On just his second day in office, before our two person meditation team even left Washington DC, Trump signed an executive order resuming work on both the Keystone and Dakota Access oil pipelines. He did so without so much as a mention of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe at a North Dakota site whose lands and waters may become forever poisoned by this decision.
As backers of the water protectors, we at CoolestMeditationEver.com are outraged Trump began his presidency in such a disrespectful fashion. Despite all our good wishes for his becoming a successful president in attending his inauguration, our meditation team was thrown for a loop by his support of the oil industry over treaty law.
We sought cosmic guidance in many meditations upon our return to our base in Sedona Arizona. Still, our spirit guidance remained clear — transmute fear centering around Trump, a thin-skinned man with his finger on the nuclear trigger, to love. We were reminded daily by spirit, during Trump Twitter fits and his Muslim ban, that this transmutation is ALL we are to do through Trump’s first 100 days, daily, and then intermittently for his entire presidency.
No matter how distasteful and scary we sometimes find the meditation work to offset this man’s potent energy, even when he seems at times unhinged, we must and will carry on. Your support with both your donations and in spirit joining in the intention to shift fear to love is so appreciated and far more important than you can know.
It’s been explained to us by our spirit guides that the USA as the #1 consumer and polluting nation–an invisible empire fueled by corporate greed, lust for oil and war–must be shifted to the light if humanity is to survive.
We must surrender to the fact that, for however how long he lasts in office, the universe selected Donald J Trump to be exactly where he is currently — stirring the pot. Indeed, in the face of so many bizarre lies from the Trump administration, including a flat out effort to curtail if not eradicate the free press–a valuable freedom ever with all it’s faults–we are seeing a renaissance of protesting and activism. For in every action there is an equal an opposite reaction.
However unpleasant and painful Trump’s time in office is to we who love mother earth and all her creatures great and small on this precious blue world, we must hold the space that LOVE TRUMPS HATE.
Deep thanks to all who have been contributing to our Indiegogo that has paid for the trip to DC and our initial filming. Our next phase of the work is to interview conscious leaders about how to cope with the fear field Trump engenders and to meditate for solutions.
Please contribute yourself if you like what we are doing to bring hope to a hopeless seeming situation at LOVE TRUMPS HATE. 3 days left of the campaign as of this posting!
As some of you may know I’ve been seeing and talking to the dead since I survived a NDE at age 4. Since my visit to the other I gained an ability to see and speak to those on the dearly departed. This is a very special tribute, directed by Robin Williams’ spirit, or at least the very much alive spirit of Robin’s that lives in my heart.
Many times, throughout my whole life when a major figure dies, I get paid a visit. It’s happened with Marilyn, Elvis, MJ and Abe Lincoln’s powerful spirits. Abe’s becoming a 2009 hit web series on YouTube ABE LINCOLN IS BACK. It’s only recently I’ve accepted all this as more than my vivid imagination.
ADDED AUGUST 18, 2014
PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51
By Ken Sheetz
In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts. I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully. I love my little used Jeep, my first car in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991. I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.
I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before. Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.
The Orion Ohom informed along the way that Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria. To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.
I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence. I tiptoe past a sleeping guard. I’m in.
I crest a rocky desert hill. Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid. It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy. Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?” I say. “You in there, buddy?”
“Psst, keep your voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then getting sucked back in.
I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor. This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings. I’d give you a link but stick with me. No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.
As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged. Overwhelmed by deep sorrow. Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears. The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone I see as a nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood. I become confused. Lost. Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.
I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus and more and more. My father’s red armor begins to spark and short out. I trip and fall face first to the desert floor. Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear. I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.
I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy? You OK, bud? Sorry. Wow. What a rotten way to start a Monday.”
I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my face, tender to the touch. This virtual world is a well organized paradise inside the spirit HARP. Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia. No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems. “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection,” I groan.
“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” urges Robin, helping me to my feet.
Looking for some kind of exit, Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk. The sunset is dazzling. I whistle at the beauty all around us.
“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard. The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.
“Yeah, let’s keep moving. Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.
“Sorry about you dad’s super suit. Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.
“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.
“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.
“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.
“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville. Oh, wait… Forgot to cut my earthly tether. Yikes. I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.
“My fault. Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground. “Happy to see you again, man! Watched you in HOOK with my last night. Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.”
“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.
“For what?” I say
“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.
“I did not faint. Women faint. I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.
“Whoa. Relax, man. This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost hope and change agenda. We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise. Coffee sucks here, BTW. Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup! I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.
As I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time. Change to yourself age 8. I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”
“Uh, not really, uh, time. Busting you out of here now before — “
“Go ahead. Try, Ken. Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye. Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.
I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.
“Spiritual impotency alert! AGH! AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.
“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.
“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench. “My lap is safer than Santa’s, Come on. Up!”
I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me. With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life. A spirit daughter is rare. Appreciate her without smothering her. Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”
I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick. “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.
“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not. He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken. Genevieve’s not your
“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.
“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.
“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head. Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes. My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering. Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.
Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!” Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me. I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.
“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.
“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.
Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin. He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl. I spin around. “Oh no…” I whisper. My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.
“Hey, you little shit. Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words. He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.
I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan. “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin. But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.
“Don’t leave me with my Daddy! He will hurt me! He’s mean! Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.
Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.
“No! Peter Pan please. Fly me away to Neverland with you. My papa is mean. He’ll kill us both!” I beg.
“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you. Your pops is an abusing jerk. I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work. Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.
“NO! NO! My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me. I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close. I puke again on the manicured lawn. The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.
Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You! You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your. You sir are a bad dad!”
“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights? Whatcha gonna do about it? Ken’s a rotten kid. The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.
“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?” As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.
My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”
But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”
“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly. My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.
“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind! Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.
“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.
“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,” kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.
I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.
My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest. “Huh? Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned. He looks at me as if wanting help. But I am a helpless child again. Watching two people I love fight. My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.
“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed. I am going to gut you like a fish! I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you. Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”
“Hello, little Kenny? A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.
“Can’t. Can’t help you, Peter Pan. I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.
