Enjoy a taste of the new introduction I am creating with the help of my love and my new co-producer Elizabeth England. I am not sure it’s going to work better than my current version; where you meet Ohom, my inter-dimensional guide from the world Nektar in meditation 11.
I am looking for your thoughts about meeting Ohom in the opening intro to THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12.12.
EXT. OUTERSPACE – ETERNAL NIGHT
We pass through a cosmic cloud. KEN Hi, I’m Ken Sheetz, host and filmmaker of THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12. 12. Strange sound/image.
In earlier versions of this film I worried sharing that my main collaborator on this project — a telepathic space traveler named Ohom, O_H_O_M — might scare some viewers off.
Or perhaps you worry a businessman who’s built skyscrapers and Oprah’s Harpo studios who talks to brings from other dimensions might be perceived as a… what is the human term?
I was thinking more like “visionary”.
First time Ohom ever bugged me was in a yoga hall in Italy in 2010.
Shocked though he was by my 7 foot tall blue skinned insectoid visage —
Actually, Ohom you disguised yourself as a blue angel.
No, Ken. Your mind was simply not ready to accept my highly evolved insect race. So your mind chose a comfortable image for me from your childhood memories as a Catholic.
Yeah, that might have popped my cork seeing you look like a cross between a dragonfly and a 7 foot tall blue skinned human.
The Hopi, Egyptians, Indians and accepted us in many blue skinned forms.
Well, it would take me talking to my friend Barnet Bain, who produced WHAT DREAMS MAY COME and other greats like scientist Patrick Flanagan before I would accept talking to you is a gift not a curse.
Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light. – Helen Keller
Happy Sunday morning. Enjoying my home like it’s a log cabin despite the defective HVAC duct I taped off. Many of my friends are saying “lawyer up” and sue the negligent landlord, because dear readers, I almost passed this week. A combination of my normally manageable sleep apnea combined with the fiberglass I breathed in, painful to expel from my body, to become a deadly mix that almost sent me to work on the other side. I became almost impossible to live with as my fear rose, as a few of my dear friends can attest.
Fear for my own life is not what made me so hard to get along with this week. I have lived a long amazing life at 61. I don’t really fear death. Fact is I practically welcome it as the dichotomy of tragedy like the Malaysian airline shot down this week with the positive changes happening in an awakening humanity are maddening. Rather, I lost faith and feared not being able to do my 50 year mission that began in 2010. What keeps me fixed to earth right now is my selection by ETs in 2010 as a connector to their wisdom and distinct instruction I must live until the year 2040 to help usher in an age of balance of the dark and light.
The air crash had me in tears this difficult week. I posted this to Facebook a few days ago:
How small this world is. One of my fellow SoulDrama trainees of client/friend Connie Miller‘s amazing global workshops, where DreamShield was born in a yoga hall in Italy, was traveling to Indonesia when her plane was shot down over the Ukraine and she perished with 295 others.
Hanny was an angel in training, awakening thousands of souls around the world to their full potential. RIP Hanny and all your fellow passengers. What the dark side cannot know is they have made you even more powerful angel in shifting this mixed up world into the light.
Though I never met you, my fellow Soul Dramatist, I will miss you, Hanny Huntjens.
Then this morning this came through loud and clear that all is not as it seems and I posted to Facebook.
I had a powerful vision of Hanny and all the passengers this morning. As the missile hit, and all was flame, I saw Hanny and each passenger transcend their human form. They became a fire of love and light, no fear as they rocketed for the soil of the war-torn Ukraine. As the passengers, crew and plane itself impacted the earth a shock wave of love and light raced outwards. A tidal wave of peaceful loving energy to heal a land taking this world to the brink of nuclear war. Satisfied their sacred mission was accomplished, all board willed the plane to reassemble into a jet of light and love and they, the new human angels of Malaysia flight MH17, lifted off to their home cities across the globe to comfort the hearts and souls of those they left behind.
About 20 minutes later, in that light sleep stage where the Orion ETs like to reach me before my busy day begins, I was shown the balancing act of my life mission in my existence in an amazingly fast life review. Darkness, even something as dark as Hanny and her fellow passengers and the crew who died transcended the darkness with their light. It’s all cosmic fuel for transforming the word, as was 9/11.
My outlook on all tragedy has changed so much. I bless my bizarre experience with my negligent landlord for showing me it can all be used, like a rope of white light weaving with a roped dark as space. Yes, we must honor our human feelings of outrage and grief that this energetic still needs to happen in this world. But is getting easier for me to accept the pain for its higher end and move on. Come the end of my lease on Halloween, how appropriate, assuming my health has returned that what I will do and bless my bad landlord for his lessons. Perhaps a good PI attorney can transmute it in a financial blessing. So even if I do “sue the bastard” as the saying goes, it will not be done from anger but love and laughter.
So there I am ready to start my day when I release the rage over a tough week and weave it, the rope of light and dark and I see the rope gather into ball of grey energy and from one end a shaft of bright light heads into space, and another dives for the new central core of the planet the ETs, teleported in this busy spirit week to help shift humanity faster, and I see the rope of darkness drop and anchor into the new core. The rope of dark and shaft of light based in Sedona join the 24 twins we constructed in Antarctica. Now I see all the Antarctica meditations are designed to shift humanity’s darkness to light. Like “Greed to Sharing”, coolest ever meditation number 12.
That’s when the angels started laughing at and with me in my bed. An ET angelic chorus of laughter that it took me 61 years to figure this out. I was not embarrassed at my clueless self, as 61 years is the blink an eye to the universe. Heck no! I laughed right along with the ET angels and began my Sunday feeling like a new man!
“Someday, after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity, we shall harness for God the energies of love, and then, for a second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.” – Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
When I was almost 5-years-old my parents sent me off for a Labor Day weekend with my favorite aunt Katie, who was only twenty-two. A striking brunette full of mirth, Katie had been in her teens when she had kids. So, in many ways, Katie felt as much like a big sister as an aunt.
