy her a bit and we laughed it off, hugged good-bye and she hurried off for some fun with family and friends in good old 3D Vegas.
Alone in the room, the sun setting over Vegas, I walked to the sloped glass wall of the pyramid and touched it. My happy face hung suspended in a reflection. I chuckled because I had seen my face like this in a dream the previous week and now here it was. Confirmation. You see, I still have some lingering doubts from time to time about all this vision stuff. The ETs give me these signs, like the eagle on branded on my head, to remind me this all real on another dimension of reality that affects ours. I smiled at my alien-like reflection, amazed how these DreamShield meditations never turn out how I, or in this case a shaman in 2011, might have preconceived them.
And for these surprises in the planetary meditation work I am grateful. The unpredictable nature of what we do keeps us safe from the dark forces who underestimate the power of the work. I love how the element of surprise keeps all this so much fun for me and my mediation teams, from 2 and up in size, that been blessed to be a small, but vital, part of the shift to a gentle 2012.
Before she left the Luxor, Lynda made sure to tell me her guides say that outcome of the Shift is not yet certain. I agreed because this is a free will world and the future has many possible outcomes. But assured her that if we do the work my guides tell me humanity will not fail. Change will come. And it won’t be overnight change like some happy movie ending. It might even seem hopeless at times. But over 50 years, change will come and our world will be saved from our species’ self-destruction. This has been a protected world since May of 2010. The game is over and who knows if the process might accelerate? But it certainly won’t be longer than 50 years, the speed at which a planetary transformation manifests currently.
In one epic dream after the Luxor meditation, I stood in a large group in ceremony at Great Spirits Ranch, where I am based in 2012 and blessed with amazing support. And I saw an old friend get possessed by an alien presence. My old pal’s face filled with black veins and then he assured me in a strained voice, “Everything will be fine. Don’t give up.” Talk about keeping me on target!
Come hear me speak about DreamShield’s exciting plans for a North Pole meditation at our Skywatch event on July 14th in Malibu at the ranch. The event features famed UFO expert Renato Longato with music by Kalix Sky and fire dancing by Mila XStarzx. Sign up on Facebook to reserve your spot for only $33.
Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company. Mark Twain
By Ken Sheetz
The visions here at Great Spirits Ranch continue to astound me. Last night I awoke at 4:30 AM and knew I must do a DreamShield meditation for the next phase of the Shift, a phase we’ve all been waiting billions of years for, since the birth of this universe. And without any “thinking” I knew what I must do: Expand Heaven.
I traveled to the dimension of Heaven in a blink, how I knew the way I do not question, I simply knew. There were gathered a multitude sitting amongst the clouds. I’ve never been to Heaven before so my earthly mind said, “Hmm, people sitting on clouds. Guess the cliches were cliches because it’s true.”
I announced, in a surprising voice that carried to the infinite distances of the tiny point of Heaven, which is a dimension no bigger than a molecule, “On March 12, 2012, Hell was closed for once and for all. Reconstruction of a new inner Earth in it’s place is going perfectly. Now, the time has come to end Heaven as well.”
I could see sadness, but resolve, on the faces of the many beings from countess worlds, and so I added, “Rejoice, for Heaven is to be dissolved and spread. Expanded until its essence permeates all the universe and thereby brings a new Heaven to all.”
And a great cheer rose from the countless angels and spirits. Then, in utter silence we began the work of expanding Heaven from a tiny molecule to a vastness that will encompass the entire universe. The force and energy of the work of the multitude felt like a non-pressure. I was expanding too.
The start of Heaven’s expansion underway, I returned to my exhilarated human body in my RV bedroom at the amazing Great Spirits Ranch. Falling instantly back to peaceful slumber for the rest of the night, I had wondrous dreams of Heaven’s glorious expansion. I saw the divine feminine unfold in its full beauty and power. I saw the masculine become invulnerable to all disease and disorder.
So, if the world seems a bit more colorful and brighter today, your step a bit lighter, thank the higher powers who assure me that when 12.21.12 comes and Heaven is upon us all, “Everything will be fine.”