“Hello, Little Kenny! Then ain’t it time you grow up? Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.
Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide! Williams shouldn’t be here. Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man. This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.
“I loved Robin’s movies. He died of depression. No different from someone dying of car crash. This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.
The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”
Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me. Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth. Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.
I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history. I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”
My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur. Every woman leaves you. And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces? Me! Ha! You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you? You make me sick, boy.”
“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook. Thanks for all you’ve done. I’m grateful, Dad. You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro. But I felt your love, your loyalty. Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.” I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.
“Growed up? Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50? That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy. You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes. They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance. Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.
“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love. I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.
“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two. But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head. I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.
Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo! Sheetz is all grown up. Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”
I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig. Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts. Today, I am proud.”
My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth. And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace. For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.
Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture. A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot. I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver. Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle
“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide. So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now. My father nods “yes” respectfully.
Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”
“What do you say, Pops? My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.
“I like it here, Son. Fought in Korea to create all this perfection. Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world. A blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.
“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me. I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore. Lost myself in the booze and drugs. I miss my wife and kids. My fans. Help your son. It’s time we started over. And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.
My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer. Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations. One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.
“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly. He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.
“For my birth daughter Janelle who has not spoken to me in 3 years, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.
“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.
Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us. His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light. Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa! For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”
Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”
“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.
Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy. We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel. Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”
“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!
A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base. My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP. The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.
“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out. “Uh, sorry. Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”
“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form. Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.
“What make you say that? Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.
“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids. And more importantly, our inner kids. That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.
“No arguments here, Robin. Well, I guess this is goodbye. Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.
“Agh! Not yet. I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy. So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight. We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.
A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.
“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name. Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, I hope you’ll finish your LA life and join me in Sedona some day. Don’t forget Ohom says you are my perfect mate.” The giant blue whale vanishes.
Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan. “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion. I said it knowing my spirit daughter Elizabeth and I will meet again and share many adventures.”
“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.
I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it. Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello. I’m cool now.”
Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51. Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”
“But I have work to do today. Tax reports need –“
“Time is not linear, Ken. So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.
I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.
RIP ROBIN WILLIAMS 1951-2014
AUGUST 15, 2014
I am at a local coffee shop called Bad Kitty in Sedona and the spirit of Robin Williams has dropped for an interview!
ROBIN: Hi world. It’s me, Robin. Or least Ken’s memory pattern of me. You decide!
KEN: Robin, great directing me in the spoof poster (left) yesterday. You’ve still got the magic touch.
ROBIN: Thanks, Sheetzy! Nice colab. I promise to keep haunting your ass!
KEN: Some people are saying you’re in hell. Was the poster a message you’re really in heaven?
ROBIN: Hell no! There is no heaven or hell. I was in heaven. That’s what earth is. Tell you a secret, Sheetzo…
KEN: What, Robin?
ROBIN: I collabed with you on the poster as an FU to that slob Limbaugh! What a waste of radio waves that fat jerk is!
KEN: I love the poster even more then, Robin.
ROBIN: Enough about super-losers like, Rush. I want to say something to my wife; Oh, Suzie Q, I am so damn sorry, baby. We’ve been on so many great trips but this was one I had to go solo on, darlin’. I want you to know I am always with you, honey lamb.
KEN: Aw, Robin, hard for me to type through the tears.
ROBIN: Buck up, Sheetz! I need to say something to my kids.
KEN: Of course. Go ahead, Robin.
ROBIN: Zelda, Zak, Cody, oh, how I miss you all. If it helps, my leaving has ended my pain. It’s kind of like WHAT DREAMS MAY COME over here only no hell. You can eat almost anything. Feels very light headed over here. No judging jerks. I’m viewed no different for dying of depression that someone dying of cancer. Ain’t that cheery?! Ha! — So no rushing in to save me because there’s nothing to save me from. I live on in your hearts. You know that and it makes me glad. Makes me so proud of you, my ZZCs. Please tell your poor mom I am more than sorry it never worked out of us. But we made you and that’s always going to be our best thing we both ever did in life. M put up with my high highs and low low lows for a long time. She deserves a freaking super hero medal!
Robin sits quietly across from me drinking in the sweet Sedona energy and nods to add…
ROBIN: To my fans, I miss being alive! To live, ah the good times we had. I felt your love for so long. Feel it still here where I am munching on a hedge. I know some part of me lives, the silliest and best part of me, on and on your hearts too. Maybe too much. Take it easy. I was just a comedian, a trickster, for Christ’s sake. Please, don’t follow my lead. Get help when you get too blue. Hey that’s a poem. Ok, Ken, thanks for this, fantasy or reality, who gives a nano of a nanoo!
KEN: My honor and pleasure. Where you off to, Robin?
ROBIN: Got an appointment with a flock pigeons.
ROBIN: Yep. Guiding the flock to poo all over Rush Limbaugh’s freshly washed car! Ciao, all! Muaah! Muaah! Muaah!
Robin vanishes from the chair. The sound of a flock of pigeons fluttering off with Robin as I finish my coffee with a chuckle. Well, friends, you deicide if my encounters with the spirit of Robin Williams are real or not. You see, I’m not really sure myself. Typical me if you follow my work. I’ll never be 100% sure of my gifts I see. But I now see that not-sureness is a gift that keeps me humble and grounded in the real world. My unsureness is a tether to keep me on this side. Yes, I’m just happy to be half way sure these days after a lifetime of suppressing my psychic gifts.
AUGUST 16, 2014
I work early this Saturday morning and rolled over in my bed to see what the day was going to be like. There, on the pillow beside me, was the spirit of Robin Williams starring me in face with big grin.
Robin said, “Gotta do something about your snoring of, Sheetzo, or you’ll never get laid again!”
I laughed, overjoyed to see Robin was looking young and spry like his “Mork and Mindy” days.
“Let’s do a meditation. The guys on this side say you rock the cosmos for a human,” said Robin sounding a bit anxious I might decline.
“Absolutely! Close your eyes, Robin,” I said.
