Angels do not condone violence as a solution, nor do I. Not to say I won’t pop a guy one, with fair warming, if he pushes me too far. I may see angels but I sure ain’t one. Angels simply work in ways that are 5th dimensional and so they show me things in symbolic 3 dimensional ways I can understand and report to you. Or for all I know they’ve added something to the water in LA. I have no idea why I am seeing all this as an ongoing vision for 18 months solid now. And what you see on my blogs is only about 20% of what I see. I could literally write about all this 24/7 and never catch up.
A few nights ago I meditated and asked the DreamShield to show me what the angels were up to in the quest for gentle 2012. I was whisked from LA to Chicago, where hundreds of earth angels, dressed like 1930’s mobsters, were shooting up my kinda town!
Earth angels zipped through the skies and skyscrapers of the loop, blasting away mercilessly at evil spirits corrupting our legal system and government. Legions of lawyer and judge demon spirits were blown away with the angel Tommy guns blasting bullets of lethal light. I laughed for joy at this unexpected angel work in my adopted home town!
On LaSalle Street I watched in wonder as none other that the great Humphery Bogart led a raid on the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.
I shouted to Bogey, “The Fed was a client of mine. The people I worked with seemed like regular Joes.”
“Who the heck are you?” Bogey said spinning on me.
“Ken Sheetz, a spirit reporter for the work of a gentle 2012.” I said as I held up my humble Flip camera.
“I’m huntin’ demons sucking the life outta Gaia, not regular Joes or dames! Got it?!” said Bogey shouting in my face, not a smart thing to do with my childhood of having a Drill Sargent dad, but I liked what Bogey was up to and let it slide.
“How about a gun for me then?”
“Swell. Jimmy give the junior reporter a heater!” Bogey said with relieved chuckle.
None other than the great James Cagey slapped a Tommy gun in my hands. “Welcome to the gang, kiddo. Be sure you get my good side, my left, in any photos or I’ll brain you.”
“Ok boys, time to cut the Fed’s credit line!” Bogey shouted.
“Kill any demon that moves and the ones that don’t.” added Cagney as the angel gangsters all cheered.
Guns blazing, Bogey led our charge into the Federal Reserve lobby. Demon guards drew ray gun pistols that were no match for the angels hail of light bullets. Even your faithful reporter lost all journalistic objectivity and got in demon kills. And before you know it the battle was done, the lobby clear.
“Nothing here but a stinking money museum!” Bogey fumed.
“How’s about this? ” said Cagney pointing to an armored elevator door locked tight with an electronic keypad.
“Try 11 -11-11 as the combo,” I offered.
Cagney rolled his eyes. “No pathway to Gaia’s gonna be some lame combo any sap could stumble on.”
“Do like he says!” Bogey snapped.
Cagney complied punching in all the numbers, “See? No dice.”
“Add four more 11s for 11:11 PM. No, wait, four more 11s for AM too.”
Cagney punched in the numbers. “Crap. So many ones I lost track! Your honor Mr.Elevens.”
I counted on my fingers saying, ” 11.11.11 and 11:11 AM and PM. That’s 7 -11s, fourteen ones.” and punched in the numbers. Not an easy task as I thought as the pattern on the keypad kept shifting and the #1 hopped to another spot every couple of seconds. But as I punched in the 14th one, the heavy armored elevator door opened.
What we saw was not good however. No elevator, just darkness and showers of sparks where the elevator cab should have been.
“Wise guys cut the cords. Gotta make a jump for it.” Bogey said looking down the miles deep shaft filled with dangerous sparking wires.
“Well, boys, in for a dime… ” shouted Cagey as he jumped past Bogey into the shaft.
The rest of the angel gang followed.
“Sheetz, stay behind and watch our backside.” said Bogey jumping into the fray and not giving me time to argue.
I peered down the scary elevator shaft, filming the brave angels battle slithering snakes of dark energy. Something stunk. I was aware of an evil presence. I spun and looked smack into the face with a giant golden snake. Its pitiless eyes looked right through me with the heartless effectiveness of a credit report.
“Stand aside, mortal. Thisss is not your fight.” the golden snake spoke!
I raised my Tommy gun. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The snake leaped for me, fangs dripping with venom. My Tommy gun blazing, the snake and I fell together down the elevator shaft. ‘
I found myself in my boardroom at my Chicago real estate company. My partner and I were laughing as my construction manager sweated bullets. It was 1990, one year before my fall from the easy credit I had ridden to the top of Chicago’s commercial real estate world. We all laughed as the prospective “tenant” and took off her clothes in the middle of our employee’s presentation.
Bats flew at me as the snake hissed, “How can a man with so little respect for women that he’d bring a stripper to come into his company’s offices be a champion of Gaia?”
The snake was right. I had no comeback and it infuriated me. I drew my sword and switched on my red ethereal armor for battle as we fell for the center of the earth.