For more of my vision work please visit www.dreamshield.org where you’ll find PayPal links for donations and links to my blog.
The following vision art is the creation DreamShield.org founder Ken Sheetz. But Ken is only one of millions having visions of other realms of reality. We encourage you to contact us at imagitv@aol.com with any vision art of your own for posting here on our blog.
“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.” – Anthony Brandt
By Ken Sheetz
I write this story, dear reader, as a meditation on where my troubles with women has its roots, in my childhood. Most of my work in 2011 and 2012 has focused on helping heal the divine masculine and the divine feminine by healing my own issues. I encourage you to dig deep into your own past too. We chose all these life lessons for a reason before we were ever born. 2012 is the time to apply those lessons in healing our world from family strife.
THE B & G DETOUR
It was October 1962. I was ten-years-old and sat squashed in a Chevy station wagon along with the whole family. My father was brooding at the wheel over a fight he had with Mom just before we left Milwaukee. Bad vibes wafted in the smoky air of the family wagon. This was to be a happy road trip to our new home in Waupaca Wisconsin. Way up North, Waupaca was to be the place for a fresh family start, but our family “baggage” was coming right along with the rest of the tightly packed 50s furniture and knickknacks Mom collected.
Wedged aboard were my Aunt Katie, Grandma, brother Fred, baby brother Bruce and Mom and Dad. Here’s the song DETOUR that we sung on the ride North many times, not heading the warning of the song on the huge family detour we were about to take in Waupaca.
The world had barely survived the Cuban Missile Crisis. This prompted my pretty Aunt Katie, between cigarette puffs, to say, “If the Russians blow up Milwaukee we’ll be safe way the hell up here.” Everyone laughed. Comedy was our family’s secret weapon for breaking building tension. Tension I lived with constantly that made the Cuban scenario seem as normal as Grandma’s great pies.
I blurted, “Wow, Aunt Katie, if the A-bomb drops tomorrow, we might be the last family left on earth. The you’d have to marry me!”
A nuclear war actually excited me. I had a hopeless crush on my beautiful black Irish Aunt Katie. But she laughed off my dream along with the rest of the family. I often found my unintentional humor got the best laughs as family comedian. Still does to this day. – Don’t laugh!
All the family adults were chain smokers. It was freezing outside the smoke-filled station wagon, winding its way along the old two lane highways of those days. Grandma, a sweet, but tough as nails, little cherub of an Irish woman, would not let me open the window more that a crack because she was afraid of getting sick. Eyes watering, I sucked at the window crack, desperate for oxygen.
Earlier, in the year, the family had come to Waupaca to vacation in the glorious summer. The family swam in the clear lakes and raced canoes on the Crystal River. It was our happiest family vacation because Dad had been sober for three blissful months.
The fun-packed vacation went by fast, filled with some of the best memories of my life. But soon we headed home to Milwaukee as fireflies danced in the summer twilight. We hadn’t driven more than 5 miles out of Waupaca when Dad spotted a for sale sign on a gas station/diner. Before we all knew it, my “get-rich-quick” Dad wanted us all to step out of cozy station wagon and see the run down place. He instantly was full of fresh-start dreams of a new life where he did not have to punch a clock in the welding world.
I hated the odd combo of a gas station and diner instantly. There was an air of malevolence about the cobweb filled place.
“I don’t like it here,” I whispered to Grandma, afraid Dad would hit me if he heard.
“Why?” said Grandma softly, knowing how dangerous our talk was against Dad’s passion for the place.
“Ghosts. Ghost everywhere. And bad things,” I said trembling.
“That overactive imagination of yours is going to land you in the looney bin, honey. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Now shush,” said Grandma quickly and softly as Mom and Dad debated. I’d been told to keep my psychic reactions to myself by Grandma many times, who took on the job of suppressing my supernatural abilities, like a good Irish-Catholic lady, and so I kept my little mouth shut.
Mom was doing her best to argue Dad out of it with her usual blunt style, “Bill, you’re nuts. We haven’t even paid my father back for your Old Smokey’s gas station business in Milwaukee that flopped.”