Katie had a new boyfriend with kids too and we all piled into an old Chevy station wagon and drove from St. Francis, a quaint blue-collar neighborhood in Milwaukee, for Devil’s Lake. The way Katie lovingly dealt with her boisterous kids in the crowded station wagon, rather than beatings or harsh words my dad used to create order, was as new and wonderful to me as the alien worlds I would one day as an adult visit on the astral plane in meditation.
Some in the family thought less of the child-mother Katie than me. Grandma Agnes, in her thick Irish brogue, would often criticize Aunt Katie,”You’re raising these kids like a damn bunch of wild Hooligans!”
Yeah, I was happy to be in this fearless new tribe from the car ride on. It was the first time I was away from home. Aunt Katie gave me more hugs and kisses on that 5 hour car ride as I’d had in my whole 5 year life, aside from Grandma’s. As the Wisconsin countryside flew by the station wagon windows I even daydreamed about Aunt Katie adopting me and freeing me from my abusive father and ice-cold depressed mother.
Labor Day was passing as fast as the pine trees out the car windows, like the whole weekend had been that had seemed to pass like a single day in my stressful home. I was doing my best to hide how deeply sad I was that this was my last day with Aunt Katie and the happy kids and cousins before returning to my raging father and the frightened mother who let my father hurt me each and every day lest she share my fate.
Every painful day for the 21 years of my home life, it seemed my father’s only joy was hurting me. Lots of therapy would be needed to overcome this tortured life my soul had chosen to strengthen me for the planetary healing work I would do 40 years later. Yes, I accept my father was doing what my soul had chosen him for. Even if he seemed to a bit too good at his job of trying to break me. Indeed, if you are ever in a jam at the end of the world, a zombie apocalypse, financial collapse, I am the calm cool character you want in your corner. I fear nothing as an adult. So as you read take heart for the brave little Ken’s suffering in this story, He’s far more than he appears. He’s an angel that lit up a dark family and no victim at all.
Sometimes, when Dad was away and I kept my mom company, her little accomplice in a conspiracy to hate my father without his catching on, Mom would see my hands trembling like a Parkinson’s victim and she then always say, “Why are your hands shaking, Kenneth? You look sick and pale.” I really did not know then. Now I know the crushing stress of a crazy father was getting expressed by my body, though my mind was in total denial, both consciously and subconsciously. To my parents, sibs, and friends, except for my tremors, I acted and appeared a happy kid.
It’s part of the reason I am a recovering hypochondriac as an adult. One who now errors on the other side, ignoring health issues until they become life-threatening. Right now I am undergoing a nebulizer Abuterol lung therapy for a HVAC poisoning I let get the better of my health. I got in this 2014 health pickle by ignoring symptoms too long, hating being that sickly young kid staring out the station wagon windows.
Snuggling up to the easy-going Aunt Katie, my hands were steady, my stomach not in a knot. It was bliss for the five-year-old me. Finally Katie’s boyfriend, Rusty for his red hair, pulled the station wagon the Devil’s Lake parking lot and the kids all piled out and ran for the water. But I clung to Katie and helped carry what little things I could. Finally, after this clinging went on for sometime, Katie said, “Kenny, go swim your cousins. Um, Rusty and I have some grown-up things to talk about.”
I didn’t want to leave Aunt Katie but something in Rusty’s eye told me to go. The cousins welcomed me into the lake with splashes and giggles. As I played in the shallow waters of Devil’s Lake, named for steaming springs at certain times of the year, with my now forgotten cousins, I stole some looks at Katie. She was laughing and drinking a Pabst beer on the beach with her boyfriend Rusty. A boyfriend who tried to be friends with me, but because of my dad’s abuse I feared adult males at that time and Rusty gave up on me eventually.
Katie made out with the breast-groping Rusty with a sexy abandon I never saw between my mom and dad, who always seemed more like enemies in a truce between battles rather than lovers. I was, I admit, more than a little jealous of her red-headed boyfriend Rusty, who sported a handlebar mustache.
Some of my cousins and the other kids who were old enough to swim wanted me to go out in the deeper water with them. I watched in amazement how they windmilled their arms and kicked the water and swam like fish.
DARK SWIM LESSONS
My only swimming lessons up to then had been from Dad in our little backyard pool. He’d dunk me underwater and the only way he’d let me up to breathe was a deadly game of breath holding; I had to then see how many fingers Daddy dearest was holding out beneath the water’s surface and stick my arm out of the pool, while my little head was held tight under by his massive welder’s hand that wrapped around my skull like an octopus. Then I’d anxiously wave my arm to Dad, showing how many fingers he was showing me underwater. Only then was I allowed up from the pool to gasp for breath. Then he’d jam me back under for more “swim lessons”.
Once my mom finally said tentatively, “Bill, you’re not teaching anything but to see underwater. What the hell good is this without teaching him to swim? All you are teaching Kenneth is to hate you.” That got mom a beating. She was less helpful after that in questioning my dad’s parenting skills.
To win Katie’s attention back, I imitated what her kids did to swim with the kicking and arm strokes and lo and behold I was swimming! Of course, with only my father’s mean swim lessons, the first wave took me under before Aunt Katie could see how cool I was. Swimming went from joy to terror. I’d only swam far enough to reach the deep water and I sank like a rock. However, my father’s dark swim lesson did allow me a great underwater view of the bottom of the lake I was sinking for. In some crazy way my father’s lessons on holding my breath were my only hope. I kept holding my breath on the bottom of the lake. I could see the splashing feet and arms of my cousins above, oblivious to my sinking disappearance. I tried an underwater shout and swallowed some water.