“Do I still have eyes to close?” said Robin slapping his cheeks. “Okay, felt that. Here goes.” and Robin and I closed our eyes in unison.
“Hang on. We need to leave the planet for this one. I need lots of space,” I said confidently. Robin groped the bed sheets for my hand. “Watch it, Robin. That’s not my hand!”
“Don’t blame me, Sheetz-a-rama. You said to close my eyes before we got all touchy feely!” said Robin with a chuckle.
Finally Robin and I managed to clasp hands. They were hairy hands. Strong. “Ease up on the grip, Robin. You won’t fall.”
As I said this we rocketed through the roof of the troublesome but beautiful place I rent in Sedona. Robin screamed in that hilarious way he has in so many movies in genuine shock, no acting here.
Soon we was broke free of earth’s atmosphere. I gazed at the sun and flew for at five times the speed of light. “You’re heading for the sun! We’ll be burnt alive. Oh wait. I’m dead… Proceed, Sheetzy!”
A black square opened in the face of the sun. “Potal. Hang on, Robin!”
Robin screamed like a banshee as we rocketed one million times the speed of light down a worm hole. I’ve done this before over countless lives I could now recall and simply yawned.
We shot from the worm hole and were surrounded by total blackness. Robin kept screaming while I patiently waited for him to chill like me.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Total nothingness! Where the heck are we, Mr. Sheetz!” shouted Robin.
“Right where we need to be, outside our universe. I said we needed space. Didn’t I?” I said calmly to Robin,
“You didn’t say EMPTY space!” said Robin, so freaked out he’d forgotten he was dead as I scanned his mind with mine. Which was a good thing. I wanted that for him.
“Okay, are we done freaking out now, Robin? Let’s do some magic. Look closer at the darkness. See? It’s filled with energy,” I said as now bright splotches of every color of the rainbow, densely dotted the infinity around us.
Robin calmed and whistled in excitement.
“Now, concentrate. Let’s pulls all this light and energy to us.” I said holding forth my hands. Robin copied my hand gestures. Colors, of a spectrum far greater than the human eye can see, stretched for us and began filling Robin and I with light and energy.
Soon a ball of light was all about Robin and me and he said, “Wow. What the heck are we doing, Ken?”
“Watch.” I said a bit amazed I knew exactly what I was doing as effortlessly as making a morning coffee.
The ball of light became a world. Not your typical world but a world filled with a huge green hedge of mazes that circled the globe. I willed a large plaza to form on the surface.
Stellar gasses ignited and the maze world saw its first sunrise. Robin’s mouth hung open in childlike wonder. And before he could ask another question I willed us into the plaza. Birds sang in the dawn light.
Robin opened his mouth to speak. I held a finger to my lips for him to be silent. A young woman with daisies in her hair exited a section of the vibrant lush maze hedge.
Tears poured from Robin’s cheeks as he dashed across the carpet of flowers and grass for the young woman shouting, “Zelda! Oh Zelda!”
Robin and his daughter met in loving embrace in the middle of the plaza. Now Robin’s sons Zak and Cody, his wife Susan and ex-wife Marsha ran from various maze points and joined the joyous reunion. More family and friends, some very famous, joined the growing throng of love.
No one remembered Robin was dead, not even Robin. All that existed was love outside the boundaries of time and space and deep sense of reunion. This was our gift to Robin, me and Ohom my higher ET self. Ohom let me do all this. The very first solo use of manifesting powers at this level to create this planetary maze for an amazing world of peace and love. A fresh new world for Robin and all who love him.
Millions of fans of Robin were streaming from the maze exits and I willed the biggest stadium ever in existence into reality. A stage of paradox with millions of people who all had front row seats to watch Robin reunite with his current family, his long dead family and those yet to be born, into infinity.
The audience began to chant, “Robin, Robin, Robin!” Robin seated his family on the stage and took a microphone I gave him. More and more stars were appearing in the sky above us which had no atmosphere. We had no need for air here. Not while a new universe was being born.
A spotlight from the top of a maze hedge lit up Robin, sporting a rainbow-colored shirt and silver baggy pants.
In my home back in Sedona I was no longer me. I was gone. I was Robin and I chose to sit on the edge of the stage, which was also the edge of my bed. Everyone’s love for me was overwhelming. I, Robin Williams, the man who had a wisecrack for everything, was speechless.
My microphone began to glow with a golden white light. I pulled it to my lips, but no words came. So I said to myself, “Go with it! Mime time!”
I floated above the love gathering. So much love! I released a billion white butterflies of light, one for everyone here on planet maze. Laughter and applause echoed through the new universe. Robin beamed a bright smile and resisted words to the end, just soaking in all the love and light.
I opened my eyes in Sedona. Ken again. And proceed to the kitchen, light as feather, to make coffee and started my Saturday with my guest Genevieve and Hanny, who were here to take a visit to Angel Valley with me today to walk the labyrinth for a http://dreamshield.org/ meditation. A meditation that turned out to be the conclusion to a planetary meditation I’d stated in 2011 in Nashville to end addiction on the earth. I felt Robin with me in the maze whenever I goofed around.
A fitting thing on a day when I hope I helped Robin’s spirit find peace and he helped me in ending addiction that’s torn apart of father and brother. Hoping it was enough to help him on his way and give peace to his loved ones. And hoping that Robin won’t be waking me up in my bed ever again!
SUICIDE AND THE AFTERLIFE
There’s been a lot of judging by the religious of Robin’s needing to end his life. On Friday I unfriended a religious person who reacted vehemently to my poster I did for and with Robin. The reason being they could not let go of judging Robin as unworthy of heaven. I let this pass for the first round of comments but then they returned with a snide inappropriate comment. I don’t mind some healthy debate in the proper forum, but I could see my modern paradoxical way of thinking was only agitating this good person so I ended the FB friendship.