“This place will make a damn fortune. That’s how I’ll pay Cappy back, Georgie.” Dad said, swallowing his anger by taking Mom into a hug.
“There’s nothing fresh about this dive.” griped Mom.
“Long way from my Milwaukee bar fly pals,” said Dad with his winning grin.
“How many times have tried to quit, Bill?” said Mom, a woman never afraid to say exactly what is on her mind.
“Three months so far. I’m in the clear. This time it’s going to be different,” Dad proclaimed making the sign of the cross over his heart.
“So why here?” Mom said, secretly beginning to dream of a new life with a sober husband.
“Gateway to Waupaca. No other stations for miles. The cheapo sales tag means this place a gift from God.” Dad said.
“I don’t know, son, ” Said Grandma, worried for her boy who always had a way of overreaching himself, and secretly what I had told her about the ghosts here.
“Let’s have a family vote. — Who says we live in Milwaukee where I have to sweat in a factory like a slave all day?” Dad had a way of framing these family votes that fixed the results. But Dad truly sealed the deal for the odd combo restaurant and gas station by naming it The B & G Detour, after his and Mom’s initials. Mom always dreamed of being a star and she loved the idea of her name on a sign, even one in the middle on nowhere Wisconsin.
I relished my time left in Milwaukee, while dad struggled to rent our home on Lake Michigan in Milwaukee. But finally, one sad day, when I came from school while JFK challenged Khrushchev on TV to a game nuclear chicken, I was told by Grandma that we were moving to distant Waupaca. I ran to my room to cry in private.
Mom grew angry as Dad packed up the wagon with Grandma and Katie.
“What’s wrong now?” said Dad to Mom.
“How’d I let you talk me into living 300 miles away from my mom and dad and sisters?”
“Christ. Now you bring this shit up? You only see your family at Christmas. We’ll fucking drive down! ” shouted Dad. Later in life with women my booming voice would echo his in my own fights. I’ve learned to walk away rather than subject anyone to my angry power-voice.
“Not the same as being able to drop by when I want.” said Mom, getting up in Dad’s red-face. Mom was never one to back down easily.
Often Mom’s big, equally dysfunctional in its own way family, were her refuge during the bad fights with Dad that became mutually bloody at times. Something I am proud to have never repeated. Sad thing is that I used to think not beating my woman was being loving. I learned the hard way from many wonderful mated that mental cruelty and abuse is not an actual form of love. Restraint is not love either. Funny thing. An amazing scientist visiting here at Great Spirits Ranch told me last week that I may not have the DNA for a loving relationship. But I know that the work I am doing with DreamShield is going to complete my DNA in this vital area as we enter the Golden Age. The mutant paradigm’s days are numbered. Love is coming to us all.
But I digress. The fact Mom had overlooked being away from her own family refuge until now showed how persuasive my dad could be when he wanted something bad enough to happen.
Mom sulked in the passenger seat as the station wagon drove off through a October snow flurry. We drove all alone in silence on the slippery highways. Pissed about Mom’s last-minute huff, Dad took a swig of beer between smokes.
“You’re drinking again?!” Mom shouted, terrified.
“Just beer.” Dad said as he took a defiant swing in Mom’s frightened face.
I felt Mom’s rising panic in this key moment. Trapped 300 miles from home with a drunken husband was a fate worse than death. Mom’s only response was a deep sigh as she looked out over the snow dusted Wisconsin hills.
“Snow before Halloween. Gonna be a rough winter.” said Grandma, blowing cigarette smoke with her prophetic words.
As I sucked for air out the cracked open window, I had a sinking feeling, watching the demons rise in my father’s soul with each tug of beer. I decided to go to sleep to get out of this family hell and lay my head upon the smoke steamed windows.
I dreamed of a demon Dad who raged at me when the station wagon with bad shocks bounced into the B & G Detour and woke me from one nightmare into another. On this dreary October night it all looked so different from the summer that the family were all in shock. The leaves were turning color on the trees. There was an eery silence as there was no traffic at all for miles on the road where wet snow was melting in orange puddles against the fading sun.