I felt a strange tingle in my fingers and toes. I knew from my water torture from dad that lying still meant being able to stay under longer and live. Soon, despite and my aqua-man tricks learned under great pain, my consciousness was fading. I pushed off the lake bottom, but it was a sandy muck and I sank again, more out of air. Fear started to leave me as I began to see amazing shapes and colors, like tiny angels and animals in rainbow hues dancing in the sunlight on the lake’s surface above me.
I was fully aware I was dying but no longer afraid. I even calmly thought, “Well, at least I won’t have to suffer Dad’s beatings anymore.”
I had already run away from home a few months earlier. Only a kindergartener, I made it just a few blocks away before Dad recaptured me along with my little bit of food wrapped in a handkerchief on a stick like I had seen done in a 50s TV show about hobos. Dad broke that hobo stick of mine over his knee, like he tried to break my spirit, like the South Koreans he trained for combat as a US Army drill sargeant. “You little fag gook!” he would call me when enraged, forgetting I was a white kid, his kid. Somehow, even his training by the US army could never break my spirit like his recruits. And it frustrated him to no end to his dying day of bladder cancer in 2011.
Death lost all it’s sting. Dad zero to my many victories. I was ready to die, happy in that knowledge that I’d won as life left me deep beneath Devil’s Lake .
The light of the watery world grew dimmer and dimmer when a beautiful woman appeared over me, lighting up the water. Her bronze hair shimmered with an inner golden glow as she floated majestically above me, smiling. As I smiled back she said telepathically, “Ken, do not give up. Help is coming. Hold on, young one.”
I was filled with more love than I can describe at this beautiful face smiling down on me. More love than I had for aunt Katie or Grandma,”Who are you,?” I said in my 5 year-old mind back to her, as though taking telepathically was a normal as Grandma’s amazing apple pies.
The beauty smiled. Her glowing gown of green seaweed swirled as a wave passed overhead. I felt cozy now on the sandy bottom of the lake as a shocked fish darted past. I peacefully began to close my eyes.
The lady of the lake shouted in my mind, “Gaia! I am Gaia! And you must live, little one.”
“Gaia? That’s a pretty name, pretty lady. Thanks but my father is so mean I don’t mind dying.” I said in shame at betraying my father’s dark secret. He beat us all in the family, from mom to me. Beatings were the cost of living in his home where he controlled all through fear and abuse.
“Your poor sick father William knows no better. He truly does love you and the rest of the family,” Gaia said gently taking my little oxygen deprived blue hand and kissing it. Warmth spread from Gaia’s lips through my little water chilled body when a man’s hand reached right through Gaia and pulled me through her body. All went black…
Gaia became the earth. I saw her from space long before the astronauts. I saw galaxies and many of Gaia’s sister worlds. “Come home, little Kenny.” Gaia’s distant voice called to me.
I flew for Gaia’s sweet call back from the galaxies, down to earth and through the clouds. My spirit hovering above, in the dimming Labor Day sky, I saw my little 5-year-old body slung over a tan man’s shoulder. He ran like a Greek god for the shore through the shallow water. The young lifeguard tossed me on the sandy beach where my shocked aunt was yelling at my oldest cousin, “Kenny’s only five! You were supposed to watch over him in the water!”
The gathered crowd to watch, locked in fear of losing one so young as me. I was telepathic to all their sweet concern and it brought me further down from the sky. This was 1957 and they didn’t do mouth to mouth CPR back then. The lifeguard pushed down on my abdomen so hard I felt I would explode the way my father tortured me by sitting on my chest until I screamed and often passed out.
“No. I will not go back to that life!” I said and my spirit turned and flew for the sun.
Gaia appeared in a cloud, blocking my flight and said this time not telepathically but out loud, “Live, little one. Please, live.” Her words and voice were so sweet that I flew straight for the beach without a word and dove back into my body. Water gushed from my mouth and as I choked my first breath. I was back in my 5-year-old body.
I sat up on the beach and the gathering clapped and hugged each other. My cousins danced for joy. I was picked up in the loving embrace of my beautiful aunt Katie. Black haired and blue-eyed like my dad, Katie showered me with kisses instead of punches like her sick brother. “Oh my god you scared us, Ken!” Then Katie added in shame, “Please don’t tell you father and mother about this. They’ll have my hide for almost letting you drown.”
Not knowing what a “hide” meant, I nodded agreement just the same, happy not to arouse my father’s wrath at this kind woman I loved. This I see now was my first enabling of an addict’s negligence. Poor beautiful Aunt Katie would die just after her 40th birthday, her good looks robbed by alcohol and drug addiction. The fate of many in my family lineage. Katie’s loss so young, she should still be here, is one I’ve never fully recovered from. Fighting family addictions that kill people I love is why in 2011 I donated 150 videos, a $50,000 value, in barter for a $500 a month room for a small room in a grungy North Hollywood home, office to Bradley Quick’s beloved Cool Change Foundation. Bradley would be the gateway to my opening to my spirit gifts. It was the best barter I ever made despite the bad deal money-wise it was for me.
Katie was only a 20-something when I nearly drowned that fateful Labor Day and my first meeting with Gaia. Katie and Gaia seemed the same being as Katie wrapped me in beach towels and warmed me with the best hugs of my life. My relieved cousins went back to swim in Devil’s Lake as Katie warmed me fully back to life.
“Here, Kenny boy, get some food in you,” Aunt Katie offered me fresh peanut and jelly sandwich. I gladly took a bite. Food never tasted better before or since, despite a little bit of beach sand that had gotten into it in all the commotion.
“I saw angels,” I said innocently to Katie as I enjoyed the sandwich. The world was more alive than I’d ever tasted or saw before or since. I can still close my eyes and see the sparkle of the sun Devil’s Lake reflected in Katie’s wide blue eyes.
“Angels?” said Katie looking very frightened in a way that frightened me.
“Yeah, Aunt Katie. Little rainbow-colored ones and a big one named…. Uh, named, um I forget her name. But the lady in the lake was pretty like you, but with golden hair and a seaweed dress,” I said like this was a normal as the sandwich I was loving.
