PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

By Ken Sheetz

In my morning meditation I feel connection to the memory of my favorite, and sadly deceased, comic Robin Williams’ spirit to download a story for you, dear reader.

I close my eyes and begin to lucid dream. I picture he’s 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 open my eyes and smile that Robin’s still a vital part of my subconscious.

RIP ROBIN WILLIAMS 1951-2014