“We’re home!” Dad said, gamely pushing open the restaurant door. A musty stench set us all to coughing.
“Bastards. They left this place a god damn mess.” said Aunt Katie, kicking a Coke can clattering across the tile floor.
“There’s four of us plus the kids. We’ll clean this mess up in no time.” said Grandma bravely.
“Later, Ma. Let’s check out back if the house trailer showed up so we have someplace to sleep tonight.” said Dad.
A few weeks earlier I remember the joy my little brother Fred and I had exploring the double wide trailer home as Mom haggled for a good price. The slick salesman chuckled to my Mom as Fred and I played tag in the spacious trailer with Dad, who hated negotiating. “The trailer comes in two halves. Wide enough for family tag. Fine boys.”
Mom was not charmed as she “Jewed” the salesman down as mom and dad liked to say. It would be high school before I’d know Jewish was a race and not a negotiation term.
The laughter of the slick salesman echoed in my head as we all gazed at our new home in horror. Only half the double-wide trailer was here on the gravel parking lot behind the B & G Detour.
“What the goddamn hell is this? Where’s the other half of the house!” Dad shouted as he yanked on the plastic sheeting that flapped in the cold breeze.
“Don’t pull the plastic off, Billy.” said Aunt Katie. “We’ll need the plastic to keep warm tonight.”
“This is what I get for letting you Jew down that prick salesman. He screwed us!” shouted my father an inch from Mom’s nose.
Mom stood her ground bravely, “You didn’t complain when I saved us a fortune. You’ll see. The rest of the house is coming, Bill. I’ll call the jerks in the morning when they open. You’ll see.”
Looking back on all this I see why I am writing this story, a powerful form of meditation for me. I see the great power of the women in my life, holding my alcoholic father together by sheer will alone.
“Neato!” I said peering through the thick dusty plastic sheeting. “There’s half a kitchen!”
Somehow this broke the tension and everyone started laughing about the rough start to our new life in Waupaca.
After a chilly night’s sleep in the half a home, the family rolled up its sleeves and started cleaning and fixing up the B & G Detour. It was exciting for us all to be working for a common purpose as a family. Soon the old place was looking good.
As family artist I was given the job to paint letters for the new B & G Detour sign. I’m still proud of that damn sign I painted.
After a week of Mom screaming on the phone all day, the second half of the trailer finally showed up and we had a warm and cozy spanking new 3 bedroom house. Life was starting to feel normal. Fred and I started grade school in town. But Fred and I mostly played with each other at recess as the Waupaca kids called us “The kids from the big city.”
Fred and I did make friends with one kid whose dad who owned a carnival that was shuttered up for the winter. Fred and I ran through in the fun house like hooting Apaches. While Fred and our first Waupaca pal chased off through the dark corridors, I stood before a trick mirror and marveled at my alien looking stretched out image.
The Grand Opening of the B & G was coming. I tired to help Dad fix of the garage but I was never good enough for him in that department. So I helped the ladies in restaurant while Fred helped dad set up the garage.
One day, while I was sweeping up the restaurant and laughing with the ladies, Dad stomped in and for no reason started to yell at me. “Faggot, kid. Can’t you do anything right?”
I cringed waiting for Dad’s usual blow. But Mom dropped her mop to get in between us. “You drunk asshole. Stop picking on Ken.”
“Look how crummy mama’s boy’s sweeps!” Dad shouted as he kicked up some dust from a corner I’d missed.
“So damn what? He’s ten! Mom said while drawing me behind her for protection.
“Ken’s a faggot sweeper!” taunted Fred, who got worse beatings from Dad. So he’d take Dad’s side often for self-protection. But I did not know this back then, so my brother’s betrayals always stung and shocked me.
“What the hell’s really wrong, Bill?” my mother said, seeing through Dad’s macho smoke screen.
Dad’s bluster deflated instantly and he bellowed loud enough to rattle the dirty restaurant windows, “Sneaky bastards!”