“Rage is your answer and your undoing!” said the snake as it bit right through my armor. Armor had never failed me and now in over a year of these visions. Poison raced through my veins. The speeding tumble of wires and the laughing gold snake faded.
It was 1991, I was in my family room hollering like a crazy man at my wife. Still, she bravely refused to sign the second mortgage papers I shoved in her face, papers that would have given me $250,000 to keep my failing real estate company alive.
The golden snake and I hit beam as it bit into my leg, fangs piercing me the bone. As we plumeted for the depths, locked in mortal combat, I saw a fevered parade of all the women I’d somehow hurt in my life, a fiance’, lovers, friends, co-workers, my daughter, my mother, even my Irish grandmother.
The snake was right! How could a chauvanist-jerk like me help the angels free Gaia’s heart from the vampire energy of the Fed tapping her dry?
“I’ve pumped enough poison into you to kill ten men! Why do you still persissst?” the golden snake hissed, shaking me in its jaws like a limp rag doll.
By the freshness that flowed in the dank elevator shaft I knew angels were near. Bogey flew past as he took aim at the great serpent. “Because Sheetz is already dead and now, snake, so are you!” The angels opened fire and the snake vaporized in a hail of angelic fire.
Cagney caught me in his arms, “Gotcha, kid!”
“What did, Bogart, mean I am already dead?” I asked, feeling better already.
“Get some sleep now. We got miles left to go. Christ you’re heavy!” Cageny complained as I drifted off.
I sat alone on Oak Street beach of Lake Michigan. It was winter 1992. Snowflakes swirled as I stared at the waves. I’d lost everything, my skyscraper, my cars, my company, my wife and kids. I walked into the icy water and kept walking until I was deep beneath the lake and I drowned.
I blinked awake in a great cavern, Bogart, Cagney and the angels all about me. “But if I died in 1992 how am I still alive in 2011?,” I said raising my throbbing head.
“Are you alive?” chuckled Bogart.
“Seems like I am,” I said checking my pulse.
“Look, kid, this ain’t no time for a lecture on mutli-verses. Alls that’s important you showin’ up to record what the angels do and give the people hope. Now shoot your camera over there.”
Bogey pointed to Cagney who was placing dynamite atop the energy tap the fed had to the core Gaia. The tap flowed with her precious blue-white energy to Federal Reserve and World Bank siphons all across the earth.
Now an army of snakes rose from the ashes of the old and surrounded Cagney.
“Get outta there, Jimmy. We can try this another day!” shouted Bogey.
“Got my left side, Sheetzy?”
I flashed Cagney the thumbs up as I had him my Flip camera’s view finder.
“Made it, Ma! Top of the world!” Cagney shoved down the plunger.
The cavern filled with explosions and fire that made hell seem like a picnic. I couldn’t see him, in the smoke and fire, but I heard Bogey shout,”Gaia is free!
I rose to full consciousness from my meditation, knowing in some crazy way that what I see the angels doing on another plane of reality helps our world, but wondering if I am in fact a ghost.
Your love donations atDreamShield.org at the PayPal link on the page help me report work on the angel visions which, hopefully with your help, I will one day gather into a book.
“I may see angels but I am far from being one.” – Ken Sheetz
Two weeks ago, on the magical binary date of 11.11.11, I co-hosted a beautiful event about the ascension with a star-studded evening of speculation about ETs role in the Shift I’d been guided to create by a God-like voice 18 months ago in Italy. The masterful ceremonies and workshops had been created to perfection by the amazing multi-talented co-host Laura De León of MyMysticMuse. Just one problem. I was not very “present”, to put it mildly, for my own event.
I’ve been pondering for the entire time since, wishing I could have enjoyed something so beautiful that I’d help create, all stemming from an angelic vision I had in Italy for a gentle 2012. The 11.11.11 event is possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been a part of bringing into this world. So why had I been so hard on myself and hard for Laura and others on the team to be around me that day and the weeks leading up to the big day? Why was Laura’s singing her amazing Babaji song with Philippo Franchini one of the few moments I truly enjoyed on 11.11.11? Exhaustion? No. This was more than simple exhaustion. The excuse I tried to hide behind post 11.11.11.
I took a break from pondering my failure to enjoy 11.11.11 to ponder the parallels of family dynamics in why I’d not enjoyed Thanksgiving this year. I was traveling from my Vegas Thanksgiving, back home, the way I’d been doing in these tough times for two years now, by a Greyhound Bus. The Friday 10 AM bus back to LA was 5 minutes late without any Greyhound announcements so I calmly asked one of the bus terminal attendants, “What’s the delay?”
The Greyhound attendant smirked at me and said in a thick Asian accent, “Buddy, you better learn something. This is Greyhound! Bus gets here when bus gets here!”
The people in line laughed at my expecting decent service for what is not that much less than a Southwest Airline fare.