That FB thread is not a place I choose to tolerate old belief system judgments or any kind of wisecracking that’s Rush Limbaugh-like in it’s level arrogance about matters none of us really know about. The religious are free to have their opinions on my pages as long as they acknowledge they don’t really have the answers and operate in mutual respect here. Probably it is unrealistic of me to expect that of the religious minded as they are locked into the old ways with years of mental conditioning. Still I send the person I unfriended here in the middle of the night love as send them on their way. Indeed, my modern beliefs more closely follow those of my friend Dannion Brinkley, who has survived many near deaths and seen the other side. Dannion told me in after a 2012 interview I did of him, wish I had that part on camera, that there is no shaming or special penalties for suicide victims in the afterlife.
However, suicide does, according to Dannion, and all we know is no one really knows, mean you must relive your life over again after a nice rest and repeat the lessons of your karma. That’s a lot of incentive not to take your own life. I sure wouldn’t want to repeat my past again. But Dannion says sometimes a soul like Robin’s simply becomes too overwhelmed with pain and they use their free right to end their own suffering. And of course the hardest part of it all is the pain suicide inflicts on those left behind. In Robin’s case he left children and a wonderful wife behind who are suffering terribly. His pain had to be enormous to take the exit door.
Robin’s depression was paralyzing for him to not to be able to avoid inflicting such pain on his loved ones. If there is a heaven – and, again, no one really knows in fact if there is or is not, despite what some religious people are preaching as they judge suicide Robin’s crime as punishable by an eternity of hell – in Dannion’s viewings of the after life he saw, no one takes the hardline and judges suicide as evil. Indeed, the suicidal depression that killed Robin is viewed in the afterlife Dannion saw as being no different, and with no less love and compassion, than is given for someone dying of plane crash.
I like that. It fits my intuitive belief of life a universe like the animal kingdom of non-judgement. We are the only shaming species. In fact Dannion says there is no hell at all. What does happen is you have a past life review and must relive your life through the eyes of those you caused to suffer before you can go onto the next life to relive your karma. So if you murdered someone, for an awful example, you are going to suffer that murder yourself and feel what it was like to be killed by your old self. Robin’s case is special. Applying Dannion’s beliefs, Robin, so connected to so many who loved him will be reliving millions of lives of hurt fans he left behind in addition to his close friends and family’s lives. That’s going to be long and painful journey for Robin, if Dannion has it right. But Dannion explains that’s why time is eternal and non-linear.
Well, an amazing thing is happening with Robin’s passing. For the first time talk of suicide is in the open. In the end that’s healthy for us all. My wish for Robin is that he gets to live that next life without the manic depression illness that caused him so much pain it led to all his addictions and yet that he – or she as the case may be next go around – still be as brilliant an entertainer.
I’ll keep you posted about more encounters with ETs, the dead, Gods and Goddesses, right here. Bottom line, there’s way more to the universe than what we can see and touch.
HOW MY PSYCHIC GIFTS HAPPENED
Here’s my video about how I got my gifts to see more than the average bear.
“All men are caught up in an inescapable network of mutuality.” – Martin Luther King
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
The conundrum for the New Age 2012 community is that many believe humanity must vibrate this world to a new level through the power of love for all. But how to love a guy like Osama bin Laden who killed so many innocents and set off 10 years of war that led to countless other losses around the world?
I wonder if MLK were alive today, what the great compassionate man, who so many on Facebook are quoting for his disdain for celebrating in the killing of another human being, would have to say about Osama’s death and the joy it is bringing to so many of us. We’ll never really know.
A year ago, when all my unexpected and un-looked for spiritual work of 2012 started in Italy, I asked SoulDrama founder, Connie Miller, how a good people like the Italians ended up siding with Hitler and the Nazis. She wisely said, “The brighter the light the darker the shadow.”
Under this premise, the Muslim world’s bright light may have produced Osama and the terrorists. My joy is that America and the Muslim World both have our freedom again, freedom from Osama’s shadow.
Please give on the Paypal donation tab on the bottom of our official home page at DreamShield.org to help us keep doing these vital meditations.
“The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream.” – Jack Kerouac, On the Road
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
Mt Shasta lay under heavy cloud cover and a blanket of fresh snow for our entire visit. The reason many UFO experts at Mt. Shasta had speculated, if speculated is the word as these light workers show no doubt when they speak of UFOs, was to hide the many spaceships that were convening for earth’s formal admittance as a protected species of galactic society.
So on the way home that December 23, 2010 it came as no surprise to all in our minivan of light workers that the Winter Solstice moon appeared soon as we were a few miles out of town. How happy were we? Looney happy. Take a look and listen.
Part of all this joy was we had not not slept in back to back meditations at Mt. Shasta that had an all night driving session in a blizzard as its prelude. The joy of it all kept me from feeling exhausted, that and lots of Red Bull. Yeah, we were looney for good reason.
As we got back on 1-5 and everyone fell asleep for the all night drive home, I had some time to reflect on one of my dreams while staying at the Dream Inn BLOG POST HERE. In the dream I am Ohom a 7 foot tall blue angel. I fly in for landing before the Galactic Council beneath Mt. Shasta. I plead the case to remove the MERLIN code on earth. Yes, Merlin was not a person but a brain scrambling program that I, the Ohom me, had designed.
M.E.R.L.I.N.: MIND -ERASING -RANDOMIZER – LINEAR – INFINITE – NULLIFIER
Yes, I was the laughing stock at the Galactic council because I in fact had created the Merlin code and then forgot that I forgot. All this before I created MERLIN and all the other earth blocking chakrah’s myself in another incarnation, an alien one.
MERLIN was the key, if that could be unlocked then the rest of earth’s chakrah’s would follow and humanity would progress to a gentle 2o12.
Random stations began to pop on and off and snapped me out of my dream memories. Sarah Larsen woken to the odd radio mix.
“Sorry, want me to turn off the radio so you can sleep?” I asked sleepy eyed Sarah.
“No. I think it’s a UFO message!” said Sarah, now wide awake with excitement.
“From the ETs?” said Sarah.
“More like a broken radio,” I grumped as I downed some Red Bull.
“No look at the radio control. They’re codes,” she said pointing at the radio.
“Hmm. I was just thinking about how we need to crack that Merlin Code dream I told you about when the radio went nuts. This is your family minivan. Has this ever happened before?”