“Something wrong with the trailer?” said Mom.
“No! I want my money back from the jerk who sold me this dump!” My father said to the greasy ceiling tiles, as though asking God for divine intervention.
“What the…?! We haven’t even opened this “dump” and you’re already quitting?” yelled Mom. Mom is loud when mad, even today, and back then it had a way of instantly triggering dad. But this time Dad was docile, like a beat up dog.
Grandma took my father into her chubby arms. “Don’t get on my boy. Bill couldn’t have known.”
“Know what?” I chimed in, secretly enjoying seeing Dad look so beat up instead of me or my brother Fred for a change.
Aunt Katie wiped her hands on her apron, and she shot me a terrified look to “Shut up!”
“There’s a reason we ain’t seen no customers, Georgie.” Katie said sadly.
“Because you’re all three drinking beer half the day instead of getting this place open?” Mom chided.
“The new freeway.” said Katie, glowering at Mom.
“What the hell’s a freeway?” said Mom.
“A super-fucking-highway. Now this dump really is a detour, ” said my father. His voice ashes.
A vortex of my father’s fear and panic opened right there in the diner. All of us were sucked in except Mom.
“Screw the freeway. Grandma’s pies are amazing. I cook the best burgers on earth. Heck, we’re only 5 miles from town. People will come here any-damn-ways!”
My father was shocked by Mom’s bravery. He whisked Mom off her feet and kissed her furiously. I’ve never been prouder of my brave Mom in that moment.
“Put me down, Bill. We got work to do!” said Mom, loving the respect she was getting from not only dad but his mother and sister.
But the little restaurant and gas station would fail after a futile 3 months. Mom bravely battled on while Katie disappeared with a lumberjack who took Katie off like a to-go item on the menu. I felt so abandoned. My hopeless crush on Katie became my nuclear winter of self-hate. I’d stare at myself in the fun house mirror with loathing that was beyond description and my father’s abusive words echoed in my abuse-addled brain.
Dad lost himself in booze, puttering on few wreck’s that limped into the gas station from town. A town where the two little Sheetz boys from the big city were as welcome as the plague.
Eventually, Grandma’s Irish temper got the best of her when she could not get my dad to buckle down and she left to work at the lumberjack’s camp with Katie.
The B & G Detour truly became a detour to hell on earth. The trailer, half of which did not show up for weeks, where we lived in behind the B &G, was not hooked to plumbing. My brother and I were given the job to dig holes for the sewage. Fred and I were attacked by flies and fire ants as we dug.
One day to our horror as Dad called Fred and me into supper, a supper of half-cooked soup and moldy bread, Dad said as Fred and I waved flies off us, “Eat your fucking food. It’s all we got. You’re damn mother left us. First Mom and Katie and now her. Women are all rotten, boys. Remember that. The bitches will leave you when you’re down. They’re all the fucking same. Useless cunts!” Dad said, pounding the table.
For much of my life I’d secretly feel about women like the words of my drunken father. How silly. Dad was a man-child. To take his words and make them the underlying principle of my life would be like my adult self running my life based on the sage advice of Charlie Sheen. I’m done with his bull. So done. Women are amazing beings who’ve been trodden upon for eons. So they shove back. That does not make them cunts. Sorry dear father, who passed away a year ago, you were wrong to program you boys to hate women for fighting back.
Ultimately, Dad would, by brute force, charm and sheer determination, get the three women back somehow and we all moved back to Milwaukee. But things were never the same after we reached such a low as a family in Waupaca.
But that’s another story. I wrote this blog to help me cleanse the divine masculine of its cycle of hatred of women. I’m printing this out and burning it under the full moon here at Great Spirits Ranch tonight. Who cares who started all this nonsense? It’s time to accept responsibility for we men driving the women insane on this world.
I was having coffee here at the lovely B&B of Terra Sonora’s this morning. Sipping away and looking out at red rock mountains when I heard an angel’s urgent whisper, “Thou must tarry not on the road to Antarctica!”
Media, Meditations & Musings 