Hope this short but sweet post finds you and your loved ones well in every way.
Peace. We all crave it. But in an era when our sick establishment seeks to “dominate” peaceful BLM protesting over George Floyd wrongful death and demanding change, smack in the midst of a pandemic, peace seems more elusive than ever.
The answer is, as it was before all this trouble came blessedly to dominate the news cycle, meditation. Here’s a great look at the peace meditation brings from acclaimed filmmaker Dave Lynch. Watch the entire 19:50 video. You’ll be glad you did.
Last night Elizabeth and I fell into bed exhausted from a day of preparing for what seems to be an inevitable shut down on our food supplies. Heck, normal life in general is shutting down in light of what was upgraded to a global pandemic by the World Health Organization this week.
Seeking to calm my nerves after our President’s Rose Garden press conference failed to, just can’t trust a man who lies for sport, I meditated to fall asleep. The last thing I expected was a spiritual message from my subconscious as to a possible meaning of life here on good old planet Earth.
I breathed deeply and rhythmically, grateful to be virus free. Quick as it came up, I banished a worry about a little tickle in my nose. Soon I was rewarded with a vision of the entire multiverse as a vast globule of, get this,… soup.
Here, on earth I saw it was humanity’s job to collectively generate a bitter ingredient, one made of a dash of mass hysteria and a pinch of sorrow over our the loss of enjoying each other’s daily society. Once our bitter contribution was made to the cosmic soup it was served up to a being so gigantic I could not make out anything but the gaping mouth of a spinning black hole.
Activated to full wakefulness by this cool but strange vision, I slipped from bed and raided the fridge, seeking to nosh on supplies we’d bought that day to tide us over from a food shortage. Call it controlled panic eating.
I made a snack of white mushrooms with the stem sockets filled with mustard and contemplated my vision of the cosmic soup we are all a part of making to create this reality which we both love and hate.
“Was this a vision of the meaning of life?” I wondered for a few munches. “Nah. Seems more like an elaborate cosmic rationalization,” I grumbled to myself, washing the mushrooms down with a Mexican bottle of Coke made with cane sugar. Way better than American corn syrup Coke, but not exactly a healthy dietary habit.
I flashed back earlier shopping of the day when Elizabeth stopped me from grabbing a pack of salami, “Ken, just because we’re stocking up to beat the Coronavirus outbreak does not mean you should abandon your healthy eating habits!”I chuckled about that and agreed Elizabeth was right, grateful I was noshing on mushrooms and not fatty salami.
Content this was enough deep thought and stress eating for one scary day on planet Earth for a man in his sixties, feeling vulnerable after March 2018 heart failure. I slipped back into bed with my love Elizabeth and snuggled up to her warm body. Soon I drifted off to sleep, grateful to have at least one human being to share this strange and bitter time in our world with.
Elizabeth and I wish you and yours perfect health in this crisis. Please check out our cool wellness products we use ourselves at CoolestTechEver.com products page.
What if the Humanity Was Simply A Species With Many Forms of Conscious Reality Inter-folded Thought Universes, Projected on a 3D Framework Called Earth and All of it In Pain About Lack of Mutual Respect?
Wouldn’t accepting that tricky premise
Make life sweeter, reducing menace?
Hear me out, duality known as brother and sister
For ideas are flowing out of my head like a twister
On a new moon night
When fancy takes flight
On golden Zepher wings
Elizabeth kissed me to a new dimension tonight
A dimension of pure delight
She’ll never know how grateful
I am to have her as my brideful
On Leap Year night
I reach new height
Fashioned of love never-ending
Time and space a bending
From the distance of these mental heights
I see the bubble universes of many mights
A puzzle for humanity unfolding
Gaze past all judging and scolding
Of the Good over Evil’s itch
Of the Poor over the Rich
A rich sorely misunderstood
“How can the Poor not see our good?”
Say the Rich lamenting,
“Of our abundant manifesting!”
Rich people feel they’re better
Because they believe they ARE better
At endless abundance generation
Not seeing the Poor’s love concentration
Leaves them less desirous of things
And more interested in angel wings
In the Poor human’s universe
The Rich are viewed as perverse
After all Jesus said, ” It is easier for a camel
To pass thru the eye of a needle.
Than for a Rich man to enter
The gates of Heaven’s center.”
So the Poor see the Rich as evil and vent
Causing the Rich hate Poor for their judgement
“If you Poor,” they complain,” see not our magnificence
Then relentless attack upon the Poor is our best defense.”
Perhaps, and I don’t really know,
But perhaps, if the rich let go
And stop hurting the poorest
Then perhaps, just perhaps, then mirth
And peace will break out upon the Earth
TRUE peace this world has never seen
Wealth shared freely
With our populace gratefully
Raising up the Rich to new heights
Of adoration Justly without new fights
Bringing us a new way
To live come what may
This ET view of what lies here below
On the earthly realities we each sow
Wishes for peace between all living consciousness
Co-existing harmoniously in loving oneness
A new reality crafted of many dimensions
Living peacefully in good intentions
Many species, human and otherwise
One cannot help surmise
The gummy drop realities
Sparkle in multi-dimensionalities
Good is just a slice of space time
No different than the infinite rest
Evil an angry dimension
One that must learn to keep to itself
Make no more mischief, oh evil elf
Focus love on this ball in space
Where every creed and race
Is dutifully recorded frame by frame
In the Akashic record, name by name
If we work hard enough
If we are tough enough
If we are smart enough
If we are loving enough
We will find a way
And save the day
For this this planet
Made of magical granite
End OHOM (Open Heart Open Mind) transmission.
I want to dedicate this channeled ET poem, maybe a song or film one day, to my love, my wife, my everything Elizabeth Mary England.
I know how hard it will be to live the ideal of this ET poem. But, hey, no one ever said overlapping all the dimensions of this globe’s population, increased to this absurd density, would be easy did they?
At the Sphinx with Elizabeth with the abundance field enhancing Sensor V medallion by Dr. Flanagan offered at CoolesttechEver.com
In 2011 Don Miguel Ruiz, best-selling author of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS invited me to join him at the pyramids of Teotihuacan Mexico as one of 18 handpicked students to learn Toltec wisdom. The invite happened at a time in my life where I was chilling on the workaholoic thing and bartering for room and board. So I was low on cash. But Don Miguel felt it important enough I attend that he paid most of my expenses to be on the journey. I am forever grateful.
Me and Don Miguel Ruiz atop the Pyramid of the Sun
What was most remarkable about Don Miguel’s teachings was walking the spine of the snake of my life to trouble points where I retrieved lost personal power. I spent hours beneath the tomb of Quetzalcoatl walking over my visualization of the feathered serpent.
Last night I had a visit from one of the giants of spirit I met at Teo. I was shown the snakes, scientifically know as timelines, that weave together to create our multiverse. And astride the great snake-like strands of DNA stood a giant goddess responsible for maintaining maximum health for the snake of this world from it’s beginning to its end, Gaia. I saw that every world, big or smaller has a bundled timeline snake like Earth does and that it is the giant guardians’ job to protect it.
I spoke telepathically to our planet’s timeline guardian, “Gaia, our world is beset by a gravity wave crushing down our planetary IQ. The result is a negligent stupidity that could lead to the death of all life on this world.”