“No! I need a pencil! Some paper!” said Sarah digging through her big purse.
Now, something like the Merlin Code is cool, but what I find even more amazing is how women can dig in their big purses and find things. Sure enough Sarah found something to write with and began copying down the codes on the radio.
“What was the first word of the Merlin code?” said Sarah as the radio played bits and pieces of various songs that were making sentences.
“Wow. I’ve had too much Red Bull. These songs seem to be making a pattern.”
“The first word?!” Sarah shouted in her excitement.
“Mind. ” I yawned.
“Are you sure you’re OK to drive?” Sarah worried.
“Red Bull’s kicking in. Wow, if I were alone I’d think this radio thing was a too much sugar and lack of sleep hallucination.”
Numeric and letter codes flashed across the radio dial. Songs from retro 50s to dance electronica popped up in random order with that made so much sense in the context of this work that I laughed. One string of songs sang in code,”Love/forgotten/hidden stars/human races/I am a butterfly.
“M-I-N-D… ” Said Sarah counting the numeric codes.
“What are you doing? Matching up the codes to the alphabet.”
Dr. Sarah worked on the codes for the next half hour, carefully matching and mixing words and letter.
“Got it, the first unlocking “spell” spells ‘MEMORY'”.
“Makes crazy sense.” I said shaking my head in disbelief. ERASING is next.”
Another hour of codes on the radio and frantic writing Sarah had the counter code and giggled, “E-N-E-R-G-Y!”
“Wish I had more, ” I said tugging back on more Red Bull. I was wishing we had some budget to stay an extra night at Shasta rather than this crazy all night drive.
The next one, the scary one that came up the Merlin Code sequence was RANDOMIZER. The time Randomizer was the tricky one that my dream Ohom self had used to make it humanly impossible to solve Merlin without help when the for gentle 2012 had arrived. Help like the code that was coming in on Sarah’s minivan radio.
I explained to Sara, “The RANDOMIZER keeps humanity from uniting as each day at sunrise before we wake when it scramble time and people like eggs. One day you go to sleep as Bob in 1952 and next day you wake up as Marsha in 1602. That’s messed up. Nice work, Ohom. My other self was one clever bastard. Billions upon billion of split time lines converging and emerging to scatter humanity.”
“Yes, ” Sarah said, “There have been countless time loops leading to this moment. But always when we would get close to solving the Merlin code the RANDOMIZER would scatter our light worker teams and we start over, go to before 2012 to try to get it right.”
I decided to swallow my disbelief in UFOs and help the doctor by sharing this crazy story of the Randomizer. “Sarah, if we don’t solve the Merlin code by sunrise we are going to forget everything and be Randomized again.”
“Let’s keep working!”
Two hours later of the UFO broadcast of symbols and songs Sarah had another the RANDOMIZER code breaker. “Reality!” Sarah shouted lous enough I shushed her for the sake of the sleeping Dream team in back.
“I’m getting we need to recite these words to break the code a sacred spot once we have them all. But where?”
It will come to us. Let’s keep working. What’s the next word of the Merlin Code?”
“Well, this one’s easy my heart says it’s LOVE.
“Too easy?” I worried she had used the same method to solve the code as the other words.
“Love is easy.” Sarah giggled,
“Never has been for me.”
“All the more reason I know LOVE is right.”
INFINITE was next and it took a couple of hours that seemed infinite as my Red Bull was wearing off and this was all starting to feel like a silly kids game to my inner cynic that believes none of this. My ego was taking over, as Laura De Leon of Mystic Muse keeps telling me. The ego fights for its story of a conventional world versus the world of the unseen. How I wished Laura was with us now to work this out. But she had passed on the trip as she was not feeling up to the outdoors of winter at Mt. Shasta.
“IMAGINE!” squealed Sarah like a kid holding up her scribblings from the radio codes. A psychic and 3rd generation palm reader Sarah was full of boundless energy for this sort of work.
“I’m amazed I’m not sleepy.” we crested the road down to the Simi Valley into LA and the lights of the city sparkled beneath a sky beginning to brighten for day. Time was running out to solve the code. “Last word is NULLIFIER.”
“Normalize, ” said the doctor as we made our way through the city to drop off our first passenger in Passendena.
“The Rose Bowl. I think that’s where we do the mediation to unlock the code.” I said.
“Why there? I thought the beach in Santa Monica would be nice.” Said Sarah, finally yawning now that the codes had been broken.
“Because that’s where the guy who hitched a ride back to LA is from Passadena and we’d never make it to Santa Monica before the suns comes up and we Randomize,” saying secretly to myself that if all this UFO radio stuff was in our heads at least Id be home sooner. Bonus.
At that moment, as if to give me faith, the radio stopped surfing and settled into one station.
The other passengers woke as they sensed we were nearly home. Sarah turned to explain about the crazy radio stuff and said, “We broke the code the unlock the mind chakrah. Is everyone OK with a side trip to the Rose Bowl for a DreamShield meditation?”
The young guy who had hitched a ride from Mt. Shasta, Da, wanted to be dropped off. Sarah smiled at me because I was right that with him as the first drop off we’d never make it to the ocean before sunrise and we be randomized.
As we dropped the bedazzled Da off I got out of the van to take a whiz in the alley. I picked an out of the way spot from the passengers and did my business. I looked up as I zipped up into the eyes of Jesus in a crown of thorns, drawn in pencil on the whitewashed fence.
As I hopped back behind the wheel I saw Mica had gone back to sleep.
We hit the main drag of Passadena looking for sign to the Rise Bowl. That should be easy right? Wrong. So borrowing someone’s Iphone Sarah pulled up a Google Map. We were heading in the complete wrong direction and the sky was brightening.
Fatima, who was now wide awake in the far backseat, said we might only have about 10 minutes left to sunrise as I spun the minivan around. I didn’t fully believe in all this stuff but like always I had a “Why take chances?” attitude. I was determined to break this code I’d dreamed I had created in another incarnation. Was I racing the clock to beat my own past incarnations RANDOMIZER program, or high on too many Red Bulls, I wondered.
