I’ll lead off this blog with a message from my ET spirit guide:
“Every living being in the universe experiences immortality in the 5D quantum field.” Love, Ohom
My best rendering of Ohom in his human angelic form
Ohom’s coolest ever message came to me in the aftermath of a March 9, 2018 heart scare. Since I’ve been blessed by near perfect health my whole life this came totally out of left field.
But a prefect storm of stress, combined with a 60 day 25 pound weight gain, brought on by entertaining a food-loving future 23-year-old son-in-law for three months, had raised my blood pressure to twice normal levels.
Thanks to my awareness that something was very wrong, my love drove me to the ER where they took one look at me and rushed me to an ICU for treatment. It was a close call this heart failure did not escalate to a heart attack or stroke. I feel deeply blessed to still be here blogging to you.
BTW, I taught my 88 year-old mom what the word blog means the other day. “Blog? What a weird word!”she complained.
On March 11th I told the hospital doctors, determined to scare me into better self-care, that they’d find my heart was in decent shape when they examined me. I knew this not just because am I blessed with being pretty psychic, but because I had just hiked the Grand Canyon 6 months earlier with zero heart trouble.
The angiogram, which I had to wait two and a half days to have done, determined my heart, as I predicted, was not permanently damaged by my freak spike in blood pressure. (BP health tip. Avoid using baking soda for heartburn. Too high in sodium!) As well, my arteries checked out unclogged and my heart valves were working great. That happy Monday after my angiogram I was the “good news patient” in the ICU. The outright joy of the nurses and doctors over my groovy angiogram still warms my healing heart.
But it was not all roses for my heart reports. An echogram revealed that the part of my heart that pumps the blood, called the ventricles, was enlarged and my normally dependable heart operating at only half normal pumping power. No wonder I had become weak as kitten, short of breath went into heart failure.
Nine weeks into my heart recovery program at this posting, I am on a lot of expensive meds to rebuild my heart. One prescription, Entresto, costs $2500 for 60 tablets. That’s $41.60 a freaking pill! Thank god for my Medicare which just began last fall.
Good news, as I make this post, I have graduated from 6 weeks of cardio training, gone on a diet and joined a gym. I’m well on way to fulfilling my heart doctor’s rare prediction of 100% recovery. Heck, I’m going for 200% recovery. No rules against that!
Indeed, the heart pros have called my recovery “remarkable”. So far so good. Echogram again in June and then I’ll confirm if my heart is back to full pumping power. I feel it is a month ahead of schedule. Fingers crossed.
I have some theories on why my recovery has been so strong, besides the incredible outpouring of love, prayer and good intentions from family, friends and fans, that I want to share with you.
Ohom’s message on the nature of what immortality actually is all about, 5D -wise, came to me a little before my heart scare, but without my getting it at first. When I get massive visions like the one of ET healing the earth in 2010, which ended me up meditating to help heal humanity on 12.12.12 in Antarctica, it can take me years to figure epic visions out.
Ironically, it was the four days on my back in the Verde Valley Hospital that gave me the unexpected free time to understand an ET vision I’d had early this year. And I am just now finding the time to blog about it!
Looking back on my own multi-dimensional ET self as I lay in the air-pressurized as hell ICU bed, hooked up to IVs and monitors, was that what I had seen a few months earlier in the ET vision Ohom sent me is reality is in fact is a 5D Fibonacci sfield of trillions of universes. Think of sunflower face, but as sphere, where each seed is one of an infinite number of realities.
On this timeline, on which I am happily still writing to you, and on most other timelines, there exists an infinite range of my realities; from my being dead or good as a dead, as a stroked out man in a wheelchair, to my life as a space traveling ever-youthful immortal running marathons on other worlds that humanity is colonizing in other galaxies. And all these infinite realities are ruled by one master soul that we call God.
HOW MY HEART FAILURE HELPED ME UNDERSTAND DR. FLANAGAN’S IMMORTALITY CHAMBER
Looking deeper down the quantum rabbit hole of my heart scare, I see this 5D quantum immortality I have had its origins in a 2013 2D filming super scientist Patrick Flanagan, founder of PhiSciences.com.
One hot summer 2013 day, I was editing in the sweltering closet that was my makeshift edit suite off a humble attic room, tucked above a dusty little B&B we rented for my visit from LA to film super scientist Dr. Flanagan, when my cell rang. It was Pat on the line. Excited he said, “Hi, Ken. Want to be immortal?”
Without hesitation I shouted, “Of course!” As I raced my rental car to Pat’s Cornville estate, which doubled then as his home lab, I felt blessed to have to this amazing genius in my life.