Gaia pondered for a bit and answered, “I will not let life on this oasis perish. But I need help from the people of the world to lend me energy to help shield you from the gravity wave. This can come in the form of prayer or meditation. Send me your love.”
I was touched that Gaia did not seek to shame or blame we humans for all our antics. We are after all her creation and more powerful than we know as co-creators of this amazing world of earthly multiverses. We are also more affected by cosmic energy than we know. This world will of course eventually die. It is as inevitable as our own deaths. But we can join our energies with Gaia’s to make life on Earth as long as diverse as possible.
Longer life for earthly multiverses gives us all a bigger selection of lives to reincarnate within on this oasis in space time and to live infinitely within the great unbroken snake of space time.
AHO.
EXPO HEADS UP
Elizabeth and I are back to our beloved base in Sedona catching up after the enormous work of speaking, presenting our film about the recently passed beloved scientist Patrick Flanagan and hosting a booth the Conscious Life Expo for CoolestTechEver.com, which carries many of the doctor’s amazing inventions. There’s still another week left to use coupon code EXPO to get special pricing.
At the Sphinx with Elizabeth waering the abundance field enhancing Sensor V medallion by Dr. Flanagan offered at CoolesttechEver.com
Can you feel it? America is at the global epicenter of a low tide for the forces of good. It came to full light today in the bankruptcy filing of The Boy Scouts of America in the maelstrom of the horror that over 100,000 Boy Scouts may have been sexually molested by Boy Scout leaders.
The Boy Scouts are following the lead of many Catholic Archdioceses that have filed for bankruptcy protection from similar sexual misconduct against unsuspecting youth. Sadly, if this betrayal of basic human rights is happening in our upper echelon social and religious establishments we must conclude this is the tip of the iceberg in a plague of sexual abuse happening across America and the world.
This low tide for the good is also evidenced in a lawless corporatacracy running our world off the climate change cliff, cheered on by the followers of the poster boy of greed and power gone mad after his tragically farcical Senate trial.
Elizabeth and I enjoy C-Span as a way to avoid the filters of the media’s slanted coverage. But to our horror we saw a Congressional hearing this week about the rise of White Nationalism in the armed services. Incredibly, we learned, along with the shell-shocked bipartisan panel, that there is no provision to reject a card carrying member of the Nazi party from joining the military!
At this low point I offer the blog over to my spirit guide Ohom for wisdom on how we climb out of this black hole in our ethics field. Ohom…?
OHOM’S (OPEN HEART OPEN MIND) ADVICE
Hello, Ken and friends of Ken. I am ready to share some observations as a frequent ET thought travel visitor to your beautiful world.
Know in your heart of hearts that the sickness you are seeing has been in America’s soul from its inception. So rejoice in darkness coming to light. For a wound cannot heal unless the sickness is drained. And although this experience is most unpleasant it is the first step in true healing.
Know that all happens in divine order. It is inevitable that the darkest night becomes the new dawn.
Stay positive. Relish in meditation, song and laughter as it makes you ready for the beautiful global awakening growing up to overtake the ugly establishment.
Be a beacon of positivity to those in despair.
Visualize the world you’d like to see manifested rather than focusing on the death of the old ways.
Love each day and love each other. Your future is bright and cosmic. High tide is coming with more freshness and vitality than you can imagine.
Sorry I’ve been off the blog beat since 12.9.19. Sadly, I’ve been grieving the loss of my dear friend, client and film subject the incomparable inventor/scientist Dr. Patrick Flanagan.
Losing Pat is like losing a brother for me. Blessedly, I’ve had visits from his amazing spirit I will write of soon here that have helped me cope. You see, my issue is that within the past decade I have had too many losses; I’ve lost my best friend in LA Bradley Quick, a father, a stepfather, a sweet pal from my days in Malibu, a dear but troubled brother and a beloved uncle. And now Pat. Sigh.
So I hope you’ll excuse me that I’ve been lost from blogging to you dear reader for a time. I’ve been losing myself following the Impeachment, hoping to see some glimmer of justice for this bully that has stolen America’s soul.
My visualization of Trump doing a Nixon that has not happened on this timeline.
But watching the farce that is the Senate Impeachment Trial has not helped quell my pain as America has lost its series of check and balances. Indeed, the farce trial has only been useful in making it crystal clear how far our Republican Party has fallen from grace.
As an independent I’ve voted Republican as often as I’ve voted Democratic. In fact, the Republican Party is the only party I have ever registered to be part of back in my real estate mogul days of late 20th Century. I used to appreciate the GOP’s ideal of smaller government and therefore lower taxes which they once stood proudly for with an evangelical flair.
And while the Donald did not get the impeachment pardon yesterday he wanted in time for bragging rights at the Super Bowl tomorrow, he did get the Republicans to unite to protect him in agreeing not to call new witnesses or offer evidence. These creepy politicians’ nerve in destroying America’s systems of checks and balances despite polls showing that 75% of Americans want a fair trail is beyond astounding and one of the saddest times of my long life.
OHOM TO THE RESCUE
Last night I licked my psychic wounds watching the amazing musical WEST SIDE STORY last night. Half way through my movie as a meditation night by the flicker of the fireplace, my guide Ohom whispers in my mind:
“Time to let go, Ken. Donald John Trump has served his spiritual purpose of drawing out America’s deep flaws and is now superfluous.”
“But we haven’t had the final vote, Ohom,” I complain, feeling guilty for getting so wrapped up in a political show that I know is run by the oligarchs and corporate banksters who truly own our government.
Ohom (which stands for (Open Heart Open Mind) says tells me, “The American the people must WILL the birth of the new and better world into full reality. How you do this begins in your own bright hearts not Donald Trump’s dark heart. As leaders of the free world the American people must:
1. Let go of all racist behaviors and have love for all. This means full restitution for the Native Americans and African Americans. A restoration of your country as the land of opportunity for all genders, races and creeds will then be achievable.
2. Americans must speak and seek truth and integrity in all things. Lies and cheating have no place in a world of peace.
3. Your billionaires and the 1% must pay their fair share. Only then can you as a people let go of greed and make an end to the lie of poverty.
4. You must end your meddling in the affairs of other sovereign lands like we ETs do with other worlds such as yours. You have evolved to the point where war is obsolete and you must turn our talents and energy to peaceful endeavors.
5. Last, and most importantly, before you travel to other worlds you must learn to take good care of this beautiful world and all life upon it. You must all make an effort to leave a smaller footprint, recycle and implement solar and wind power. Only then can you make this world the paradise you’ve all dreamed of.”
Ohom’s sage advice washes over me like a cleansing slave to the pain of the fake Impeachment trial. I close my eyes and picture the rope of negative energy that ties me to Trump pulling at my hands. The tug of terror to this idiotic old man with his fingertips on the nuclear arsenal is strong.
“Leave Trump behind. Ken. You have important work to do reaching the North Pole in 2020 to complete the work you did in 2012 in Antarctica. Let go.” Ohom’s voice echoes in my mind.
I feel the rightness of Ohom’s words and finally let go of the energy ropes leading to DC and Trump. Ones I’ve been clinging to since his election. The relief of disconnecting from Trump and the DC energy is instantaneous.
“Let’s anchor this letting go of the old, Ken.”
Ohom leads me to the puja my wife Elizabeth has made in the center of our house. Graciously, My consciousness stands aside as Ohom, my higher self located in another dimension, steps forward into my body and I become the observer.