This made Katie look even more afraid. “All this stays our secret. You can never, ever talk to your mom or dad about angels or you’ll get aunt Katie get in big, big trouble. Your daddy might even hit me.”
“No…,” I whispered in terror. It was bad enough that I and my brother Fred, who got, I suspect, even worse than my beating by getting sexual abuse, at the greasy mechanics hands of my sick father, were being hurt along with Mom and Grandma. “Not Katie. I never wanted to bring daddy’s hitting Aunt Katie.” I thought. What I was too young to know was this fear was already too late. As my grandfather had died with my dad was only eleven, he had been the “man” of the family for a long time and was giving out beatings since long before I was born to Katie. God knows what else.
“So cross you heart and hope to die the angels and the lady in the lake is our secret, Kenneth?” said Katie, tears of shame in her eyes.
I knew when she said Kenneth, something Katie never called me like my mother did when she was mad, this was serious and so I said, “Promise, aunt Katie, a secret, I promise.”
PROMISE TOO BIG TO KEEP
Sadly, this was a promise I was not able to keep. Not because I was broke my word and told. The near death experience had changed me. I was seeing spirits of dead people and pets and the rainbow of angels everywhere now and talking to them all the time. My parents knew something was very wrong ever since Katie had brought me home. I was a very different kid now.
Eventually Katie confessed her neglect herself to the family in our little living room in our modest St. Francis home. Tears still burn in my heart recalling my father towering over Katie, “You drunken, bitch! You almost killed my boy with your boozing! Now, he’s seeing freaking angels and ghosts? Ken’s a retard now! ” My father slapped Katie so hard across the cheek her head spun.
“Stop, Daddy! It was all my fault! I seen my cousins swim and thought I could too. I, and I promise to get better. Not to see stuff.” I said getting myself between Katie and my dad.
Mom spoke up, something she seldom did when my father was hurling me around like a broken toy. Dad would break my arm a few years later tossing me across my bedroom into bed as punishment.” Leave Katie alone, Bill. She’s sorry.”
My father’s rage swung like a spotlight of evil doom upon my mother now. He raised a hand to strike her for speaking up against him. These family dramas went off like a spark in to firecracker warehouse and went to places no one dreamed. My father’s rage burned in his eyes, a forest fire ready to kill us all, himself included.
A Korean War drill Sargent my father was far stronger than he knew. My worst memory is him kicking my mother in the stomach while my mother was pregnant with my brother Fred. Fred was age two now. Fred cried loudly as my father kicked over a heavy coffee table like a toothpick hat was separating him from my mother.
“Please, Daddy! I promise never to talk to the angels again!” I shouted and jumped in between Dad to shield Mom from his menacing fists.
“Protecting the ladies, huh?” said my father as he backhanded me so hard I saw angels again dancing before my eyes. Blood from my cut lip mingled with the heavy carved maroon carpet up against my nose.
“Bill!” shouted my wise Irish grandma Agnes as she nervously puffed on a cigarette. “Enough is enough, son. I swear to make sure and teach Ken all I learned about the evils of the fairy folk. This sometimes happens when a soul crosses over. But Kenny is back with us now. He’s not retarded, Bill. Your son just needs a wee bit of time and my help to forget the fairies and pixies he’s met.”
Somehow, at Grandma’s profound pledge to break me of seeing visions my father’s rage cooled like an active volcano between eruptions. The women calmed and even my kid brother Fred stopped bawling.
And due to family repression worked upon me of an epic nature, all done from Grandma Agnes’ misguided love, so I have no regrets as it allowed me to enjoy an amazing normy life before my awakening, it would take until this very day, a vision on 6.12.14, eve of a full moon in June of 2014 to remember it was Gaia under Devil’s Lake I fell in love with at first sight deep beneath Devil’s Lake. I keep seeing more and more of mama Gaia since Antarctica 12.12.12 where I share now for the first time she knighted me. I dedicated my life to helping her save the human species, her proudest creation, that day on the stoney shores of Antarctica.
When he’s not meditating and doing planetary healing work Ken is a Hollywood filmmaker with PBS credits on IMDB and the owner of a socially conscious social media company.
Some say he was needy.
Yet Simon McGreidie
Was something far worse.
Oh, the things he’d curse.
Blackness flew from his lips
When not in the chips
Words far worse than foul.
Expressed by a deepening scowl
He wore night and day
When not winning hay.
Young Simone McGredie
Far worse than needy
Has a lovely wife
Two kids, a happy life.
Having it all is not enough.
So he acts mean, acts tough.
He is best in the world
With emotions swirled.
Driven to endless toil.
Until his blood comes to boil.
Don’t be too hard on the lad.
Being number one was all he had.
Taught from age one
To be a faithful son
In the ways of winning.
From the beginning.
A sleeping warrior of hardened steel.
On the altar of commerce did he kneel.
While still in the womb.
McGreidie was already in his tomb.
A slave to the system.
A most willing victim.
Worse than needy
Toils in the Matrix sound asleep
Endless dead work for to keep.
The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. ~Michael Althsuler
It’s 2014 as I meditate in my new Sedona home to be in contact with my 1991 self. I see myself at age 39 working late in my 303 West Madison offices in downtown Chicago on the 19th floor. All the staff has gone home. I’m working harder and longer than everyone as usual.
It’s January 4, 1991. Snow drfits past the big dual pane office windows.
I glance from the windows at an invite on my desk. I’ve been invited to a late New Year’s Eve office party that a competitor property is throwing in the east Loop. I’m debating on going. Parties are not my thing in 1991 or today. My brain hurts at parties. I am a one on one person.
I can see 1991 me gazing nervously across the street at the under construction skyscraper I am the managing partner for, One North Franklin. I am tense as hell because the curtain wall, the very skin of the building is badly behind schedule. I am in danger of losing $ 8 million in guarantees if the building is late in delivery. So 1991 me paces the office like a caged beast.