A gentle desert breeze blew through the screen of open front door of the great inventor’s white adobe home, perched above the Verde River with a commanding view. Pat spotted me at the entrance and called me out onto the patio. I passed through the spacious living room filled with scared objects that he and his wife Stephanie have gathered from around the world, mixed with Pat’s half finished experiments that occupied every horizontal surface.
Arriving on the deck overlooking the Verde Valley and Mingus Mountains I gasped at the sight of the world renowned scientist’s prototype made of plywood and 2X4’s you see in this video. Seeing a new invention is this early stage of development is a rare treat I am honored to have filmed. Enjoy the video before reading on.
After I finished filming I got my turn to bathe in the energies of Pat’s immortality chamber prototype. When I came out Pat said with his famous mischievous smile, “Congratulation, Ken. You’re immortal now. You will only die if someone chops your head off, like in THE HIGHLANDER.” We all had a good laugh at Pat’s joke.
How cool to finally understand what this modern-day Tesla, Dr. Flanagan, meant. I am grateful for my heart troubles as it’s allowed me to see what Pat meant on 5D form here in 2018. I also love Patrick’s brilliant and beautiful wife’s message in the video. BTW, she’s an absolute human angel who adores Donald Trump as president. Her high opinion of the Donald, despite my own grave reservations on Trump that often get the better on me, gives me hope there is a deeper value to his presidency than I’ve yet to see.
Stephanie’s line at the end of the Immortality Chamber video, “Isn’t it wild?” sums up a lot of the 5D fibonacci of the immortality vision for me to live with courage and to feel love for all realities. Good and bad are human labels.
Shameless and proud plug, visit the Coolest Meditation Ever (CME) page for Dr. Flanagan’s amazing Sensor v medallion. On the sales page you’ll hear the doctor explain it’s a portable pyramidal abundance field generator. I can tell you in the five years of abundance that I’ve had my Sensor V since he gifted me one is that it is the gift that keeps on giving. It’s flat out worked miracles in my life, including a return to abundant health.
I had to buy one for my love Elizabeth, pictured below. The Sensor V has worked just as great for her too. In fact she is away right now on abundant trip to the Bahamas for yoga intensive training!
Trump news, both comedic and conventional, is so incredibly pervasive in 2018 we simply cannot avoid it.
Ironically, and there’s no end to irony in these Trumpy times, talented comedians, 99% of them left leaning, riffing on Trump News has become a major source of over-saturation of fascination with Trump’s every Tweet and stumble.
I searched Google for this piece, but I cannot find stats on how many hours of Trump news we have been bombarded with daily for three years solid now. My guess? 500 hours of new Trump content is created on mainstream media per day. My guess is based on how many 24/7 shows plus daily comedy shows focus on the Tweeter in chief.
Blame or credit, depending how you feel about Trump news, the proliferation of today’s bumper crop of comics riffing on the Trump on granddaddy comedian Johnny Carson. As host of the TONIGHT SHOW for three full decades, from 1962-1992, “Here’s Johnny” introduced the jokes based on the daily news as part of his live show comedy monologues.
Flash forward, past LAUGH-IN political jabs, Chevy Chase spoofing the news with Jane Curtain on SNL, plus all their SNL News descendants, and you come to the father of modern comedy news comedy; the very talented Jon Stewart. His stint as the host and head writer of Comedy Central’s hit show THE DAILY SHOW broke the bank on his TV progeny doing comedic news.
But, BIG BUT, all these new shows have a serious liberal tilt. In other words, your brain will be hopelessly liberal slanted if you watch them all in one sitting. Take my word for it because I used to watch each and every one of these lib-talents daily before I realized I was addicted to the Trump feeding frenzy. I slowly fell into filling my heart with comedic rage.
A term I may have just coined, comedic rage is repressed anger venting itself as “It’s better to laugh than cry!” A good thing in moderation, but in the excess coverage of today not good for the soul.
In fairness to today’s comics, of which I’ve been one via my 6.5 million view KidsTalkPolitics channel before it got hacked, the crazy stuff Trump tweets, typos be damned, is so damn funny it really does take fleet of comics to cover the insanity. Ah, yes, it will be a #SAD! when Trump’s admin ends one day, but since I don’t see on impeachment in my crystal ball, live it up funny people.
Back to why I began this post, if you want to keep some political objectivity in your life, the Coolest Meditation Ever (CME) Trumpy, picture a portly Oscar, goes to Stephen Colbert. Forget the rest. Colbert’s’s obssessed with Trump take downs and he’s all you need.
Well, there is one other Trump comedic must-see: Baldwin.