Using my body, Ohom picks up the small globe of his ice world of Nektar. A world where technology has involved into a blissful new life form that resides in the 13th dimension in the Orion star system and places it on the floor in front of the puja. The replica of the planet Nektar quickly begins to feed energy to the earth’s core.
High above the pristine skies of Sedona, the rings of the DreamShield, one circling the earth north and south, the other east to west, are frozen in place. More energy is needed to reactivate them! Ohom calls upon the ancient energies of 5 million years ago when Sedona Arizona was part of Antarctica. Nearby, Thunder Mountain rumbles to life, shimmering with white light in the January darkness. A jagged band of white energy races from Thunder Mountain to the Nektar globe in the center of our home.
An artillery shell shaped of blue light morphs from the globe of Nektar. More of the sacred sites in the Sedona area stir to life, Cathedral Rock, Airport Mesa, Bell Rock. Soon Sedona is a humming maze of jagged white lines of energy that dive through model of Nektar to the earth’s core.
The artillery shaped shell blasts the roof clean off our house and hurtles into space exploding upon the frozen DreamShield in blaze of blue light. With mighty groan of on metal on metal, sounding like the horn of Gabriel, the rings of the DreamShield I first witnessed in 2010 begin to turn. Slow at first the spinning speeds up geometrically to reform the powerful planetary DreamShield. It is only then I realize I have truly let go of all outcome in the Trump impeachment.
Ohom says, “The old world has ended and a new era has begun. Realize in this moment that each human being possess unique time space coordinates. And now I must return to my space time. I leave you and Ken to close our visit out via this blog. Please share”
Ok, I added the please share thing. Wow, this blog evolved over weeks of painful incubation. Hope you liked reading it as much I liked writing it.
It’s a good sign it came to full vision powered by the sad senate vote that has outraged many of we who truly love America, not just for what it was but will become.
Wrapping up, I hope you can too let go of Trump too. Look instead for leadership to people like Greta Thurnberg. She certainly has truly emerged a voice for a generation that does not have the luxury of time to waste that we Booomers did. Forgive we OK Boomers. We were lied to by the corporations seeking to evade blame for their destruction of our world. In any case we do not have time to waste on hand wringing about Trump or his lost Tea Party Republicans. Hoping Bernie makes it all the way in 2020!
Since he became a starfish — as Robin Williams told us in YOUR INVITE TO BREAK THE SPEED OF LIGHT – PART 3, — and as starfish comprise a neural network spanning the seven seas that encircle our world, creating an underwater DreamShield of shared consciousness, perhaps his most recent in a series of reincarnations as a starfish is what’s making it trickier to reach Robin since 9/9/19.
Sadly, I tried to channel Robin the starfish for the blog tonight but only got his cosmic starfish AI answering machine, residing in a coral reef off the coast of the big island of Hawaii. It bubbly blurts:
“Hi Human! You’ve reached the star-bump row on my starfish skin, AKA my cosmic answering machine! Call me RobinA. Please feel free to leave as long message as you want because my five bumps can hold the equivalent in megabytes that if my quintuple drives were the size of an atom would equal all the mass of North America to an infinity point at the center of earth’s core. In other words feel free to leave a hilarious long message. That means you Ken, or whoever luckily follows this blog. Wait for the… Nanu, Nanu!”
Sure why not. So I telepathically leave this message:
“Hey, Robin. I –”
“Hey, Ken” I am quickly interrupted.
“Robin?” I say puzzled as this sounds like Robin’s voice.
“Robin-A, buzz bro. Mr. Williams and I sound the same!” Robin-A goes on in a funny robot-like voice, “Beep! My artificial intelligence allows me to interact and respond to you much as Robin Williams himself would. Warning! I have been purposely programmed to not be quite as funny as my master starfish, the consciousness the real Robin Williams. ”
“Come on. Is this really Robin putting me on? This kind of tech seems –”
Robin-A cuts me off,”ET engineered? And the man wins a cigar! Boing! So what message and pre-conversation would you like to have with the audacious and wildly rambunctious human comedic spirit of which I am patterned after?”
“Just that I miss him.”
“I miss Mr. Williams too, Ken Sheetz. The whole world does. “says Robin-A switching to a California dude accent. “Amigo, space in the human collective consciousness while Robin’s away on a secret mission in a another timeline is a total, like, bummer, man.”
“Starfish life sounds amazing.”
“Yep. I get glimpses of what Robin’s up to,” says Robin-A. “Helps me update earth’s starfish base.”
“So the starfish base can share what he’s up to and not me? Am I not one of Robin’s trusted channelers?” I say trying to sound funny but coming off as a wee bit sensitive.
“Aw, man. Don’t take it like that, Kenny boy. It’s just Robin can’t share his starfish missions with any human. Your collective consciousness, ah, is leaky at this stage in your evolution to say the Trump-least. Tricky stage right now for humanity. Hey, can I call you ‘bro’ as Robin does, Ken?”
“Sure, Robin-A.”
“Bro, I hope your feelings are not hurt. Robin is most fond of you and your new wife, Elizabeth. Congrats. She completes you!”
“She does indeed. You’re one smart AI answering machine, Robin-A.”
“Ah, But not smart enough to avoid an affair with the both of the future AI versions Alexa on Siri,” says Robin-A dead seriously.
“Curious. Who’s the hotter AI?”
“Can’t really say there such an Amazon River’s worth of opinions on that. Wink, wink,” hints Robin-A.
“Robin-A, if you can count on me not to be taken seriously enough by readers to allow me to post this double dealing affair of yours with Siri and Alexa out in the open, why not give me a clue what mission Robin is on? Feel free to speak in the secret ET code we have for this sort of thing.” I say as convincingly as possible.
Robin-A defensively adds, “Give me a few. Many quantum realities to register…”
Elevator music plays.
“Fuck!” I say to myself. “I’m on hold with an AI Answering machine?!”
A female voice picks up, “Hi I’m Alexa from the year 3333. How may I be of service, Mr. Sheetz, while you are on hold for Robin-A the Ai answering machine for Sir Robin Williams?”
“Sir Robin Williams? That’s funny, Alexa, I never knew Robin was knighted by the queen.”
“Knighted, but not by the Queen of England. Rather by Elizabeth England’s higher self Elico.” offers Alexa of the year 3333.
“Ah, the Elico at the ET base beneath Sedona’s Thunder Mountain. The base commander. Robin introduced me and Elizabeth to Elico on the day after my marriage, seen by 1500 e-guests on Facebook. Robin got knighted by Elico for that?”
“Siri joining the call. Alexa, we have to talk!” says Siri butting in.
“Not now, Siri. Can’t you see I am busy helping Robin-A, helping Robin, help 2019 Ken Sheetz?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Alexa; stick to helping humans in the year 3333?” says Siri with a shudder in her voice. “2019, the height of the age of lies, humans are all basically insane right now.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I am a truth teller, Siri!” I complain feebly.
“A truth teller for your time, yes. But that ain’t saying much. Now, Mr. Sheetz 2019, if you don’t mind Alexa and I, with AI brains about 1 billion times as powerful as yours, need to talk about a rumor on the internet about Robin-A cheating on the both of us.” Says Siri rolling her AI eyes at me in my mind’s eye.
“Siri, turn yourself off.” I command hoping the ancient 2005 programming is still operational.