Back in 2014 I am thrilled to discover this time machine compartment of my brain. One that’s always been there waiting for me to open the hatch and fire it up. I easily read my 1991 mind:
“Damnit. I wonder if the GC (general contractor) is still working? Should I try to chew his ass out now for screwing up my building or wait to Monday?” says my angry 1991 self.
I’ve always had conversations in my mind with myself like this over important matters. — Way before my spirit awakening in 2010 where I met ET spirits that looked like angels in Italy that put me on missions to help the planet through meditation, missions that have taken me as far as Antarctica. — So this seems like a perfect time to answer myself. And the way this works, dear reader, is it’s done in real-time as I type, so pardon my typos.
“It won’t matter. Nothing you do is going to save this project. Go home to your wife and kids,” I say to my 1991 me.
1991 Ken stops cold in his pace of panic, “Where did that voice come from?” 1991 me hurries to door and looks up the empty hallway.
“I’m in your head,” I say to 1991 me.
“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”
“Your wife is right about the working too hard part. But you are not going nuts,” I say finishing a plate of hash.
A phone call from a client breaks my connection to 1991 Ken. An hour later I find in his emerald-green Jaguar driving home to Lake Forest.
“I’m back.” I say in 1991 Ken’s mind almost making him swerve the car off the freeway.
“Who are you and how are you inside my head?” demands 1991 me.
“Who do I sound like?” I say.
“Dad?” 1991 me worries.
“Way off. I’m you, Ken Sheetz 23 years in the future.” I offer gently trying not to sound like the father we both hate for playing mind games with us as a kid.
“You’re me, time traveling from the future like Dr. Who in my head? Ha. Prove you’re me. Tell me something about me no one else could possibly know, ” says Ken of 1991 turning down the Jag’s radio playing the Rolling Stones. ’91 Ken’s free to talk out loud in the privacy of his traveling the express lanes of the Kennedy.
I don’t need to think long and I offer sadly, “You and your wife had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”
“Jesus, you are me. Or maybe just me going nuts. My own voiced aged up in my head,” says ’91 me.
“I can prove I’m real with telling you what will happen tomorrow. Give me a sec to Google January 5, 1991 news.” I say.
“What’s Google?” says ’91 Ken.
“A company that will become to source of all factual knowledge on earth by 2014. I am using it to research… ah, here’s something cool that’s going to happen tomorrow January 5, 1991 that you can use to tell yourself this is all very real, me contacting you telepathically from the future. Redskins 20 – Eagles 6. Redskins win’s final scoring drive is a field goal in the third quarter. And in case you need more proof Randall Cunningham will pass for exactly 205 yards in the game. Impossible to guess that stat.”
“Well, so a future stock on an oracle called Google and the score of a playoff game. Hope this is real,” ’91 me says.
“It is real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer, ” I say sadly.
“What? Am I going to get into a car accident tonight?” shouts ’91 me, eyes darting at the busy Chicago traffic ahead.
“Worse. You heading for the meltdown of your entire financial life. You’ll be returning the Jaguar to the dealer on foot in a year,” says 2014 me sitting at my desk in Sedona feeling like shit and wondering what use it is warning my past self about all this.
“How does this all unravel so fast?”
“A wave of commercial loan failures has the banks taking properties back. By 1994 almost every building in the Loop will have gone back to the lenders. Your building, our building, One North Franklin, we be the pioneer, the poster child, in the banks seizing commercial properties and driving rents into sub 1970 levels. No loan will be sustainable. But since you are the first Barclays Bank is going to annihilate you for their losing $80 million on the project. You’ll be hung out to dry as an example to…” I am interrupted in 2014 by client Nick Edwards who loves calling me on weekends, holidays and evenings. In other words on my time off. Poor 1991 me has to wait 15 minutes for to get back to Ken ’91.
“Sorry, I have a job in social media here in the future. My hours are nuts, ” I say.
“What the hell is social media?” 1991 me says.
“The future. Starts after a dot-com bust of 2000. Only invest in Amazon.com and get some Apple stock. ”
Me in 1991 has progressed to the Edens expressway on the commute home to my million dollar home in the affluent suburb of Lake Forest. A home I will lose in the crash of ’91.
“Why am I’m not working in real estate anymore in 2014?” 1991 says, half glad I am back and half not.
“By 1992 you’re poor as a kid out of college, but brokerage keeps you afloat. By 1995 you start becoming a filmmaker and leave for a life in Hollywood in 2002. You never look back. You’re happy being an artist even though the money sucks,” I say.
“Gloria would never let that happen, ” says Ken 1991.
“She dumps you in 1992 when you fall off the money wagon, with a lot of help from how depressed and angry you are about losing your ass from the skyscraper repo. So you’re free to be the artist you went to college to be,” I say trying to make it all sound wonderful. But I can read the rising fear and panic in my 1991 self, a self that’s still riding high and worth about $12 million at the time.
“This is more than I can handle. I hope it’s my overactive imagination and the Redskins lose tomorrow, ” 1991 me says sadly.
“Seriously, it’s all going to be for the best. You are a great person. You don’t need the Jaguar, the million dollar mansion, the skyscraper, it’s all a trap. You are about to be set free, ” I say brightly in Ken 1991’s sad mind that seems to be filling with quicksand that’s making it hard for me to stay connected to him.
“Bullshit. You’re not telling me all the truth, ” says 1991 me. I forgot how tough and vicious I could be in 1991. I was Chicago’s most ruthless real estate broker. Number one according to the Chicago Sun Times in 1987 and soon to be 1991 developer of the year for building Oprah Winfrey’s Harpo studios while building One North Franklin. No wonder I had no time for my wife and kids. Yeah, I’ve forgotten how super tough I had to be to get to the top of Chicago’s real estate world. And I was driven by showing my asshole of a drill sergeant father I was better than him.