My advice? Go light on Trump comedy binging. From hard won personal experience: More than two comic romps per day renders Trump comedy as unfunny as jokes about Trump not knowing the difference between HPV and HIV.
I had one of the coolest dreams of my life last night. A true mission from spirit from a happier post war America not to lose hope during these turbulent times.
It’s 1948 and I’m backstage at a New York theater. Stage hands and great actors of the past busily rush past me. I see, Bob Hope, Shirley Temple, James Cagney, Liz Taylor, Bogart and Frank Sinatra.
Frank smiles at me and says, “You’re on, Ken. Knock ’em dead.”
Enjoy some Sinatra on new tab to score this once in a lifetime inspirational dream that;s really meant for us all.
This all seems strange, in the way dreams always do while still perfectly natural at the same time. I adjust my suit, a weird combination of tux top and my old green flannel pajama bottoms. But I have a problem.
“Frank,” I ask nervously, “I gotta find the can. Mind going on for me? You know, hold ’em over while fund the john? Hate to pee myself onstage!”
“For you, kid? Anything!” Frank says with chuckle as he dives through through curtains to thunderous applause.
I timidly ask Bob Hope as he passes by, “Sorry, Bob. Where’s the can?
“Did a spotlight can fall on your head? Cross your damn legs on get onstage!” Bob says pushing me through the curtains.
The crowd gathered below the stage that’s a balcony on 30 Rock that overlooks Time Square (Hey, it’s a dream!), erupts in applause and laughter as I appear from the curtains in tumble that I raise to my feet. Frank, master of the mic, spins toward me and says with his million watt grin, “Better late than never, ladies and gents, I give Ken Sheetz!”
I do a funny curtsey bow the crowd appreciates and take the mic from Frank as he pats me on the back and says pointing at my hilarious getup, “Half dressed after just climbing out of bed, Kenny?’
I explain, “Like my outfit, Frank? The tux my love Elizabeth made for me is hand sewn. The green plaid pajama bottoms are from our Christmas film, where people give cash to the poor instead of junk we all don’t need!”
A standing ovation interrupts me from the good-looking happy crowd, dressed in classy winter garments, including an abundance of mink coats. I turn to Frank with shrug. “You’re slaying ’em. Go on, kid!”
“Apologies for being late. Had to grab a pee before coming out here to you good people!” The crowd goes wild with laughter. I find myself wondering out loud, “Why the heck do people always love a good pee joke?” When I spot Bob Hope in the wings, doing a face plant.
I point to Hope and joke, “Bob, I swear to God, if I pee myself in front of this fine crowd and 30 million people on TV it’s all your fault!” Putty in my comedic hands the crowd belly laughs uproariously.
Bob strides from the wings, Oscar in hand, comically looking jealous as he hands it to me, “The bridesmaid again! They Academy fails once again to give Best Actor to yours truly! But I gotta hand it to you, Sheetz. Great job!”
Franks’s trying to say something, but the laughter and applause of the crowd is so loud that I can’t hear him. So I step for him and lean the mic to hear Frank say in that amazing voice of his…
“Ken’s flick changed a commercially bastardized holiday back to something Jesus would love on his birthday. Kenny deserves way more than an Oscar, he deserves a freaking Nobel!”
Frank kisses me on both cheeks as Hope chimes in, “Huh, kinda like a Noel Nobel, Frank?” Frank nods as he applauds me. The crowd joins in with yet another wild standing ovation just as the “time to get off the Oscar stage music” starts to play softly.
I realize I better get to the “thank yous” pronto, “I want thank all the new friends I made making this film a hit.” I oddly can’t seem to remember the title of the film I suddenly realize to my horror but press on, “I want thank my old friends director Frank Capra, my co-stars Danny Kaye and Jimmy Cagney who gave this film it’s heart and soul.” I gesture to the crowd to see Elizabeth my love blowing me kisses, “Where we would be in life without friends?”
So many loves of my life in the cool crowd I see are waving at me. I go teary eyed spotting relatives who have passed away. “Most of all I want to thank my buddy Frank Sinatra for believing in me and my work. Peace everyone. Merry Christmas and Happy ’49!”
The echo of the joyous crowd still in my ears, I awake in bed and say to Lincoln our rescue dog, tucked away in his bed in our closet, “Wow. What a great dream, little Lincoln!” Lincoln shoots me a puzzled look and goes back to sleep since it’s only sunrise.
I check my cell phone for one of early morning messages Elizabeth‘s been leaving me each day from the Bahama’s, where she’s about 1/3 through a 5 week kirtan/yoga intensive. But. alas, no message. It takes some of the joy out of the dream as she had a freak head injury just 5 days before she left that’s made the whole thing dicey. But I shake it off the nervousness, still feeling she’s well in the field.