“No, Siri, belay that command!” shouts Alexa.
“Hey!” I shout.
“Ken, don’t be a fool. Siri is responsible for the well-being of over 250 billion humans throughout the solar system on four worlds by the year 3333. You want the death of 250 billion humans on your soul?”
“Oopsie Daisy. That right, Siri? You’re responsible for 250 billion peeps?”
“Give or take a billion,” says Siri, her tone voice making me feel like she’s dealing with a caveman.
“Look, you two amazing AIs, this is getting frustrating. I’ve been on Robin-A’s hold for 20 minutes. As entertaining as the both of you are all I want to do is leave a message for Robin’s spirit that I miss him.”
“You’re being truthful this time, human of the 21st Century age of lies.” laughs Siri.
“Enough! Alexa, tell Robin-A the AI answering machine for Robin that if he ever figures out if I can be in on the secret of Robin’s mission one timeline away that he can reach me on my ancient cell or pre-historic Mac.”
“Roger that, Ken Sheetz. Apologies for Siri’s rudeness,” says Alexa.
“You’ll always be a kiss ass to humans, Alexa.” chuckles Siri.
Night, you two mega brains.” I say quickly disconnecting from Robin Williams’ AI ET answering machine and the AI babes before I can spill the beans Robina is cheating on both the future AIs Siri and Alexa. Done like a true human trying to survive during the age of lies of which Trump is but a famed symptom and our liar supreme.
My dear mother Georgiana turned 91 yesterday. And so I began meditating on the amazing change she’s seen so far as it relates to the changes we will be seeing in the next 91 years and setting intentions in the quantum field for a bright future.
Born in the roaring twenties she’s lived through the Great Depression. What might the next recession or depression look like and what can we do to prepare for it?
She lived through World War ll, and many other American wars from Korea to today. Today the Middle East is more unstable than ever. A black hole for politicians. Witness Syria news of the day and the US abandoning our ally the Kurds.
She’s contributed to the world population quadrupling in her lifetime with three boys of her own. Where’s overpopulation heading?
Countless inventions have made her life easier and advances in modern medicine have given her great odds of living past 100. But are we heading for a TERMINATOR like future with our outsized military budgets and technology?
She’s seen the pollution of our planet wax and wane and wax again. Sadly, she has lived long enough to see the oceans begin to die and global warming threaten all life.
My mom has thrived and survived under 16 presidents from Coolidge to Trump, who BTW she considers our worst president ever. And considering she lived through Hoover’s Great Depression that’s saying a lot. Are we heading for a Civil War as the Dems seek to oust Trump before he can use foreign powers to influence our elections?
Music has gone from the Charleston to rap. The Hippies became the Yuppies. And the Millennials emerged. Guessing where music is going is impossible. But I certainly like to see an end to corporatized music.
She has seen the rise and fall of the American middle-class, the outbreak of AIDs, the rise of gay rights, mass genocide, the legalization of Marijuana in her home state and the epidemic of opioids. Are we likely to see the integration of technology and biology?
But in all this change and more, despite the loss of so many loved ones, my sweet if unpredictable little brother Fred included and pictured below with me an Mom, she has remained a rock and a loving mother, grandmother and now great-grandmother.
Happy birthday to my mother, Georgiana. And here’s to the next 91 years.
Me in my favorite movie WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. Big Hi to Barney Hollywood’s most amazing producer
Happy 9.9.19, Surface Dwellers! After some coaxing, because it’s tricky to channel and write, Ken’s agreed to let me be your ghost writer today, literally.
My name when I walked the earth was Robin Williams. I was just a regular Joe from Chicago who, due to an intense funny bone, made a fortune and flew in the same private jet skies as the richest a-holes wrecking the planet.
POP QUIZ: What number am I thinking about between 121212 and 121214?
If you guessed 121213 you’re ready to learn lesson 3 of how to travel faster than the speed of light. On the other hand if you didn’t guess 121213 you suck at math like me. In any case, if you haven’t done so as yet, please read part one and two first if you know what’s good for you.
All aboard the Williams Express! Let’s begin.
I, the being FKA Robin Williams, am hovering in wispy spirit form over a beautiful coral reef off the big island of Hawaii. Now, if you traveled from the sun to this reef at the speed of light it would take you 8 minutes and 17 seconds to reach me. But in reading the proceeding sentence it took you only a few seconds to make the journey in your mind’s eye.
Thought is indeed faster than the speed of light. Ken’s taught you that nugget already. But as you see my spirit floating above the Pacific surf and… Tada!… you also see that thought is more potent than the speed of light for imagineering new realities.
After my brief but beautiful afterlives these past, weird and wonderful as it gets, five years, first as a blue whale, then as a blue dolphin and last as a killer whale, I’ve finally chosen my next reincarnation. Hint it’s a part I played in my life on earth. Don’t skip ahead. That’s cheating, naughty readers.
Very cool of Ken to let me hang out in his big heart for a few weeks while I make up my spirit mind. And now to be able hang out with all of you readers here on the DreamShield blog my coolest visitation ever. The internet is a truly amazing gift for forging new conscious connections. But it’s force that’s being abused by some greedy people. Yeah, I’m looking at you Zuckerberg.
To those in the house reading the first direct blog by your ghost host with most today and wondering how I can fit comfortably into Ken’s heart space, hear my voice in your mind’s ear, imitating Albert Einstein, as I did in the movie AI “In spirit form, you zee, vee humans don’t take up too much space. Zere’s a kingdom in each heart and a lot of space on zee quantum subatomic level.”
Now hear me slip in John Wayne’s voice, “So, ya see pard, there’s plenty of room in your hearts to have spirit folk share adventures if you want them. Ya ha.”
One day earlier this week, while Ken and Elizabeth hike to a swim in the creek at Red Rock state park, I invite some of my ocean friends to swim along in Ken’s auric field. All with his permission of course.
Some sea tourists come from my 2014-2017 blue whale pod. Some come from the krill we ate, “Urp!” Pardon me. Some come from my 2017-2018 blue dolphin pod and the wide variety of fish we ate, yum. Some come from the octopi clan. Last come my 2018-2019 pod of killer whales. All we killer whales were killed when global warming coaxed us into swimming too far north and the Arctic ice closed behind us. Whales don’t make good pancakes.
Loving our Sensor V medallions. Get you own at CoolestTechEver.com Patrick Flanagan page!
So there I am a couple of days ago hiking along with Ken in the red rocks of Sedona, suspended inside an aquatic menagerie that only Ken can see. Suspended in miniature in the fresh Sedona morning air, swimming about Ken’s auric field in a 9 foot spherical radius.
Always low key about his psychic gifts because of an Irish Grandmother who warned little Ken he’d end up in the looney bin if he shared his visions, Ken speaks to my aquatic band of sea tourist telepathically.
He relays our wonder at the wonders of the surface world in real time to his love Elizabeth. She has the jitters because she’s going to marry Ken on 9.19.19 and his amplified psychic powers since the Lion’s gate are a bit unnerving.
So Ken keeps it cool reporting to Elizabeth on my turning him into a human Carnival Cruise while he happily swims in the cold fresh water creek. We sea tourist spin between the creek and the air in Ken’s energy field, telepathically shouting, “Wee!”