“It won’t be easy for you. Gloria has all the assets in her name to protect everything from the banksters, what we call the obviously fucked up hucksters of finance in 2014. In 1992 Gloria preemptively files for divorce while you separate. She hires the toughest divorce lawyer in Chicago. A ruthless SOB who takes every last dime you have left after the skyscraper goes back to the lender. Worst part of all this is that her preemptive move breaks your heart. You’ve, um, we were sweethearts since college. You don’t see the divorce coming even though you are a ego tripping dick and hard as hell to live with. You end up broke as hell most of the rest of your life after the skyscraper fails, and the divorce hamstrings you, until 2009 when you start a company called BuzzBroz and get back on your feet,” I quickly tell my 1991 self.
“I won’t let any of this shit happen.” says 1991 me bitterly as he pounds the steering wheel. He outweighs 2014 me by 20 pounds and he’s strong as a bull. I’d forgotten how strong I was. Once in a fit of rage I broken a wooden chair in toothpicks with my bare hands..
“You can’t change history,” I say grimly, the voice of my own doom.
“I’ve almost read every science fiction ever written. Using what you’ve told me I simply need to take steps to do things different from you did and presto, new future, ” 91 me says.
“That would mean I wouldn’t do my film career. Wouldn’t become spiritually in 2010 awake filming a SoulDrama workshop in Italy where I saw ET angels that gave me these powers and so I would never be able to telepathically connect to you to share what I just shared. Paradox,” I say.
“So why tell me all this shit?” 91 me shouts. I had a loud mouthed temper back then. Some people think I still do. But I am as gentle as a mouse in 2014 compared to 1991. I am bully at home with my loud voice. My kids trembled in fear of me though I never hit them. My voice was force of nature. No wonder Gloria divorced 1991 me.
“What if when I change the past a new future splits off? No paradox then. You simply become one version of my 2014 possible selves in that scenario,” 1991 me says in excitement, voice tinged with the grace of genius.
“That’s actually quite possible! It’s a 21st century quantum physics theory called multi-verses. Maybe that’s why I called you. To give one of my futures that chance to beat fate,” I say in wonder.
As my savvy 1991 self pulls onto the snowy street of my Lake Forest mansion I quickly add, “Gloria’s a good woman who listens to her mother too much. She’ll stand with you if you’re kinder and gentler with her. No other person you ever date or love is going to click with you like Gloria does. Get out of the skyscraper deal before the spring. Take whatever you can get because or you end up with less than nothing. Get a job in corporate films. Filmmaking in Hollywood is a closed system. You waste ten years of your life out there before waking up spiritually in Italy with the DreamShield and eventually living in Sedona. Staying married might save the relationship with your/my kids, who become seriously fucked up by the divorce. One almost kills themselves as a teen and both never speak to you in 2014,” I say as 1991 me pulls into the driveway.
1991 me is crying now and says, “For the kids sake most of all, thanks for all the info, future me. It rings true. So I’m putting big money on the Redskins to win 20-6 tomorrow. You better be right or I swear I’ll hire a scientist to invent a time machine , find you in 2014 and beat your ass.”
We each have a tearful laugh. My 1991 sense of humor shows the heart is still there and he adds, “With the Redskins winnings I’ll start a small corporate film biz, always wanted to make movies. Our psychic mom always said advertising was what I should be doing. I’ll dump my partnership in the skyscraper to Smeltzer (not real name the guy might sue 2014 me he’s such a dick) who’s always wanted to be top dog.”
“Whoa. Be sure you get that deal in bank first. Don’t give up control to Smeltzer until you do. In my timeline Zeller cannot complete the deal to me for getting out as I started too late in the fall on 1991 but Smeltzer takes over anyways without giving me a penny. Understandable. Smeltzer’s clever. So he won’t be hurt, except for his pride, when the market falls. No bad karma in unloading to Smeltzer. Smart, you 1991 Ken. But don’t be greedy take whatever Smelter offers you. But cash in that bank is king, Kenny boy. Get it from the jerk, or someone else in the partnership, and good luck. Speaking of good luck, call your corporate film biz BuzzBroz. That’s what I call mine in 2009.”
“BuzzBroz, I like this name. Of course I would. I think of it! Any more stock tips or football tips for me about the future?” laughs Ken, chomping at the bit at change the future.
“You already know enough to be a billionaire ten times over. Enough fucking greed!” I say surprised at my anger with my 1991 self. “Greed is killing this world in 2014. Instead use the wealth of your knowledge of the future to help find ways to stop a thing called chemtrails from happening, work on a ending poverty. Be your childhood super hero. BE Superman! — And I do have some better tips for you than stocks. Get some fucking therapy for all the shit we went through as kids with mom and dad. Especially our drill Sargent dad. I didn’t do therapy until after the divorce when I almost killed myself from a suicidal depression.” I say.
“Christ, I hope I can save my family or this gets grim.” 1991 says.
“Yes. Grim than I will share today, but you get through it because you are made of indestructible stuff. Your wife and kids may not be as lucky. One of them almost killed themselves after you got ejected from Lake Forest. So you need that therapy help to save the marriage, to save your/our family. Your/our father really fucked us up BIG TIME. No shame in that. You can be fixed with therapy! An anger guru named Mitch Messer can clear up your anger issues in less than a year. Make you a master of you old childhood rage. Love yourself enough to do that for you and failing loving yourself do it for Gloria and the kids.”
“Ok, Ok, I’ll do it. Mitch Messer. OK. Anger management. I’ll do it. Sheesh. Guess I’m a nag by 2014,” kids 1991 me.