A sweet little Black lady, with a white fur hat that made her look like a stylized rabbit out of Alice in Wonderland, turned to me from ahead in line and said, “Public transportation, mister. Gotta expect this kinda thing.”
I reminded her, like it was my duty as a remnant from a long gone, more caring America, “Greyhound’s not public, except for treating customers like a public toilet.”
Rather than laughter as I expected, people in line reacted in silence as though I was rocking the boat. “What boat? It’s a bus, you bunch of sheep!” I raged inwardly as I dug into my knapsack, grabbed the Thanksgiving leftovers Mom had made for the bus ride back to LA, the land of dreams, and thought back on my Vegas 2011 Thanksgiving, having a picnic in the terminal.
The trip got off to a rocky start in this very bus station on the way in to Vegas on Wednesday. My stepfather Nick, a fiery tempered Sicilian who holds grudges like a character who stepped right out of Mario Puzo novel (first suspect, please, if I am ever murdered) kept me waiting at the Greyhound terminal for half an hour.
A half an hour where I’d learn the Vegas Greyhound terminal front door is a den of prostitution. Unable to see through the dark tinted terminal front doors I was forced to stand with my backpack full of Mac gear, stranded, like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to be plucked by pimps and thugs who kept giving me the hairy eyeball.
Finally, after what seemed hours, Nick and my Mom’s car arrived. I quickly tossed my bags and myself into the backseat. No apologies for running late from Nick, of course. The crabby 83 year-old-man sat stoic and uncaring at the wheel. — Not unexpected. Nick’s not spoken to me much in three years since I read him the riot act over his outlandish claim I was trying to kill my mother by adjusting the condo temp by one degree downwards.
Most I’d hear from Nick on the entire visit was his yelling at my 82-year-old mother to “Shut the hell up!” when she screamed after he almost rear-ended a car. A retired as a prison guard, Nick’s belligerent treatment of my Mom, like a prisoner he was keeping in check, gave me heartburn. I had a coughing fit.
Mom asked if I was sick and I told her, “Nick yelling at you is the only thing making me sick. Well, that and being let stranded for half an hour as I watched other arriving passengers all picked up within the first five minutes.” Getting pissed at me snapped Nick out of his tirade at Mom and back to silence. Old training as kid from how I’d take the heat for Mom to save her from my real dad, who passed early this year.
Now, I managed a tense front seat to backseat chat where I filled Mom in on a few things in my life. We’ve never talked about the angels and ETs working for the cause of the Shift I see in meditations. And didn’t now. I guess I’d think she’d feel I’ve gone off my rocker. Why worry her? She has no concept of what a blog is or how to work a computer and has seen nothing of my writing.
Soon we arrived at the small one bedroom condo Mom has carved into a pretty home. She said to me timidly, not her style, “Hungry, Ken? We already ate, not knowing when you’d really get here on the bus.”
I played along, even though it was only 5:30 PM, and ate alone at the kitchen counter while Mom filled in my brother Fred, who had manned the condo during my pickup from Greyhound. Which was odd. Fred usually came to greet me. “Ken’s goin’ to Mexico for a film shoot next month, Fred,” Mom chirped.
Fred puffed on cigarette and grunted, “Beats gardening I bet, eh, Ken?”
Fred knew from our weekly phone talks, we both cling to like a family life raft, that I’d made a deal for social media barter where I was living at a spirit resort called BushWillows north of LA. Because they had gone into suspended animation on the resort for reasons unknown, the owners instead wanted gardening help instead of web work.
Now here was my brother, making fun of my doing manual labor to keep a roof over my head in the worst recession ever. How it stung me to the soul. What happened to my sweet “over the phone” brother I wondered looking at the grouchy Fred? Yep, a voice answered, four days with Nick contaminated his aura. He be back to normal when he returned to Wisconsin.
Mom sensed the tension with Fred and chimed in, “I bet you’re learning lotsa gardening stuff. Right, Ken?”
“Yep.” I answered meaning it, biting into Mom’s steak that was like rubber.
“After Mexico Ken’s filming in Hawaii first two months of the year, Fred.”
I could see Fred was puzzled so much good fortune had popped up since we spoke only a few days earlier. Now that the 11.11.11 event of 15 hours days of work for 3 solid months without pay was over and I could refocus my energy. I was beginning to feel some of the old fire that made me a millionaire in the past. Fred didn’t like me much when I was millionaire who’s most famous project was building Oprah’s Harpo Studios, and rightly so. I was a dick when I was rich. Not next time, if there is one, will it be so!
“Lousy economy might finally be lifting.” I muttered into my meal.
Soon as I finished my solo dinner and complimented Mom, despite how god awful the steak was, Nick put on his coat. Mom and Fred quickly followed his lead. “I just got here. Where’s everyone going?” I groused.