Finally after getting lost one more time, which seemed like the work of a spell but could just as well have been exhaustion we arrived at the Rose Bowl. We walked onto the grounds, in preparation for the Rose Bowl parade and did our meditation. Sarah read the unraveling of the MERLIN code.
And as we left I could see angels inside the Rose Bowl cheering our success. Every bit of science fiction writing or reading I’ve ever done pales by comparison to this strange other worldly/real-life adventure in which I am a skeptical player.
Time has actually felt more linear to me since we did this work, the first time we as a race go to bed in one life and awake in the same time line. I am constantly amazed by this project’s beauty and the fact we are not the only people doing this work. There are hundreds if not thousands of light workers involved. Whether this is real or a product of our imaginations it sure is fun and exciting. And that’s going to raise our world’s vibration. Ripples of a new future for humanity are spreading one person at a time.
Mother earth is alive and getting healthier every day as we race for a gentle 2012.
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“Sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.” – Jerry in SEINFELD “The Baby Shower”
DreamBlogger Ken Sheetz
It was December 23, 2010. I had just finished my second trip to Mt. Shasta. Mica and Marta was sound asleep in the back of Sarah Larsen’s family minivan.
While Sarah napped too, I had the chance to listen to the radio and reflect on the amazing meditation Joy Phoenix had led in the pyramid at Mt. Shasta. With only 5 minutes notice Joy had given such a lovely ceremony that I realized my policy of letting the pros lead these meditations while I record them in film and text is one the smartest things I do in DreamShield. See the full story here.
As highway 5 rose up before me I thought about the gas station in the heart of Mt. Shasta that had been converted into a spiritual crystal spot for people to fill their souls rather than cars.
A few hours earlier we had all howled at the full moon in victory. A foot of snow in a driving blizzard had not stopped us. The mission was success to meditate on healing the ozone layer had been a success.
So how had this dream mission turned into a CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM episode with me as Larry David?
Fresh from success in the pyramid, a 24 foot by 24 foot replica made of plywood for the many spiritual projects of Mt. Shasta, I decided to grab a celebration dinner before we headed back to LA. My choice, because DreamShield had begun in Italy last year in May, was a little Italian restaurant on the quaint main street of Mt. Shasta.
An older woman, not part of our LA group, a Shasta local light worker, joined us. Let’s call her Marge so as to spare her any embarrassment and me any lawsuits.
Our group had grown to about eight people as we took our table in the Italian place. It looked more like a family fast-food joint than the fine Italian spot I’d hoped it would be. Marge the local light worker took up a seat at the head of the table and began to look over the menu.
“I’m vegan. Haven’t been to a restaurant in 20 years. I bet they don’t have anything I can eat.” Marge said as though it were somehow my fault.
I nodded with a smile, wondering why Marge came along with us in the first place if she hated restaurant food. As I looked over the menu I noticed in the light now that Marge had on unusual makeup. “Is that silver dust on Marge’s face?” I wondered to myself.
Sarah Larsen got a phone call. She headed for the door, asking me to order pasta for her.
“Wait! I see what I want! Minestrone soup! I think I can eat that!” Marge cheered, as no one at the table seemed to care.
“Great. Here comes the waitress.” I said.
The waitress was about 25 but she had a world weariness of a woman of 40. “Can I get you guys some water?”
“I brought my own!” said Marge pulling an alien looking bottle from her metallic large purse.
I caught the waitress roll her eyes to the hostess as if to say, “Spiritual nut jobs. Thanks for giving me this table.”
Trying to get this moving before Marge started pulling out a vegan meal from her cave of a purse I ordered, “I’ll have the All You Can Eat salad.”
“I have to warn you, sir, you can’t share the All You Can Eat Salad with your friends,” the waitress proclaimed loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.
“Got it. I’d like Italian dressing on the salad, please.”
“I mean it, sir. The All You Can Eat Salad is for one person only.”
“Roger that. Italian dressing,” I said, wondering why the waitress was still not writing down my order.
Mica Monet, one of my LA group, chimed in before I could ask why my order was not getting taken. “Does egg plant pasta does that come with a salad?”
“Yes,” the waitress shuffled and looked down at her feet, “But again, you can’t share salad with the table.”
“Why not?” I said. “It’s not a All You Can Eat Salad. She buys it and shares it, your restaurant losing nothing.”
“Makes it hard for us to make sure you guys are not sharing salad if she does that,” the waitress said as though that made sense.
“You know, miss, I think we get the “no sharing the salad idea here. We’re all grown-ups and you have our word: No salad sharing.”
“Does the minestrone come with a salad?” said Marge, derailing my chance to get my salad order in.
“It’s soup not a salad, ma’am.” said the waitress like she was talking to a crazy person.
“Probably not organic anyways.” giggled Marge coyly.
“Who’s next?” said the waitress, oblivious Marge’s light worker joke or effort to be salad pals.
“Did you get my All You Eat Salad order, miss?” I asked
“Because the manager will fire me if you share the All You Can Eat Salad!” the waitress said, pleading as though her kid’s future might depend on hang in the balance.
“Sounds like a swell guy you work for. But you’ve clearly explained the rules and we’ve agreed to them. Please take my order.” I said, not believing this dinner had erupted into a Larry David comedy.
While I felt sorry for this poor confused waitress I was deeply insulted at the shabby treatment me and my bunch was getting. So I closed my menu and said, “OK, we’re going to make the salad thing easy for you. We’re leaving.”
“Thank you!” the waitress said without a hint of sarcasm. She was thrilled we were leaving.
“But I was really looking forward to the minestrone.” said Marge, almost in tears.
“Marge, you’re free, along with anyone else, to stay here. Me, I’m going across the street to the Thai place where I’ve been treated with some decent respect.”
I got up and everyone from the group followed me out the door except Marge. Marge gave the minestrone on the menu one last longing look and, with a deep sigh, followed us out the door into the snow. When she looked across the street Marge’s sad face lit up like a Xmas tree.