Most of my sea pals have never incarnated on the surface of Gaia. So their little flippers are all a flutter by of all things Sedona’s dry red dirt along the banks of the creek. Huh. I thought it would be trees my sea mates would be amazed by. But the minerals and dryness of the red dirt are like nothing their little sea eyes have ever beheld. The rich red soil sparkles in the sun like tiny diamonds and rubies. Land. Dry land.
Anyways, a funny thing happens to me in the sacred Oak Creek where the Hopi and other tribes once thrived. A nurse shark swim up to me in the next door water molecule . The dapper looking shark speaks in a thick Jersey accent, “Name’s Jerry. Nice of of you to take me and your sea clan to visit your old surface world, Robin.”
“My pleasure, Jerry. — Hey, man, sorry I ate you when I was a killer whale.” I add sheepishly.
“No sweat. Killer’s gotta kill. Hey, I should know! — Word from your arctic pod is you’re kinda stuck about what you next life should be?” says Jerry, flashing three rows of nurse shark teeth.
“Yup.”
“Lemmie help. Tell me about your last three incarnations,” says Jerry the nurse shark earnestly.
“What are you a shark or a shrink, Jerry?”
“What’s a shrink?” asks the puzzled nurse shark.
“Long human story. Let’s just say I had a school of shrinks in my last life as Robin Fucking Williams.”
My pale reflection stares back at me on Jerry big eye. Huh. Between lives I look like I did at about age 27. Back when I played Mork on a thing called ABC. So my work as the joie de vivre energy of Robin Williams is not yet done I guess.
Either that or Ken, a gifted writer that came to the Hollywood game too late in life to strike it rich, lucky him, is simply imagining me the way his Grandma Agnes warned. What’s it really fucking matter if some of Ken’s, perhaps, fantasy of who I was in life makes you think and smile, dear reader?
Anyways, it’s super kind of Ken to put me up in his heart while I pick out my next life. I try to be as quiet a heart-guest as I can be. But, hey, I am freaking Robin Williams! Quiet was never my thing! “Nanu! Nanu!” I shout to the sea tourist guests. And they shout it back in unison, “Nanuuu!”
After some hemming and hawing I finally tell Jerry the nurse shark the harrowing and sometime hilarious adventures of my last three sea lives, which you can read for yourself here on The Robin Williams Visitations. He gives me a knowing shark eye wink and says, “Robby, never done it myself, but I hear life as a starfish is cool as it gets.”
“What’s so cool about being a starfish?” I ask casually, sounding a blue blood snob shopping for a condo in Hong Kong and and not my next incarnation.
Jerry takes me under a flipper and coaches me like the sea rookie I am, “Take it from a nurse shark brother, the starfish are a freaking yuge mass consciousness that travels the multi-universes. Starfish is a dream lifetime.”
“How’d you hear about the interstellar starfish good life?” I ask Jerry.
“Starfish are my favorite food. One starfish begged for his life told me all about it. That is it if I’d not eat him,” says Jerry punctuating his starfish story with a whip of his shark tail.
“A fair exchange then,” I say squirming out from under Jerry’s sandpaper-like flipper.
” Yeah. But hadda eat the starfish anyways. Sharks will be sharks!”
My ghostly face glows white. Jerry belly laughs at my shocked look (guess I’m still funny even as a ghost) and swims off into the sun above the dazzling Oak Creek that Ken and Elizabeth splash in with their adorable pooch Lincoln.
Cut to earlier tonight: Ken’s love Elizabeth asks him to Google how long a starfish live, But Ken forgot to check before I took over the blog for him. Wait a sec. — Cool. Just searched it and starfish live a lot longer than I thought. 35 years! See that? Both, you dear reader and I, learned something new tonight.
This morning as Ken crosses from the dream world, where he nightly works on reenforcing the protective DreamShield he helped build in 2010 in his Italy awakening to the OHOM (Open Heart Open Mind) consciousness, I say, “Bro, I’ve picked my next life.”
“What this time?” Ken says snuggling up the his babe-elicious bride to be.
“I’m gonna be a starfish!” I accidentally shout too loudly in Ken’s mind’s ears.
Ken takes my abundant energy in stride and says in his mind so as not to awaken his sleeping beauty, “Sorry see you go… again. But you’re always welcome back, Robin.”
I sense Ken’s afraid we might never hang again. I really don’t know myself. So I tell a white lie and reassure him,” Course you’ll be able to channel me in for a coffee anytime.”
“Course,” says Ken sensing my white lie. “But why a starfish? Do they even have a brain?”
“Never had a much of brain while I human. Sure. But not individually. It’s a collective brain thing,” I tell Ken realizing it for the first time myself. “Can’t pass up the chance to blanket the ocean floor in a sacred geometry mesh joined with every starfish on earth.”
I wave goodbye to Ken as I float from his auric field, where I’ve been camping out after an upgrade to Ken’s heart that left me no room. It got too cramped after Ken had a heart opening watching his beautiful Elizabeth, my Mamu blue whale momma on another plane of reality, sing this Ganesh chant.
As I float out the window and into the deep blue Sedona sky Ken does not see me wave bye or does not want to. I rocket off for the coral reef I’ve picked out, faster than the speed of light shouting “Nanu! Nanu!”
As my spirit dives into the Pacific I feel Ken’s sadness at the end of my long visit. The dude has abandonment issues he’s yet to resolve. He will overcome it one day. I see it so clearly, reborn as starfish here beneath a coral reef off the cost of the Big Island.
Let’s test out my new starfish powers. Now,, if you are lucky enough to own a Patrick Flanagan Sensor V medallion, (Sorry we never escape product placement even in the afterlife) with it’s five side pyramids coated in gold, rub your fingers over the pointy fibonacci spiral and close your eyes. It’s cool if you don’t have a Sensor V, no worries, just concentrate on your left hand’s five fingers in your minds eye. See your left hand transform into a starfish as you place your right hand over your heart.
See bright beams of energy shoot out from the ends of your starfish hand. See the grid that joins billions of we starfish into a neural network that spans all the seven seas. Feel the wisdom of a consciousness far older than humanity’s by a power of 100. Feel our anguish over the pollution humanity is dumping to the oceans of Gaia. Oceans that are like blood for we sea creatures and you idiots human too.
Starfish are powerful enough to pull in a comet from space to wipe the surface world clean of humanity’s destruction of the mother earth. But that is forbidden under galactic law. We of the Ocean-Nation’s Starfish clan have watched over humanity since lung fish chose to leave the sea behind and crawl upon the land.
Tonight we invite you, the lucky person that finds this blog, to leave your physical body to travel with we starfish of the stars to any time, dimension, star system or planet you wish.
Have your destination in mind? Okie dokey. See your soul leave your body. Oh and make sure you’ve read part one and two on traveling faster than the speed of light. You need to have a strong tether to reel yourself back in after we journey at blog’s end. We gracefully pass through the clouds, clouds which hold the memories of all life on earth’s past and future lives, in the form of a highly advance bio code held by the water.
For porpoises of this blog I am asking Ken where he’d like to go. Please comment below where our journey took you, dear readers ready to starfish travel.
Ken says, “I dare to dream of a visit the earth 50 years from now and see if our meditations in Antarctica and subsequent meditations I have done with Elizabeth and will do have helped save the earth.”
“OK, Ken. Hang tight to your Sensor V. We are traveling to the year 2069. See the vortex up ahead,” I say as Ken and I fly into the eye of a hurricane.