“Casino, ” Fred grinned as I steamed, “Relax. Mom and Nick did the same thing to me when I got here: Quick meal then off to the slots!”
So without even a chance to rest or a catch-up on life, besides the brief car talk with Mom from the backseat, I was soon in Nick’s car again and heading for the Orleans, a locals casino my mother and Nick frequent often for the loose Keno slots. Nick complained to my Mom as he cruised the Orleans multi-leveled lot for a parking spot, “Handicapped spots all gone getting here so late.”
I let the dig pass, as I let so much pass with Nick. For a comedy writer when I am not helping angels manifest a gentle 2012, this man is a gold mine for material. We parked not very far from the door despite my “late” arrival. I climbed from the backseat of the car, dreading the casino, already sorry I’d come. I limped for the casino, having slightly pulled both hamstrings hauling wheelbarrows full of compost early in the week at the gardens.
Sure enough, soon I found myself in the smokey noisy as hell confines of the Orleans casino, surrounded by drunken gamblers and haggard locals.
Fred plopped himself on a Keno machine beside Mom and lit up. Mom’s 82 but going strong and she was ready for action, silent Nick her bodyguard. It was almost as though I ceased to exist. I tried to make conversation, but the casino noise that keeps people hypnotized with noisy beeps and bloops and smoke won. So I excused myself and limped my way to my old Vegas escape pod, the movies.
We all agreed, Nick in silence of course, to meet back at the Keno spot midnight when the gambling ordeal had hopefully reached an end. I say “hopefully” because there have been nights when Mom or Fred or Nick get on a winning streak where they all stay out to 3 or 4 AM and I’d end up taking a taxi back to condo myself.
I saw two movies back to back to kill time and lose myself. ARTHUR’S CHRISTMAS, an instant classic 4 stars out of 5 and HAPPY FEET TWO, a doh doh bird of a penguin flick, 1 star. But I fell asleep so don’t take my word on the penguins if you enjoy hearing Robin Williams do a bad Spanish accent.
Midnight, when I got back to the Keno machines Mom and Fred were fighting about, of all things, meatballs sandwiches. I was relieved. The meatball fight meant they’d lost at Keno and so we’d be going home at a decent hour. Fred was craving a Subway meatball treat and would not be swayed. Mom who had won a little that week offered him $5 from her pot.
Fred sniped, “I have a paying job,” he said looking at me, who has not had a paying job since college, but who usually does very well despite that fact in a normal economy, “I pay for my own meatballs. And when I win I buy for everybody.”
On the way to the car, while Fred got his beloved meatball sandwich, Mom worried to me, “Fred’s been in a bad mood all week.” I took a look a Nick and thought, “Who wouldn’t be with that sourpuss around?” feeling compassion for my beloved brother and more for Mom who was living with this grumpy diabetic every day.
But then, surprisingly, my heart began to open for my fellow grouch Nick. At Souldrama in Italy I learned it’s what bothers you most in others that you are bothered most about in yourself. I saw the grouch I was around the loving dream team that had come together from 11.11.11. And here was Nick, in the bosom of a family that loved him, driving wedges between us all and himself. I saw the little boy Nick was who lived as an orphan on the streets of Milwaukee. No one to love him. And then I saw myself as an abused child who never knew what a happy family life was, wrecking the happiness all around me because I did not know how to handle joy on 11.11.11. And I finally forgave Nick for his junk and me for mine.
I was so deep in thought about my brother grouch Nick that I barely remember getting back to Nick and Mom’s condo after the casino. Fred ate his meatballs making a big deal of it to tease Mom, Nick pulled out the sleeper sofa. Mom and I made up my bed which I quickly collapsed into.
Despite the rough first day in Vegas I was still looking forward to tomorrow. I’d come to Vegas almost every year for 25 years for mom’s Thanksgiving cooking. She makes a great bird. Mom announced to Fred and me as the lights went out, “Night, boys. I’ll getting up to start the turkey cooking at 8AM.”
The night passed with fits of sleep as Fred snored loud enough to wake me. As I tried about 3 Am to get back to sleep I had a vision that was fresh and pure as I saw all the many sacred sites I’d mediated at since 10/10/10 ignite with bright white sparks across the globe, Vegas included where I saw the Luxor casino erupt, spewing energy to the DreamShield surrounding the planet. I saw it matched by energy flares from the real pyramids.
The dazzling clean and pure vision surprised me to full consciousness. “Why was a grump like me allowed to see such angelic glory?” I thought weeping into my pillow. I’d thought, or perhaps even hoped, that since DreamShield’s missions were on prime binary dates, that somehow after 11.11.11 my vision powers might end and life could return to normal. Whatever normal is in these crazy times with innocent people getting beaten down in the Occupy movements. I’d not talk about the visions with anyone next morning on Thanksgiving.