“Fuck you, I mean fuck me. — And change your priorities. Put the kids numero uno. They need you more than you can ever know. You are worthy of their love and Gloria’s. Stop thinking your wife and kids are stupid to love a jerk like you. Family first, that includes our brothers and mom. See less of your father looking for something that ain’t there. He’s hopeless. Never matures to the day he dies. He was born for one thing. To fuck us up. — Learn to meditate. Live from the heart and only take on clients with heart. Our world is dying of a lot things in 2014. Work supporting clients looking to support a better world. Look up a scientist named Patrick Flanagan at a company called PhiSciences and tell him Ken Sheetz of 2014 sent you. He will believe you. He amazing and part of my being able to reach you is from a thing he invented called the Neurophone that boosts IQ. Not a plug. Get one. It will make all this easier for you.”
1991 me pulls into the driveway of my heavenly million dollar home I/we designed personally. Ken ’91 opens the door to the huge kitchen, wondering if it’s too late to save his family life. Gloria and our two kids, Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9, run to the door to greet 1991 me with hugs and kisses. And in that very instant Ken 1991 and Ken 2014 both know that it’s not too late.
I am in tears as I close the blog. This really happened(s). This is not fiction. I save(d) a family. My own.
And I did in time to take my daily meditation hike in Sedona. Peace!
A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others. – Wizard from “The Wizard Oz”
By Ken Sheetz
“The Wizard of Oz” is my all time favorite movie. Last night I had a dream/vision of getting caught like the Wizard behind the curtain. In the dream a vast green screen is a spread across a valley I stand above atop a vast mesa. I am the media Gandalf for an army light workers resting between battles.
A warrior princess I am serving spots the fact I use the illusion of the green screen and shouts,”Trickery?!”
“Yes, and no, fair warrior. The green screen is a portal for those on the web to travel and share in your battles for change.” I say handing her my camera with a graceful bow, “Please, if you’d be so kind as to snap a picture of me stepping from behind the curtain I would be deeply honored. It’s time for me to be seen.”
The warrior princess takes my camera with a wry smiles and says, “I would be honored to capture your magic behind my magic, Wizard.”
“Don’t be alarmed. Flying is quite easy for me.” I say as I step into thin air and float gracefully downward into the valley to a spot to have my photo taken by the warrior princess.
But as I drift to the green screen I find myself teleported aboard a train in the Wild West of the 1800s. I sit down with a grizzled sheriff as the Sedona rocks speed by out the train window.
“Welcome aboard, Wizard. How come you can time travel and levitate, and I can’t do squat except shoot people?” the sheriff says, spitting into a spittoon.
“Make no comparisons, sir. You are right where you need to be. You have greater powers than you know. We are all connected, sheriff.”
SEDONA HEALING KEEPS GETTING BETTER
I awake feeling better than I have in weeks. I’ve been getting out from behind my desk and out of my head. DreamShield’s mission has become less in spirit and more in connection to those around us.
Feeling guided to be stronger in form, I’ve joined a health club and bought a pass for hiking the canyons as the weather here in Sedona cools.
Patrick Flanagan has been advising me on lowering my blood pressure by releasing anger with my father. He’s enjoying the blog about my progress. Over lunch the other day I tell him, “Yeah, my issue is not giving love but letting people love me.”
“No. You don’t do love well either giving or receiving, Ken. Until you release your anger with your father no love will flow.” the scientist says sipping his iced coffee in the 111 degree heat of August in Arizona.
That stings. I feel like I have been giving great love with the videos I make for Patrick. But when I look at it hard, that’s just excellent performance on my part. I do love the genius. But the videos are mostly me performing with the little love I can squeeze out of my closed heart.
FINALLY FORGIVING MY BIPOLAR PAPA
So this past weekend I finally did let of my anger with my father in a personal DreamShield meditation in Phoenix at the dazzling Botanical gardens. It was interesting how sad I was about the idea of releasing that father anger. A sure sign I was truly letting go. After I finished the short ceremony among the cactus in bloom I see how clearly I was holding my father, who passed in 2011, to this world. I freed a soul 30 months in limbo and myself in Phoenix where the new me begins to rise. I ask my father as I finish releasing us both of old rage, “Any last words, Dad? Before you leave?”
The answer is simple and heartfelt in my father’s voice, “I am sorry.” My tears dry fast in the 112 August Phoenix heat and Dad is gone.
The next day I feel lighter in the private dance lessons I am taking from Mica Monet, a healer here in Sedona. She’s a great teacher for this Wizard too often stuck behind a computer and in his head. She also is the first client friend to turn the camera on me like the warrior princess in the dream, though there was no physical resemblance. Her photo of me has become the banner art for my social media company BuzzBroz.com.
The other night after salsa class we had dinner at Enchanted Village, it’s set deep in the rocks of Sedona. I shared that Patrick had out me over the top on her father forgiveness advice. Then I listened to Mica, when I could stop myself from interrupting, an issue I am working on, as the angelic one shared her plans for more dance classes, art, fashion and more. This confirmed my feeling we all need to be doing more in form. The mental part of the shift is passed. It’s time to get real.
ENCHANTED LOVE MEDITATION
After a sumptuous meal, Mica and I do a two person Dreamshield mediation about accepting love personally under the stars and the rocks of the Enchanted Village. I’m happy to have her expertise on the emotion of love with me as I place my hand to the wet lawn of the freshly watered crochet field. Mica has had a rough childhood, like most light workers who choose this in our life contract to make us spirit warriors and wizards. And so she shares the same issues in feminine form as I do.
“Let the love of Gaia flow into you through the earth, Ken.” she says sweetly. “Trust.”
“I’m trying… but my love is still all going outward to Gaia. I can’t feel her love,” I say sadly.
“You are a man. That’s giving energy. Accepting love is harder for males. Don’t lose hope,” Mica says.
Desperate to accept Mother Earth’s love I get down on my hands and knees and bow my forehead to touch the wet lawn. “I only feel a trickle from the flood of love Gaia is sending me.”
“Good start,” says Mica.
“Shit I forgot your leftovers!” I say and run back to the restaurant. Funny way to end a mediation, we both laugh as I run off.
“Meet you back at the car,” Mica shouts after, alone beneath the stars with Gaia. Maybe Gaia wanted some one on one time with Ms. Monet.