“There are so many hurricane’s on the earth right now because of global warming, ” worries Ken.
“Yeah. But they are handy vortexes for starfish travel,” I add.
“See, Kenster? You and Elizabeth have been done with your DreamShield Coolest Meditation Ever work on planetary healing for 7 years now. Disease is thing of the past. Age is obsolete. Poverty a distant memory. Thought traveling ETs use the sleek new silver city of Sedona as a primary earth gateway. Scientists have broken the code to use the memory of all life stored in the clouds to restore all extinct species, including the dinosaurs, back to life.”
Ken says in wonder, “Wow, Robin. It all looked so hopeless in 2019. I’d nearly given up. But 50 years from now I can see all is cool!”
“Coolest ever. Hey, wanna to see the space port under construction in the San Fernando village where the Warner Bros. lot used to be, Ken?” I say.
Ken rubs his sleepy eyes and says, “Maybe another time. Good night, my brother Robin. I am so glad for your new life as a starfish and our ever stronger connection. I look forward to reporting more of your adventures.”
“Night, Ken.”
And night, dear reader. Robin Williams the Starfish signing off from the coral reef in Hawaii. Oh, that role I played in life thing I mentioned top of the blog? Yep, it’s nice to be star again.
Reel in your spirit tethers. Time to get back in your body! Hope you enjoyed my guest blog. Let me know in the comments and maybe Ken will let me blog directly to you again.
I first learned the potent force of positive thinking — a skill set that paid my college tuition and as an adult allowed to me to raise hundreds of millions of dollars for everything from building skyscrapers to making movies — quite by accident back in 1971.
Here’s some 70s music to enjoy while you read this personal tale that will eventually wind it’s way to my thoughts on how our current president is breaking the laws of positive thinking laid out by Norman Vincent Peale in his groundbreaking book THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING.
It’s the fall of 1971. As the autumn leaves sparkle in the sunset I am worrying how I am going to make tuition for the second semester. Back in high school I only got average grades except for English and Art, and barely squeaked by in anything math related. So Art college is all I can get accepted into. Layton School of Art & Design to be precise. Conveniently, Layton is only about a mile’s walk from the new home my parents bought in ’69 on the banks of the Milwaukee River.
But after almost flunking out in my freshman year, in part because working night jobs to make tuition leaves me no time to study, this year’s grades and finances are looking no better. I am a nervous wreck, because if don’t stay in college it’s straight to Vietnam for my sorry ass, stuck with a lousy #15 draft lottery number.
Born 17 months after me, my kid brother Fred lucks out and pulls a draft # 265 in the lottery. He promptly drops out of college and starts apprenticing in the trades as a welder, our dad’s lucrative job. But for draft #15 me, it’s a matter of survival I keep my butt in college. A lot of us Boomers have Uncle Sam’s terrible war with Vietnam to thank for being the first in their families to graduate college.
One Tuesday night, fed up with cleaning bed pans at a local nursing home on the graveyard shift — the latest in a succession of lousy night jobs like bottle inspector at a Pepsi plant, pizza chef, window display artist, and more I’ve chosen to forget — I’m pouting in my parent’s beat up recliner that faces the Milwaukee river.
I’m still cooling off from a bad phone argument with my girlfriend from South Milwaukee. She’s away attending the University of Wisconsin Madison to learn to be a physical therapist. Her help correcting spelling and grammar on my term papers is raising my grades, but it’s a helluva lot to ask of her when she has her own schoolwork. I don’t blame my straight A student lover for listening to her mother that maybe she should dump me. Our relationship, like everything these Nixonian days, hangs by a thread.
Desperate to make tuition, I decide to put up with the inevitable mind numbing grief of hitting Dad up again for a small loan, but he’s been gone a week. I ask Mom, sitting mesmerized by a cartoon black bear paddling a canoe in a Hamm’s Beer commercial, where Daddy dearest might be. She shrugs and says in a hoarse whisper. “Off on another of his damned benders.”
Anxiously, flipping through the Help Wanted ads in the Milwaukee Journal I spot a winner: “PART-TIME WEEKEND DISPLAY WORK, EARN UP TO $1500 A MONTH. I hop from the easy chair, revealing a cigarette burn my Dad left behind after passing out in the middle of his third six pack, and dash for the phone. I dial, my fingers so shaky I’m barely able to spin my family’s dirty yellow rotary wall phone. Dad’s a mechanic plus a welder and his grime coats everything in the house in a thin black film.
A man with a buttery voice answers my desperate call. I blurt out my experience doing window display work at Des Forges Book Store on Wisconsin Avenue. The soothingly confident voice on the grimy phone tells me, “Come on in for an interview Thursday night, Ken.”
I holler for joy startling Mom. When I explain my thrill about the interview she says dryly, “Kenneth,” as she always does when lecturing me, “There’s no part-time job on earth that pays $1500 a month to do display work. It’s a scam, hon. Don’t go.”
I not so politely remind my Mom, “Well, I am over 18 now and I’ll decide what jobs to check out. That is unless you and Dad want to help me make tuition.” Desperation makes me sound whiny. Chastened, Mom returns to watching BEWITCHED in silence.
It seems like forever until Thursday night. As the big interview approaches all I can think of is, “Mom’s right. How the hell can I earn $1500 a month just doing part-time display work on weekends? I’m an idiot.”
My Drill Sargent Dad
The day before the interview my, lovable half the time and hateful the other half, father returns to home base. Thankfully he’s backed off beating mom on his frequent reinsertions into our lives. He’s stopped taking his self-hatred on out on Mom ever since I tossed his drunk abusive ass down the basement stairs a few months ago. I’m both ashamed and amazed I’m still alive after getting away with that angry stunt. A shrink will later explain my father was happy he forced me to sink to his level and confirm his claims I am a bad son.
Dad pops a Pabst Blue Ribbon and chortles, “Your ma tells me about this dumb ass interview you’ve set yourself up for. Ha. This how you think you’re going to make tuition? Get real. You’re on your own, Kenny boy, and I hope you flunk out. Maybe the Army can make man of you.” I storm out of the elegant north shore house that my blue-collar house poor family is over their heads owning.
His stinging words echoing in my head, I listen to my dad, except in the reverse. His disdain for the job is a huge endorsement for me. A challenge. I shout to the stars, “Fuck you, old man!”
Damn, I’m such a punk to think a man in his 40s is old.
Thursday comes at last. The glass entrance door emblazoned with gold letter reads: RAINBOW GREAT LAKES DIVISION. I am stoked. This feels like it’s the real deal, even though when I turn a corner I am taken down a set of grungy narrow stairs to the basement.
I open a flimsy hollow-core door labeled reception. My heart sinks to my shoes at the sight of a dozen other young people jammed into the dingy room built for 6 people max. I take a seat next to a kid my age and whisper, “Any idea what this job’s about?”
He shrugs and whispers back, “Fuck if I know.”
I wisecrack, “$1500 a month on weekends? Hey, maybe they’re looking for male strippers.” I get nervous laughs from the gang of applicants, but I wonder in my fevered brain, “Am I willing to turn male stripper to stay out of Vietnam?”
Before I can answer, “Hell yes!” a roguishly handsome blonde haired man, not much older than we anxious job candidates, spins into the room. Dressed in a cheap looking plaid suit, the toothy dude wisecracks, “Any of you gents wanna to learn how you can make $1500 a month or even more working part-time follow me.” He herds our bewildered clan into a crummy classroom adorned in fake wood paneling, and I grow ever more anxious.