At 8AM as promised, Mom emerged from her bedroom, trusty flashlight in hand because the drapes were all closed. I peeked open an eye to watch her tip toe past as she swung the bright LED flashlight when suddenly she tumbled to the floor!
I bolted from the sleeper sofa and helped her up. Mom pointed the flashlight down at a cushion. “Twisted my back. How the hell did that get down there in my way?”
We both looked over at snoring Fred, who must have peed ten times during the night and knocked over the cushion at some point.
Mom softly giggled and squeezed my hand saying, “Go back to sleep, Ken. I’m OK, ” and she, putting the cushion out the way, went about starting the bird cooking.
Thanksgiving was here at last. The trusty old folding card table of 25 years of Vegas Thanksgivings came out as the Packer’s trounced Detroit on the old tube style TV. Soon the moment I’d suffered an 8 hour Greyhound trip and put up with the casino was here. The bird was perfection. Mom’s stuffing was great. All was heaven at last except for one thing that was missing: Mom. She was still in the kitchen cleaning up and missing the whole meal.
Then Fred did something that rattled my ego. As Nick came to the table Fred slid the chair for him. He even adjusted Nick’s gravy bowl to give more table space for Nick. And all my spirituality from the night before vanished. I was angry at Fred’s deference to this guy who made my visits to my mother such a hell.
Then Nick and Fred just dug in and started chowing down without waiting for Mom.
“Mom, I came all the way here to see you and have turkey,” I shouted to mom, cleaning up the kitchen like a mad woman.
“Yeah, come and eat, Mom, ” Fred chimed in, mouth full of turkey.
One possible answer to this mystery would come this morning as Deb, the BushWillows owner where I am staying observed about Mom’s odd behavior in her crisp South African accent as I dumped off a fresh load of compost, “Might be your Mum was cleaning up so she could get out of the house right after the turkey and resume gambling.”
Had my mother’s passion for gambling, some would say addiction, now eclipsed her time for dinner? Who knows? When she finally sat down when were all nearly done with her feast I tried to grab a picture of her only to be shouted at, “Don’t take my picture with my mouth full!”
My brother chimed in, “He did the same shit to me.”
I spun to Fred, camera in hand, “Shit? You call me taking your picture shit?!”
Mom sighed, “Boys, it’s Thanksgiving. No fighting.”
But I was furious and had to leave the table. I’d wanted to share my adventures surviving in Hollywood over the past year, my adventures in social media, my spirit project. And here I was fighting at the dinner table with my 58-year-old brother like we were kids while Nick shot my Mother a, “See?” look of satisfaction.
Later, I apologized to Fred and hugged him about the shoulders. He shared he’d been not having a good time this trip. Mom and he had been fighting the whole time for reasons he really could not put into words.
Soon as the second NFL game ended it was off to the Orleans casino again and the family disconnect. I saw two more movies, HUGO, one star for having a boring plot and bad child acting, and THE MUPPETS, of which I give zero stars and could barely keep my turkey down through.
Friday morning the alarm had been set for 8AM to get me to the station by 10AM but once Nick started to dress he did not slow down and I found myself on the way to the horrible station far too early. Mom tired to sit in the back seat with me but Nick would have non of that. He barked at my mother like she was a convict to be disciplined, “Get in front with me so you don’t have to jump out at the bus station!”
I patted Mom on the shoulder from the backseat as Nick sped for the station and she held my hand. Arriving 15 feet from the curb Nick parked in the middle of traffic. I came to the window and kissed Mom good-bye. She grabbed my hand as Nick raced the car off, until Mom’s soft fingers pulled away from mine.
As I finally shuffled my way onto the hour late bus I was an hour early for, the Asian Greyhound attendant who gave me such a hard to for my simple question about when the bus was coming kidded to the bus ticket taker. “Don’t let this guy aboard. Troublemaker. Probably drunk.”
I smiled sadly in agreement, I’d beem drunk on family rage and rage with myself for not ascending as Laura De Leon had so brilliantly realized was the mission of 11.11.11. I was stuck in my ego and not operating from heart.
But as I have written to Laura, when she sang like an angel on 11.11.11, something did shift in me. A small spark deep in my heart. The fact I can even write so clearly of my painful thanksgiving and feel compassion for Mom, for Fred, for me, even for Nick and his little inner boy from the Great Depression, gives me hope Laura’s spark is growing and that I am ascending and so is the world.
Long as the visions keep coming I promise do my humble best continue to report the angels work to you. I don’t profess to understand what they are doing or if I am really seeing them or if it’s all some amazing lucid dream I’ve been having for 18 months solid or it’s something they are putting in the drinking water these days. If you like my reporting please go to DREAMSHIELD.ORG to help me help with the work of manifesting a gentle 2012. Thanks, Ken Sheetz.
Now enjoy some Nelson Riddle about Route 66 which I traveled on for this Thanksgiving saga.