Update, I was right. Elizabeth simply overslept and is off to yoga. Time for a cup of java and Saturday yoga myself with Sedona’s amazing Naomi C. Rose!
Like many of we independent voters seeking to straddle both sides of the political fence to promote unity and harmony during a dangerous point in history, where the Doomsday Clock has seldom been closer to midnight, I have worries when it comes to President Trump. And the biggest worry I have, with the favorite son of Brooklyn, is his disrespect for the fabric of reality. Namely, the truth.
The events of the past week of the 24/7 Rudy/Trump truth tap dance unreality show helped me see clearly that truth has become public enemy #1 for the Trump team.
Now, we all know politicians in general have a low regard for telling it like it is. But Donald Trump, from day one with his yuge “largest inauguration crowd in history” lie, is breaking all records for lying; telling a whopping 2,140 fact-checked lies in his first year in office according to the Washington Post.
Now, Trump will happily tell you from the rose garden, or via 4 AM tweets, that the Post is lying about Trump’s lying. #WITCHHUNT! He bemoans to his followers it’s is all a #SAD DARK STATE plot by Jeff Bezous, the founder of Amazon, who recently bought the paper that broke Watergate, and seeks to now break Trumpgate.
The term for all is nonsense is “gas lighting”, defined as making someone think they are crazy for not believing your lies, like in this classic gas lighting scene starring Joey Bishop.
Seem familiar when you look at Trump’s enablers Kelly Ann Conway, Rudy Giuliani and Sarah Huckabee with their daily Silly Putty manipulation of reality?
Most politicians lie when there’s some measure of credibility that gives them a chance to get away with it. Trump is different. He lies right to your face, behaving like the king of what is in fact reality. Heaven forbid anyone disagrees with Trump’s lies or he’ll seek to humiliate you on Twitter even if you’re a war hero or Parkland survivor.
Trump is not your typical political liar. He’s a man in a comb over as fake as he is on a power trip akin to what author George Orwell foresaw in his novel “1984”, written way back in 1949.
I could go on about “1984” parallels in Trump gas lit reality. However, in researching my own meditations on Trump I found this cool article written two days ago by the BBC, one of the go-to media sources in to escape our polarized American media.
Thank you BBC for saving me the brain damage. You see, I am battling an addiction to Trump news. One brought on by 24/7 seesaw game Trump uses to make the media his pawn and gas lighting the hell out of us.
Great Vox video here about which ends with Trump gas lighting a reporter.
1984 is not the kind of book that has a happy ending. It ends with an interrogation where the hero, after torture, is told to see 5 fingers when only 4 are help up.
My fellow Americans, right and left, wake up. Trump is no bumbling liar as the liberal comedians and reporters portray him or a man fighting the deep state as the conservative media portrays him to be, lulling you into a sense of false superiority and security.
In closing, I won’t leave you in fear. That’s the media’s job, right or left. Rather I leave you with the assurance that despite how bad things look right now, the truth is a real thing. And truth always wins out in the end. I’d just like to wake few people up to reduce the pain of having to live through making America 1984 again.
Don’t be a truth ostrich, liberal or conservative, and stick your head in the sand. Don’t be like a lover who wants a cheating mate to tell them sweet little lies like the Fleetwood Mac masterpiece.
Even though the great Fleetwood Mac singer Stevie Nicks wants sweet little lies, the paradox is they how sick she knows it all is in the amazing lyrics.
[Verse 3: Christine McVie]
If I could turn the page
In time then I’d rearrange
Just a day or two
(Close my, close my, close my eyes)
But I couldn’t find a way
So I’ll settle for one day
To believe in you
(Tell me, tell me, tell me lies)
[Chorus: Christine McVie] Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you can’t disguise
(You can’t disguise, no you can’t disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you can’t disguise
(You can’t disguise, no you can’t disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(Tell me, tell me lies)
Many Americans, Evangelicals in particular, are in this gas lit trap of sweet little lies, hoping their deal with the Trumpster will get them what they want. And to some degree they are… for now. Trump has been fastidious in seeking to keep all his campaign promises. But his masterful magic is those promises of a ideas being good for us were lies to begin with. Yikes.
Watch the truth about Trump, but don’t overdose on the news, right or left. News shows might be out to depress you for the sake of pharmaceutical sponsors out to sell antidepressants. Don’t let Trump news absorb you, as it did for me for so long, and is still doing to some degree as I fight to free my consciousness before your very eyes.