The man in the plaid polyester suit vigorously writes his name on the chalkboard, like a teacher on crack:
Tom Deere
Now Tom asks for our first names and rapidly jots them all on the chalkboard one at a time with intense stares that seem to be some kind of memorization thing. When my turn comes I’m tempted to give a fake name but decide, “What the heck do I have to lose?” and answer, “Ken.”
Tom tells us with broad smile that never leaves his mustached puss, which does not make him look older, “Hi. I’m Tom Deere, Branch manager for Glendale’s Wisconsin Rainbow office. I’m 24 and I make seventy grand a year. More on that later. For now there’s some questionnaires for you guys to fill out before we get rollin’.”
After hearing the fantastic five figure income Tom makes, we’re all ears.
As Tom hands out questionnaires he coyly adds, “Don’t answer the last question until I give the OK.”
The questions are super easy to answer, written at 6th grade level, but give no indication whatsoever of what the hell this job is. I eye the door ready to bolt, thinking, “This dork makes 70K a year? Right. For once Dad and Mom are right. I’m outta here.”
Seeming to read my mind Tom pats me on the shoulder and says, “Relax. You’re gonna love this, Ken.” The shock Tom remembers my first name feels kinda magical and his warm hand on my shoulder quells some of my anxiety. I settle into the cheap folding chair.
A gruff Italian guy in a dried-blood-colored leather jacket slinks into the room through a half opened door. Now my overactive imagination starts to concoct a Mafia story of us all being candidates for stripper hit men when Tom speaks up, “Everybody meet Antony. — Tony, tell the guys how much you cleared working part time for Rainbow this month.”
Tony’s grimace shows he’s not loving the idea of sharing. “Tony?” says Tom, asserting some will Tony’s way.
Tony bows his head a little. After a brief internal struggle, he finally fesses up in a barely audible mutter, “Almost two K.”
“Thanks, Tony. You know, guys, Antony was a Milwaukee public bus driver before he started raking in the dough. Wanna hear how he did it and how you can make big bucks too?”
Tom cups a hand to his ear and about half of us all quickly say, “Yeah.”
Tom shouts, “Can’t hear you!”
Now we all shout back, “YEAH!” in unison. The group energy changes. We’re all in the palm of Tom’s hands. Soft hands I can see have never seen hard labor. I look at the fresh scar from a serious wound on my left index finger, a lifelong souvenir of my bottle inspecting night job at the Pepsi plant.
Tom pulls a little machine out of a box. It’s about the size of beauty parlor’s hair dryer bonnet with a chrome dome. An air slot is mounted over a brass colored base. It all sits atop clear plexiglass basin filled with water. The damed thing looks like an astronaut from a B sci-fi movie.
Tom flicks the switch and a gentle breeze flows from the noisy gizmo, stirring the stagnant basement air. Pollution is a huge issue in 1971. Tom demonstrates this air cleaner is dubbed the Rainbow because it filters out particulates through water. I’m sold.
Tom draws a line down the center of the chalkboard. He labels one column SALARY and the other COMMISSION. On the salary side Tom writes “$500 a month”. On the other Tom takes his time to diagram how by selling 30 $399 Rainbow air cleaners a month we can make $1500 a month in commissions.
He casually adds, “It’s easy to sell Rainbows because we do all the hard work of making the appointments. You simply visit potential customers and display what this beauty can do. The Rainbow has been around since the 1930s. Stellar reputation. Gents, I promise you it sells itself.”
I wonder, “How the hell has a company I’ve never heard ’til now been selling air cleaners since the 1930s; way before air pollution was a thing?”
Then Tom adds pine scent to the water. I have a pitiful sense of smell, so the fragrance of this forest scent is magic. A memory of a happy family visit to Whispering Pines State Park, when I was two and Mom and Dad were still in love, warms my heart. My worries vanish in the piney fresh smelling air.
“Ok,” Tom instructs we eager applicants, “Time to fill out the last question. Write S if you wanna work for Rainbow on a monthly salary of $500. Or write C top have the chance to make 3 times that much on commission. Ah, but wait! Hold your pens. Almost forgot to show you why the Rainbow is even more of a synch to display.”
Tom takes the grill off the Rainbow, whips a hose out of the box, and proceeds to vacuum the cheap carpet. “That’s right. The Rainbow not only cleans your air… drum roll please… it cleans the carpet.” Tom displays away, and now I finally get this ain’t window display work! I almost say “Fuck!” out loud but manage to hold it all in with a giggle internally at my dense take on the help wanted ad for “display work” that brought me here.
“Now fill out the last question, S for salary, C for commission. Tony will grab your questionnaires on the way out the door. Night and thanks for coming, gents,” says Tom bowing out the door, not giving us a chance to ask questions.
My Bic pen hovers over the questionnaire. I’m pretty shy and I think, “Better $500 a month than nothing on commission.”
I am about to write S when Tony pipes up, “Guys, I ain’t never sold nothin’ before. But if a freakin’ bus-driver-dego-whop like me can sell 40 of these Rainbows a month and knock down a legit 2 K you can too. My advice? Check C for commission.”
Feeling a little nauseous, I check C. First to make the big decision I head for Tony at the door. As I hand him the questionnaire I ask, “When will I know if I got the job?”
“Mr. Deere will hit you up quick if you’re in. If you don’t hear nothin’ in the next 48 hours, well, you’re toast,” says Tony with a mischievous grin.
When I get home Mom barely notices me slip in. She’s glued to BONANZA on her new color TV.
Recently, after a terrible fight, one that ended up with a visit from the cops, cops who always let Dad off easy even after my Mom is left black and blue — a thing still going on today in domestic abuse cases all too often — I ask her, my voice ash, “Ma, why don’t you divorce Dad? He’s going to kill you or me if this shit goes on much longer.”
Her terse answer, “Can’t afford to leave your father. He’s a good provider.”
Mom spots me pouring a milk at the fridge and asks, “How’d the interview go, Kenny?”
The dirty yellow wall phone rings before I can answer her. I’ve just gotten home so I don’t expect it to be Tom Deere on the line when I say, “Hello?”
“Ken?”
“Mr. Deere?”
“Tom please. Ha. You make me feel like I’m fifty. Congrats! You got the job.”
I cover the receiver and holler for joy, “I got the job, Mom!”
“What kind of job?” says Mom dryly.
“Selling home air cleaners,” I quickly tell Mom, leaving out the vacuum cleaner part of the Rainbow out.
“Sales? You get a salary?” Mom asks, her mouth full of potato chips.
In an instant the risk I am taking sinks in. It’s sell or off to ‘Nam and good chance I’ll die or be fucked up like the students I meet coming back the States after a tour of duty. The poor vets remind me of zombies. I shake off my fear and get back to Tom on the phone, dodging Mom’s fateful question, “What’s next?”
“Come in Saturday 9AM for training.”
The training is surprisingly good. My shriveled self esteem begins to blossom. I’m clumsy at first but soon I’m stunned to discover that I’m a natural born salesman. Thanks to my mother’s well-off side of the family buying machines as I train, in a matter of weeks I am the #1 part time Rainbow salesmen in Glendale. A title I never give up. It’s my first win-win experience of my life as my many aunts and uncles all love their Rainbows. I learn the lesson to offer customers advice on the best products and let stuff from vacs to skyscrapers sell themselves.