“We are ascending from an EGO based existence to living from our HEARTS! The ascension is within!” – Laura De León
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
As we cruise at light speed for the 11.11.11 Ascension Convention, which Event Director Laura De Leon,I and our team of volunteers, work on this amazing event with a dedication bordering on the driven behavior right out of CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND. Or in the case of our 11.11.11 meditations of ETs and their role in the shift, A CLOSE ENCOUNTER OF THE THIRD EYE.
Yes, it all makes sense as DreamShield began from ET angels. I can still see their alien skin sparkle and their gowns glow, thinking back to the yoga hall in Italy in May of 2010. I watched breathlessly as the ET angels created the energetic force field I eventually named the DreamShield… once I came out of shock. An energy field that has many names. One of such infinite power that one day humanity will learn to use it to shift earth from one part of its orbit to another to out dance any hostile element or foe, perhaps take us safely into the 5th Dimension.
Laura, with little help from me — as I’ve been busy creating the website, making 11 promo videos and populating the event on Facebook after securing sponsor Earth Shift Products (how perfect is that?) for the amazing venue of Rancho De Las Palmas and arranging to film the spectacle for LiveStream.com/DreamShieldTV — has worked herself to exhaustion assembling a stellar group of a dozen workshops, great musicians and exhibitors for this interstellar event.
And to cap it all off Laura secured Galactic Dolphin channeler Aros Crystos, my friend the DreamShield-Nashville, Renato Longato, a famed UFO expert, and Jackie Salvitti, an ET healer, as the keynote speakers of the day with music by out of this world Philippo Franchini, who will accompany Laura in sacred song. Take a peek but come back.
My hope is that all the 1s in the 11.11.11 date are a sign of first contact and that Renato, who is gifted at calling in UFOs for Sky Watches where ships have in fact been filmed with witnesses of 20 people, see the video on our DreamShield official 11.11.11 web page, will succeed in getting a ship to land so that all who wish might take a quick trip to Mars on to cap off the great day. Hey, a guy can dream can’t he?
THE 11TH VAULT MEDITATION
Somehow, during all the commotion of The Ascension Convention prep work, the message for what I am to conduct my meditation about on 11.11.11 has come through loud and clear. The premise is clever and powerful. Like I say ET angels have a great sense of humor and irony.
Corporations fought tooth and nail with our courts over the past 150 years to be and remain classified as artificial living beings. Artificial beings, strangely, with the same human rights as we the people. And they succeeded. But what the corporations did not foresee, but what the angels have, is that in becoming living things they created a heart for themselves. Granted, that corporate heart may pump money instead of blood, but a heart is more than a pump and we together with the ET angels are going to warm that corporate heart!
I see that once their hearts are warmed they can no longer fund war, harmful products or tolerate poverty and famine. As Laura said when she convinced me of the ascension theme for this event “The Ascension is Within” and this mediation is the ultimate inside bank job.
Come meditate with us on 11.11.11 to Re-Boot the planet into the Golden Age. Tickets for 11.11.11 The Ascension Convention on sale at DreamShield.org
A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after. ~Peter De Vries
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
Yep. That’s is me at age 6, your faithful DreamShield reporter of the unseen work of 2012, there on the far right with my brother, Fred, and lovely mother, Georgiana.
My father, who took the picture, demonstrates a keen eye for composition. Now, I see where I got that from. So many gifts from our parents we sometimes lose sight of. But the more I heal for the work of a gentle 2012, the more good I can see in my folks.
I have two kids of my own from a great mother named Gloria. Gloria and I divorced in 1992 and have lost touch since our two wonderful kids, Jonathan and Janelle, grew up. I wish Gloria well on this Mother’s Day 2011, at the Lull before 2012, when many of us light workers seem to be enjoying the simpler things in life.
My busy mind fluttered with the above as my roomie Bradley Quick stomped around on the big apartment here at The Cool Change Foundation most of the night it seemed and then solid from 6:30 AM to 7:30 Am, before he finally went to his club for a workout.
Sometimes I wonder if the energetic radio talk show host – I had to buy a sound soother to finally get some rest! – ever sleeps more than an hour or two like Edison was famed for. I move out in 10 days of Bradley’s modest yet spacious NoHo studios, tucked in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood where Mexcian folk music blends with the sounds of the many dogs. A place, where despite all the noise, I’ve produced over 100 videos with over half a million views for his charity that help people battle substance abuse and made over 200 videos for DreamShield on YouTube.
But before I make an apartment hunt for a new LA base, I travel back home for a month to scatter my father’s ashes, rest, see my kids and hopefully raise some cash to continue the work of DreamShield via a documentary and reestablish the single occupant life style the recession cost me fall of 2009. And I am sure a meditation or two will take place while I am there as well.