“Ha ha! You fucked yourself!” Marge shouted jumping up and down and pointing at the dark Thai restaurant across the street. “It’s closed! Ha! You fucked yourself!”
Now I’d only been doing this spiritual stuff about 6 months at this time. That was going from a cold stop as a corporate businessman who built skyscrapers, world headquarters for giants like Target Stores and Hyatt Hotels, to running ozone healing meditations in a pyramid at the base of Mt. Shasta. And in that short time I’d come to love the peaceful light workers I’d met so far. Hearing I’d “Fucked myself” from a light worker was giving me indigestion and I’d not even eaten yet.
Rather than sink to Marge’s level I walked across the street, hoping to give myself time to cool off. “Be right back. Maybe the owner is still there.” I said over the howling SOLO taunting laughter of Marge.
I slipped a bit in the snow as I crossed the street, gaining a cackle from Marge that sounded more witch-like than light worker. I peered in the window hopping for the owners who I’d me the night before to still be stacking chairs. But no dice. The Thai place was abandoned.
“Ha! See? Fucked!” shouted Marge from across the street. The other people from my group distanced themselves from Marge, who it seemed had taken it personally that I had spoiled her first minestrone in 20 years and was bent on a mission to get me riled up.
Happy the group was uncomfortable with the silver faced Marge’s outburst gave me confidence I could keep my cool and I made my way back to my gang.
“OK. I’m going to the Black Bear diner. Anyone is welcome to join me… long as they don’t have a salad.”
The group all cracked up, except for Marge who said, “Do they have minestrone on the menu at the Black Bear?”
“I don’t know, Marge. But you are welcome to join us and see” I added without any sarcasm.
“I think I’d rather you took me back to my car. Don’t want to risk them not having minestrone,” said Marge.
And so before we went to the Black Bear, a place that’s treated me well, we drove Marge back to her car and she said not another word except “Bye”.
Sarah Larsen, who we picked up along the way, still on her cell phone asked, “What was Marge upset about?”
“Minestrone.” I said and everyone burst into laughter at Sarah’s confused look.
Later in Nashville at Spirit Recovery ranch for the big global addiction mediation, when I’d spend more time with another Sarah — a lot of Sarahs show up in the light work — from Mt. Shasta, I’d learn that “Marge”, a local, had been critical of me walking out of the Solstice Salad restaurant. It was a good lesson for me that even light workers from Mt. Shasta are still only human.
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“Unity to be real must stand the severest strain without breaking.” – Mahatma Gandhi
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
I was back a week in Hollywood from Nashville, Wisconsin, Florida, Nassau and the Bermuda Triangle from 7 back to back planetary meditations from such amazing stuff as closing the damaged Merkabah in the Bermuda Triangle, reducing hurricanes, curing earth of addictions, making a backup copy for all the love of the earth and more.
Exciting and uplifting as it all was, promoting, filming, conductimng the meditations and distributing it all on the web in the various outlets I’d created for the work to achieve DreamShield’s heavenly task to help 1 billion people to meditate as one to shift us in to a new golden age, I was exhausted.
Despite my exhaustion I was getting “angel” messages that a 3.11.11 meditation was a critical mediation date and that we should dance.
Laura De Leon, who blessedly for me and the planet gives the DreamShield project so much of her great spiritual experience and talent, was busy helping her husband take her mother-in-law through hospice. So I was minus her usual contributions.
On top of that I was then busy helping Laura get back and forth to Bob at the nursing home and doing some simple chores at their lovely home near Universal Studios. So I was minus me. It was the first time in my life I’ve humbled myself to simply be of service to friends in need. I especially enjoyed caring for the Jenkis family’s little dog Bella. Laura had done so much helping me with the complex grief of losing my father it was the least I could do.
When I walked into the nursing home, dropping Laura off to Bob and his sweet mother, who was a little nearer to death each tender day, I passed old folks. I’m in my 50s but as the old eyes raised to look at me from their wheel chairs I felt like a kid. The angels had gifted me by taking away my old fear I had of dying in one of these places one day myself. You see, I’d been an orderly in a nursing home in college and feared the homes ever since.
But stiill all this helping of the Jenkis family and 25 back to back meditations since 10.10.10 was burning the candle on both ends and 12.12.12 was still a long way off.
After taking the wonderful light worker, holistic doctor and palmist Sarah Larsen away from her family for a week in Nashville at Lee McCormick’s Spirit Recovery Ranch and Mt. Shasta I did not feel I could ask her to step up. Mica Monet had also just hosted a Valentine’s mediation.
ONENESS CANNOT BE STOPPED
On 2.25.11 I was was still getting those pesky angel signals, just two weeks before 3.11.11, so I sent out a request for help to the amazing and growing DreamShield Facebook group, along with emails to a few key team members who I thought might be fresh.
Ramon Govea, a young multi-talented Hollywood friend who has been at my side since DreamShield began was in touch immediately and volunteered to host 3.11.11. His co-host would be Kara Mooney who I had recently learned was interested in DreamShield from on Facebook.
The angels had told me they wanted us to dance on 3.1.11. As usual they loved to surprise me and we only had a little over two weeks to pull major event together.
As 3.11.11 neared I felt I was working in my sleep. So imagine how pleased that Kalix Sky our DJ that Kara and Ramon had hired for the event was helping us draw a crowd. Kalix was just what we needed. Laura and Sarah each let me blast out invites to their facebook friends on their behalf and soon we had about 100 people coming.
Laura and Bob’s mom passed 3 days before the event. I’d prepared Ramon and Kara for the fact Laura might miss the event. But Laura cares so much for the work that she still performed that night and performed beautifully.
Ramon gave a great and personable presentation on 2012 along with Kara who in turn performed a lovely meditati0n on forgiveness.