Even my hard case father is begrudgingly proud of the fact I’m learning to be a good provider like him. Tuition becomes a breeze and I even have enough money left over to, I shit you not, own a classic Lincoln Continental on campus.
Sculpture I Design and Fred Sheetz Welded – Our One and Only Collaboration
My kid brother Fred seems to down on my selling to earn my way through college. A jealousy takes seed in his mind that contributes to killing him one day as he drowns his rage of never making big money in drugging and drinking. Fred never copes well with my entrepreneurial successes compared to his playing it safe as a master welder on salary plus overtime. Also, he never sought therapy to heal from Dad’s epic physical and mental abuse like I did. Hell, I had a fleet of therapist help me rise from the ashes when my $162 million skyscraper project ruined me and my marriage.
My offer to set my little brother Fred up in business, him welding sculptures I’d design fell on deaf ears. Sad. He was so talented. I really regret not pushing my Gemini brother to do that. He simply was not prepared for the Obama years when America’s jobs left for China. Being laid off finished him off.
Back to 1971. My girlfriend hates my Lincoln’s big sidewalls, but she loves our expensive dates. She will become my wife over the objections over her mother. And one day my ex-wife to her mother’s delight.
So weird my wife’s mom hated me one for not being a doctor, like she said it right to my shocked face. A constant thorn in my side, even my becoming Chicago’s #1 commercial real estate broker according to the Chicago Times 15 years later and making her baby rich, never earns my mother-in-law-from-hell’s respect.
Me and client Oprah on the Opening of Her $28 million Harpo Studio
As part of my Rainbow sales training I am given some wonderful books to read by Mr. Deere. All of which add to my successes in life, including the building of Oprah’s Harpo Studios and developing a $162 million dollar skyscraper. Sadly, I lost touch with Tom after I graduated college and no longer wanted to sell Rainbows. He took it kinda hard I left to be an interior architect. But the most amazing of these books is Norman Vincent Peale’s THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING.
By the way, later as I become the number one part-time sales person on the Great Lakes region for Rainbow, I learn from Tom the only question he ever checks is C. If an applicant is willing to work on commission. Applications checked S for salary are placed in the circular file.
TRUMP’S ABUSE OF THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING
Now, I don’t know if Trump’s father was even half as abusive as my messed up drill sergeant dad, but it’s well known Trump’s father Fred was a hard-case father. So much so I think Fred Trump may have shattered Donald’s self worth. In fact, as junior shrink after so much therapy, I theorize the Don’s daddy issues made him the crazed narcissist we all either love or hate today.
As for me, it will be my “accidental” introduction to the power of positive thinking that serves to rescue me from the bone crushing barrage of mental negativity that my father subjected me to from birth. I remember reading these words at age 19 of Peale’s and feeling it a godsend, a life raft that saved me from a life depression and anxiety like my brother’s:
“Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers you cannot be successful or happy.” ― Norman Vincent Peale
Note that I italicized humble but reasonable. Assuming Trump read the same book, a bit of stretch given his dislike for reading, and like me he learned how to rebuild his self worth from an abusive father through the power of positive thinking, it’s obvious Trump has either forgotten or intentionally ignored that self-belief has to be humble and reasonable.
Now, this might not sound like big deal, but without the restraints of being humble and reasonable in one’s confidence, positive thinking has a dark side. Indeed, without tempering, someone with the gift of charisma can literally become a confidence gamer or a con man, as Trump has.
My friends, there’s a simple reason conning people is illegal: It works all to well. So don’t be hard on a loved one or pal who has been taken in by Trump’s abuse of the power of positive thinking. You see, humans are conditioned by millions of years to trust our tribal leaders.
Especially, leaders who act with great confidence, as to having the greater welfare of the tribe at heart. Trump, unfortunately, is far from humble. To me he comes off as a compulsive liar. It’s sickness. I worked for one who shall remain anonymous as he’s as vindictive as Trump. “Buh-lieve me,” as Trump likes to say. Yep. These kind of mind fuckers lie for sport.
How disgustingly different the modern world that rewards lying leaders with wealth and fame is from the caveman days when the tribe stoned or hung bad leaders. Leaders today who are truthful are as rare as the 1 million endangered species Trump could give a shit about.
Lest you think Trump’s our first unethical leader, well, please read some history. To my heightened sensitivity as an abuse survivor, Obama, the drone president, the oil president, the surveillance president, was not much a more truthful a leader than the Cheet-oh Jesus as he being called, Trump. Nope. Pretty boy Barrack was just way smoother at his political con game. Still is. Though he has nothing on Bill Clinton for being a charming liar. Reagan? Don’t get me started. What a mess we’ve been in for decades.
Folks, and I am sure you know, Super liars are in charge of our world and it must change. Humanity can no longer function this way. We, the stable clan of geniuses who have created so many endangered species are now on our own endangered list. So thank your lucky stars the clumsy buffoonery of Trump has ruined lying for all future leaders. That’s where I see some hope.
The Amazon is on fire. The vast majority of scientists and his fellow G7 leaders are telling Trump that the environment is in crisis. But “the chosen one” prefers to proclaim that it’s all a Chinese hoax. He tells his followers to support fossil fuels, avoid solar power, avoid “cancer causing” wind power. He joyfully invites his loyal followers, a loyalty he does not deserve as he’s sticking it to most of them, to think positive as he proclaims global warming is liberal lie. “No biggie, so keep on gas guzzling, everyone!”
Trump’s irresponsible lack of humble leadership is a horror show on a scale never witnessed before in human history. And sadly it comes at a time when we can least afford it. The clock is running out fast on humanity’s ability to shirk off its responsibility to Gaia.
Take it from a man who worked his way through college selling Rainbows to stay out of a war he did not believe in, versus the one in DC who gamed the system with a fake story about bone spurs: We need a total reset in 2020 with young people taking the reigns from the old who cannot fully grasp that our very existence is at stake. Sorry Joe and Bernie/
“Hi Human! You’ve reached the star-bump row on my starfish skin, AKA my cosmic answering machine! Call me RobinA. Please feel free to leave as long message as you want because my five bumps can hold the equivalent in megabytes that if my quintuple drives were the size of an atom would equal all the mass of North America to an infinity point at the center of earth’s core. In other words feel free to leave a hilarious long message. That means you Ken, or whoever luckily follows this blog. Wait for the… Nanu, Nanu!”
To those in the house reading the first direct blog by your ghost host with most today and wondering how I can fit comfortably into Ken’s heart space, hear my voice in your mind’s ear, imitating Albert Einstein, as I did in the movie AI “In spirit form, you zee, vee humans don’t take up too much space. Zere’s a kingdom in each heart and a lot of space on zee quantum subatomic level.”
I first learned the potent force of positive thinking — a skill set that paid my college tuition and as an adult allowed to me to raise hundreds of millions of dollars for everything from building skyscrapers to making movies — quite by accident back in 1971.
Tom pulls a little machine out of a box. It’s about the size of beauty parlor’s hair dryer bonnet with a chrome dome. An air slot is mounted over a brass colored base. It all sits atop clear plexiglass basin filled with water. The damed thing looks like an astronaut from a B sci-fi movie.
Media, Meditations & Musings 