Once Bradley Quick finally stomped his way out the apartment, hard not to stomp with a floor that resonates like drum and creaks like the deck of a ship, I turned my sound soother to meditation music and lit a beautiful Virgin Mary candle Laura De Leon gave me as gift for dog-sitting her little Bella last week.
I was powered up instantly in this meditation, stronger and faster I realized than Superman, my childhood hero. My astral super-Ken-self sat up on the edge of the bed and I began to spin at super speed. In an instant I tore a shaft through earth’s crust until I reached a vast cavern miles beneath the city of angels.
The cave was all lit up, like a golden sunrise. I flew a short distance beneath the stalactites and saw a giant golden pyramid. My higher self knew, “The golden mother of all pyramids. Command center for the work of a gentle 2012.”
I landed gracefully at the base of the golden pyramid, but saw no entrance. I completed a super speed scan of the entire perimeter in vain. But somehow I knew all I had to do was have faith in order to enter. I took a deep breath and stepped right through the golden outer wall of the pyramid and found myself in a long upward slopping great hall.
The walls of the hall were adorned with oil paintings portraying great women of the world. Mothers of both the body and soul of humanity, from the supposed ordinary homemaker to the most famous like Oprah.
I soon reached the center in the pyramid. A huge studio audience of angels, aliens and humans burst into cheers and applause upon my arrival. A beautiful tech-angel took me by the arm past the stage, where Oprah entertained the crowd.
Oprah, client of mine from my hay days as a Chicago real estate developer, when I built her Harpo Studios, gave me a wave and a friendly shout, “Hey, Ken! Make it great!”
I waved back and pretended to know what Oprah meant by “Make it great!” The angel-tech chuckled at my confusion as she opened a door revealing dazzling golden control room.
Monitors buzzed with live feeds from every sacred site on earth. Stonehenge, the pyramids of Giza, the Parthenon in Greece, a new white city of lights in Nashville, St. Peter’s square in Rome, the plains of Africa, Mexico, Washington DC, Hollywood… All was on gorgeous 3D display!
The angel-tech pointed to her watch and smiled, “Live in 60 seconds, Mr. Sheetz.”
I nervously put on a mic headset. I was narrator for Oprah’s big show but I had no script. The “on the air” light blinked and I gulped. But the words flowed like I’d rehearsed the intro for years:
“You’re watching Oprah’s DreamShield special! Live from all the Earth’s 24 hours time zones, it’s the dawn of the golden age! Estimates of over 2 billion people are tuned in, all to meditate on a gentle 2012 as one. We welcome all peaceful beings from all the worlds across the universe who have loved and watched over our tiny blue world for eons. A world that now celebrates humanity’s full admittance as a sovereign member of the Galactic Society. Over to you, Oprah.”
Then Bradley was back from the club and I was back in the tiny room that had been my home for a year and raring to get moving onto the work of gentle 2012. My trip home on May 18th was going to be a huge success. Of this I was sure. Enjoying these amazing spiritual adventures? Please donate at DreamShield.org to help us battle 2012 fears and usher in a gentle tomorrow.
To ride a horse is to ride the sky. ~Author Unknown
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
Looking back on how fast the first year of DreamShield went, December 21, 2012 is almost here. Well, as I write it is still 595 days, 8 hours, 22 minutes and 11 seconds away.
One year ago, in a yoga hall that was a former horse stable in Italy, I had powerful vision of 3 ET style blue angels joining our SoulDrama group of 12 humans who were deep under the meditation spell of Guilia, the healer of Santa Maria Del Sole, who was chanting over us in words of ancient Hebrew, words that she has kept secret so far, even from me.
In that yoga hall vision on 5.5.10 I saw the 3 ET style angels join their blue energy to we dozen humans. This in turn, over a period of about a week of successive visions, created an energetic shield around the earth to ensure a gentle 2012 that I named the DreamShield.
This first vision has been recounted many times in ceremonies and on the web and has been seen by thousands of people all over the world. See our first of 220 videos on the topic of 2012 here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lg4wDtw3vD4
I somehow thought I could go back to my normal life after the big 10.10.10 event, an event that an angelic voice guided me to conduct, and come back to the DreamSheild global events I’d also been guided to do in Italy last year on 11.11.11, only 6 months away now, and the finale on 12.12.12. But just a few weeks after the fabulous 10.10.10 event a series of planetary meditations came to me again from the mysterious voice starting November 1, 2010.
The 11.1.10 event ceremony was at NoHo Park at the 9.11 monument and was conducted by Isabella Stoloff, the Shaman who had conducted opened our 10.10.10 event. Profound visions happened to me now for the third time in a row. And they have never failed to happen every time I meditate on the mission of a gentle 2012.
Moving forward from 11.1.10 Isabella would not be available as she was in Orange County and busy with her own interpretation of 2012 and Sarah, despite her amazing skills as holistic doctor and third generation palmist and social butterfly, had a young kids and a busy practice to juggle. So I was a bit lost on how to move forward with a series of planetary meditations I was being guided to perform on binary dates that were rolling up fast.