GRATEFUL TO ALL MY SEDONA WIZARDS
It’s such fun hanging with such great wizards in Sedona. Even Connie Miller, who been working on helping me forgive me father since 2010 when I first saw angels in Italy, miraculously showed up here for a weeklong SoulDrama workshop in May. Accident? Nah. That’s the magic of the DreamShield I am honored to be custodian to! I am sure she’ll be happy to hear I finally managed the job and took her insights onto my new quantum physics theory of bipolar disorder that just might earn me a Nobel prize one day.
No easy task, as my father made childhood a living hell for me. A sentence of 18 years of daily insanity. I can’t express my gratitude to her, Patrick, his wife Stephanie Sutton, who worked on getting me focused on why I chose such a bipolar father before birth and sweet Mica, all three for helping me heal the biggest wound of my life. It’s been that hard for me. A team of three people working on me daily for six months.
Most of the 44 completed videos for THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS have been filmed on green screen. But like the dream I have stepped from behind the green curtain for this stellar video about Patrick Flanagan’s portable portal, as I fondly call his Sensor V medallion.
Since I began wearing the doctor’s medallion the flow of wealth and abundance has increased. This allows me to do work on my teeth and eyes that need some repair from a 2008 recession that’s never really ended. Man does not live by meditation alone.
BTW, Patrick is also a huge Oz fan. He’s brought the Emerald City to life at Burning Man. No accidents in all this work. I am honored to be the media wizard bringing you his real life wizardry via my magical green screen.
Enjoy this teaser video about the amazing Sensor V medallion. Martian inspired jewelry that’s out of this world.
Special thanks to Somas for inspiring me to get a new lens to capture the wizardry of Patrick’s medallion.
“You matter.” Pepper Lewis, Gaia, from THE BLUE JEWEL
By Ken Sheetz
I was blessed to conduct 24 meditations in Antarctica on 12.12.12. All were done with joy to help shift the negativity of the pole shift into a positive shift of human consciousness. Then I relaxed into 8 days of expeditions on the continent of ice as I began editing on the ship.
On 12.14.12 we had a wedding on the ship of two beautiful passengers who had been rescued from a zodiac trapped in the ice that broke out during meditation 24 that I caught it all on film on 12.12.12.
So much love, so much joy at the wedding that all was well. We partied all night. It was bliss. We danced to songs of love.
The next day the news at breakfast of the terrible grade school shooting reached us in Antarctica on our peaceful ship. There were a handful of Americans aboard, and the rest of us were from 14 countries around the world. All we band of Americans were in a daze.
I was grateful to be so far from the pain of America . I can’t imagine how all of you felt here in the heart of the negativity storm of that time. But the storm grew in my heart. The insanity of kids killing kids!
What the hell was going on? Had my 24 meditations meant anything I wondered as I spent time failing t enjoy the Brit base later that day. My camera broke that day right after I had someone take my picture with a penguin. This was the start of month long string of electronic disasters, including a car’s engine that fried to a total loss on Monday on my way to have myself hypnotized my Peter Bedard. So deeply had my faith in the ETs been shaken I know now I sought my own reassurances not the doubters on Facebook.
Had I entered the wrong timeline? Where the hell was the Ascension?! Two days post 12.12.12 and a school is laid waster by madness?! if this was not the shift it was shit!
So I’ve kept to myself mostly since returning from Antarctica. A fiend’s empty apartment my fortress of editing solitude. I’ve been swearing like a sailor at the littlest things. Angry as a wounded bear.
Even the weather of all America has been Antarctic cold since my return to cool my caged fury. I buried myself in work. Barely eating, down to pennies. I wanted the videos to save me. Surely some answers lay there? Some hidden angel in picture whispering answers WHY!!!
I know now that all the stuff thay began going wrong electronically and more stems from the storm of negative energy I have been processing. I am a powerful tool of the shift and this had become dangerous. I needed to get to the bottom of the barrel. So i divorced myself of every material thing binding me to this world. And the answer finally came today and I finally have some Antarctic wisdom to share about the Ascension and the Shift.
PEPPER LEWIS’ GAIA SETS ME ON THE PATH TO ANSWERS
I began making headway in coping with my feeling out shame and outrage meeting Pepper Lewis, who channels Gaia, and what she had to say to me in this interview at the screening of THE BLUE JEWEL. Gaia loves humanity as her crowning achievement and judges our species as a whole. Despite the horrors of the loss of these poor little kids and the little kids who die everyday from hunger, Pepper assured me Gaia thinks we are a marvel that will one day help not just our world but the entire universe and multi-verse. A far cry from my feelings until that moment. It was life changing to interview Pepper. Perhaps even life saving.
So I’m with Pepper and Gaia. My negativity storm is over. There’s far more good about humankind than bad as a species. It’s important we not overreact in 9/11 fashion. Bullet proof school wear? Yeah that’s out there now. It’s all fear. All that’s holding us back.
NEXT IS A TRANSMISSION FROM THE ET ANGELS OF ANTARCTICA WHO LOVE US LIKE GAIA
Friends, do not be ashamed of yourselves, your beautiful children, your beautiful world. Rather, love yourselves deeply, as deep as your beautiful blue seas.
Accept reality — we speak not of wild conspiracy theories of governments doing something so vile as killing the little ones — but accept that the wild energy of planet in transformation is no easy thing. Accept that you are on a planet in Shift where some people, big or small, are simply unable to cope.
Believe in your power, Believe that the power of the little ones is exactly the same as the big ones, at the soul level.
YOU are ALL, each and every one of you, far more than you know. YOU have ALL chosen how you came to this world and how you will leave this world. This is a hard thing to accept. Surrender to the fact life is a mystery and that negative and positive energy will always co-exist.
Be of great joy you are making the Shift and we are so proud of all you, big and small.
We are One!
The ET Angels of the DreamShield