Here’s how it all turned out. And as you see at the end of the video the angels did give me a vision, the stinkers. I stood upon the dance floor at 11:11 a recited what I was seeing to some awesome music Kalix had whipped up for us. I saw the angels fly from the dance hall, their feathers brushing the guest as they took off flying right through the skyscrapers of downtown LA. And I channeled a message from the archangel Michael who surprised me when he ended my vision with a personal message to the crowd:
“Dance your asses off!” – Archangel Michael
AFTER VISIONS WHILE DOG WALKING
Next day as I walked Bella one last time an eyes open after vision began. I sometimes get my best visions when my mind is distracted by the mundane like shaving. Now dog walking can be added to the list of vision points. I stopped in my tracks in wonder, Bella tugging at the leash.
I was back on 3.11.11. I saw archangel Michael fly off from our our dance hall with impossible speed and grace that would make Superman envious. The angels followed Michael to various junction points on the crystaline grid, a grid for 2012’s work the ascended masters had built eons ago to assure our successful transition. Using the energy from our fantastic human dancers at the Oneness event Michael and his legion of angels strengthened the grid 11 times 11 over.
Next, flying in formation, Micheal led the angels to spin the energy bands that power the DreamShield, refreshing the shield and hopefully me and the rest of our global dream team of cutting edge light workers!
The work for a gentle 2012 was flying along and getting cooler and more fun all the time.
Dance with the angels of DreamShield!
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Angels, ET, my own overactive imagiantion, whatever it is that is powering DreamShie, never stops working with me. There’s not a lot of time to 2012, guess is why. I could write entire blogs about any of the following, but here’s a quick summary of the after-visions from the 2.12.11 Healing of Earth’s Addiction meditation at Spirit Recovery Ranch. Planetary meditation visions like Nashville’s don’t just happen all at once for me or the world.
ET GO HOME
The night after the big day of setting the intent to heal earth of addiction, Lee McCormick and I talked about going back to the medicine wheel to call in UFOs. This was to be done by famed ET expert Renatto Longatto, whose presentation had added so much to this event Lee had fashioned around our DreamShield meditation. But everyone, me included, was tired from the long day. So we decided the ETs could hover somewhere until we got back to them.
I chuckled as my head hit the pillow about how casual Lee was about seeing UFOs. Most of the people on this trip had seen them many times. No biggie for them. For me I was mildly disappointed as I have never seen a UFO, except maybe one from a great distance when I was a kid in Wisconsin. But I was too tired to care.
That night I dreamed of giant stone creatures guarding the land around Lee’s medicine wheel from hostile aliens that Renato had shared with us. Real alien tales that inspired the movie PREDATOR. The stone creatures were aided in my dream by none other than Jesse James, who looked just like Lee McCormick in the dream. Jesse actually had spent time on this ranch back in the day. In my vivid dream Jess fired his guns with superhuman speed. Native Americans working with the cowboys and my Angus spirit to rid earth of addiction. What a clean up crew from the 2.12.meditation! The hostile aliens had no chance. Zero.
ABE LINCOLN, MASTER PLANNER OF 2.12.11 Freedom from Addiction Meditation
Speaking of the 2.12.11 meditation, as I was putting this blog together and filling in my dream calendar DreamShield fan Margo gave me, I was shocked to discover February 12th is Lincoln’s birthday. Huh. So the freeing on earth from the slavery of addiction meditation was no accidental choice. A date Lee McCormick and I worked out last fall.
Abe, I am proud to say as producer of web series called Lincoln is Back, is my spirit guide. Sneaky, Abe, guided me to doing this DreamShield on his birth date without my even knowing it. Best Lincoln’s birthday ever. Couple this amazing fact with Lee’s medicine wheel that’s made of stones, I’d only learn after we were in Nashville, from a plantation where the owner used to buy slaves and set them free. Yep, you have more coincidences than even my cynical mind can ignore as proof that we are being aided by divine powers in this work to change the world come 2012.
DON’T SWEAT IT
I was too tired to care about ETs as I dreamed on because I was exhausted from the day long events and Lee’s sweat lodge session. I had a vision in the heat where I saw myself move through the wall of the sweat lodge that followed the medicine wheel as a Native American hunter. My Native American brother shushed me and tells me, “Be quiet my brother, you’ll scare off the deer.” I come back to myself and realize I’ve been blabbing to much in the sweat lodge.
My inner Larry David had rebelled. I couldn’t take Lee McCormick’s pouring on the heat anymore. Not to mention the cold mud under my freezing butt and feet caused by the melted snow and the tight quarters with a two guys flanking me weren’t for me either. So I crawled, not on a dream with the Indians, but for real out of the sweat lodge with Lee’s blessing. Lee’s a pro and never forces people to sweat anymore than they want.
I kept crawling from the sweat lodge, panting like a dog and dry heaved in the grass. Then I saw a gray Buddha statue. Alive beneath the moon. When Sarah Wellborne poured Mt. Shasta water over my head, Buddha vanished. Here’s a video of a very confused me at least searching for what might have been a pile of sticks I’d mistaken Buddha.
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
That night I also dreamed of my father, whose drinking issues had made the Nashville DNA meditation so tough for me and who had only passed three weeks ago, came to me in a dream showing me the Packer watch I had bought for him one Christmas. Dad told me, pointing at the Packers watch, only mildly annoyed, “You were an hour late getting the medicine wheel. 2:12 you were supposed to he here.”
“Renato had gone long and the schedule got pushed back, ” I explained to my father in the dream.
“I kept the angels from leaving before you and Lee’s bunch for here, ” Dad proudly explained.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said tears welling. “I’m glad for your help. Woulda been nice if this had been something we could have done while you were alive.”
“I needed to be part of this. Always was somehow. But that’s no excuse for the mess I made of things when you guys were kids.”
“I forgive you, Dad.”
“I know, son.”
Dad then did something in the dream that he loved to do in real life and gave me a big bear hug. At his funeral my son 3 weeks earlier, my son Jonathan, now a man of 30, gave me the Sheetz family bear hug. Jonathan smiled sadly as he told me he had taken over the bear hug role from his grandfather. Late or not, Dad was proud of me for the work at Lee’s medicine I see by his shinning Irish smile.
Dad, unable as usual not to have the last word and to joke said, “Try not to keep the angels waiting next planetary mediation, Kenny boy.”
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