Enter the amazing Laura De Leon to the DreamShield story! Now with her help and Sarah plus Lee McCormick’s help in Nashville as our sponsor and Nathaniel Hansen’s as our website guru we were ready for anything.
Laura became a dear, dear friend in the process. She has a practice helping Hollywood talent reach their full creative potential called MyMysticMuse. And she became my personal guru along with DreamShield’s and I became her social media guru with my BuzzBroz.com buzz biz.
Ramon Govea and Kara Mooney would also step up to meet the challenge of the Gateway year of DreamShield in hosting our very first dance meditation at the Temple of visions on 3.11.11. And Laura would amaze me by singing sacred music at the event despite the loss of a family member that week.
Together our global team would perform 25 DreamShield meditations between 10.10.10 and today 5.1.11. They cover a broad range of issues from tectonic plate activity reduction, to solar flares, greed, clean energy, to the the intimate like healing the earth from child abuse and addiction. None of the of us have take any pay for all this. DreamShield a labor of pure love supported by love donations at DreamShield.org. Where we hope you please visit to donate.
But stay with us for this important 1 year anniversary DreamShield vision before you run off to give.
THE TWELVE HORSES OF 2012
This morning I was deep in meditation in my studio at The Cool Change Foundation, a bit sad that I’ll be leaving soon as all the video and web work that I have donated to that charity has blossomed into a production schedule that makes it too busy for me to have the peace and quite I need for my meditations and writing.
In the vision my father, who passed in January on 2011 after a sudden cancer took him, came to me. He’d not been to visit me from the after life for weeks. Last time I saw him he having an adventure aboard a sleek silver spaceship traveling faster than the speed of light for the center of the universe.
Dad had changed much. He was young again. He looked to be in his 30s. His cancer wracked body of 82 years a distant memory. Dad glowed with an inner light now. He leaned to me said to me, “Sorry I left you nothing in my Last Will and Testament, Ken.”
I explained I’d not expected a thing as my step mom, 15 years his junior, needed everything to get by plus I added, “Other thing is I think you thought you’d never die.”
My father smiled proudly at my unselfish behavior and said, “Here’s my inheritance for you son. A gift to help your work of ensuring a gentle 2012.”
A white horse appeared before us that rivaled the beauty of Pegasus. Before I could say a word another horse, black as the dark of space appeared beside the white horse, followed by a Palamino with white mane.
“One horse for each month of your first year with DreamShield, Ken. – 12 horses for the work of 2012,” my father proclaimed as ten more horses appeared in rapid succession. Each glowed with an inner light shining dazzling hues and shades of the rainbow upon Beck Street in North Hollywood, where we stood in the vision that morning as the sun rose.
Now a golden chariot appeared behind the powerful team of 12 horses.
“Get on!” my father said chuckling at my hesitation. “Take these. You’ll need them.” Dad, a former welder, placed 12 lightning bolts in my hand and swatted the lead horse, the white horse on the butt.
The team of 12 mighty horses charged up Beck Street and spun right onto Chandler Boulevard heading west. Car tires screeched. Horns honked at the spectacle.
The horse team took to the morning air, carrying my chariot along like a feather . I spun the team east on Laurel Canyon Blvd and flew for the sun. Soon I could see LA and the Pacific far below. Whales cried out to us from the sea as we left the atmosphere.
I saw the DreamShield pulsing white and strong below. “Wow!” I wondered to myself thinking of what to use the lightning bolts for. Happy of the magic of these beautiful and healing spiritual adventures. Not just a lifetime but for all time in every incarnation I have ever had in every dimension.
Please give today in honor of the one year birthday of DreamShield as there is much to do in preparation for 11.11.11, another global celebration like 10.10.10. No official word yet but for Greece we may be gaining access to an ancient temple. I feel guided to travel to Greece for that one and hope Sarah and Laura will feel the call to be there as well. Help make it happen. We have thousands of fans now, If all gave what they can, even if it’s only $10 or $20 we’d be all set.
“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.
“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” – Oscar Wilde
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
Approaching the one year anniversary of the angelic vision in Italy of a gentle 2012, reflecting back to 10.10.10, it was in this meditation I would learn my visions are no fluke. I’ve now been part of over 25 official DreamShield meditations and been granted a powerful vision in every one of them.
My dream is to one day have a budget to share my all visions with you and the many visions others are having as we approach 2012. There’s never been a documentary ever made like it!
Sorry, I am no CG artist. But it’s better to light one computer screen than to curse a dark movie theater. Enjoy.
There will be many more DreamShield events, big like 11.11.11 and 12.12.12 and small in between. Meantime, we encourage you to make a donation today so that our dream team can travel, as the angels have asked, to all 24 time zones by 2o12 and help the angels manifest a gentle future. We need your support.