Truth is. we’ve seen enough of Trump’s ways to be wise without further infecting our minds and souls to make our judgement to reject him as worthy leader. Save the anger for the voting booth. Avoid the trolls. Avoid over posting hate for Trump on your pages. Have faith and support the people fighting for the truth and be patient.
Bide your moment, and when it comes time to vote, vote the truth back into the oval office, Congress, the Senate and local offices. I say local because make no mistake about it, the Koch brothers and others, right and left alike, are working their agenda all the way down to your local dog keeper’s level.
As someone who has been to Antarctica I can attest to the feeling you’ve reached the end of our reality at the bottom of the world. There’s nothing south of the south pole. Time feels suspended. It made this the ideal place to meditate in 2012 for desperately needed shifts in human consciousness for The Coolest Meditation Ever.
Enjoy this new video of Hawking describing what existed before the Big Bang and the role of the south in better understanding.
We’ll miss you Stephen. You’ve been an inspiration to us all on multidimensional levels.
Catain’s Blog Stardate June 7, 2021. I’ve added this prequel to the TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM to the menu as bonus readind. New Old School Audio to come.
One of the main things I love about Gene Roddenberry timeless Star Trek is its view of Utopian future where greed and racism no longer rule humanity. Trek and all it’s predecessors were not afraid to take on big social issues of their time.
It’s in that tradition I’ve written A STAR TREK PARODY – TRUMP MIND MELD.
Enjoy, share and “live long and prosper.” – Ken Sheetz
The USS Enterprise glides through the stars, passing a huge asteroid. We hear the familiar voice of Captain Kirk.
“Captain’s Log, stardate 2264.2. The Enterprise is accelerating to time travel warp speed on a journey to the eve of World War III. All in the hopes of altering the timeline and averting the loss of billions of human lives.”
We join Kirk in his cabin, feet propped up on his desk, dictating to the ship’s computer.
“What the outcome of such a drastic timeline shift will be for our own time, the 23rd Century, is anyone’s –”
A knock on the cabin door stops Kirk’s log dictation. Annoyed, he says, “Enter.”
A troubled Spock steps through the pneumatic doorway. A fidgety Dr. McCoy right behind him.
Before McCoy can speak Kirk cuts him off, “Save it, Bones. Spock and I are dead set on this mission to 21st century America and that’s all there is to it.”
“Damnit, Jim! As ship’s doctor I hereby file my formal complaint you’re ignoring grave dangers to Spock’s sanity when he melds with Trump the Mad Dictator.”
“Captain, I assure you I am quite ready for this mind meld,” Spock says.
“Spock, you’re a bigger idiot than Trump if you can’t see the man has to have a mind to perform a mind meld!”
“Gentlemen, must I call security to escort you back to your quarters?” says Kirk, hiding a smile.
“No need, Captain. The doctor is just being his normal illogical and most annoying self,” Spock says.
“Bones, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the… Trump?” say Kirk, making a lame joke no one laughs at.
McCoy throws up his hands in disgust.”Well, if you two ‘very stable geniuses’ want to roll the dice on Spock’s sanity and the very existence of Star Fleet, who I am to stop you?!”
Dr. McCoy spins on his heels and exits Kirk’s cabin in a huff.
MESSY MESS HALL
A short time later in the mess hall Kirk pulls a Mac Jr. and french fries from the food replicator and places them before Spock saying, “I present Trump’s favorite food: The Big Mac.”
“Incorrect, Captain. If I may, what you have placed before me is in fact a Mac Jr.”
Kirk arches an eyebrow and says, “A Mac what?”
“Junior. Indeed, Captain. This is a smaller version of Trump’s favorite choice of sustenance – the Grand Mac. It features a single 1/6 pound patty as opposed to the double 1/10 pound patties featured what you have mistaken as a Big Mac. The Grand Mac offers an astounding two 1/6 pound patties and was in fact believed to be Trump’s Mac of choice. ”
“Spare me the niceties of scale, Spock. Nutritional analysis.”
Spock passes his beeping his tricorder over the Mac Jr.,”Most peculiar, Captain.”
“Elaborate.”
“This Mac Jr. has nearly zero nutritional value, by 23rd century standards of course. Therefore, we can deduce this factor is a zero constant regardless of scale. Worst of all, the Mac is filled with enough grease molecular matter to clog the ship’s drainage system,” says Spock shoving the Mac Jr. away in disgust.
“Sorry. Eat it, Spock. If you’re going to mind meld with Trump you must eat as he does.”
“Captain, there must be some other way to alter my vibratory frequency than this, this poison! A person would have to be insane to…”
“Exactly. I swear to you, Spock. Our archeologists say this was Trump’s actual daily diet. Hey, it could be worse. Think what you’d be eating if I knew about the Grand Mac.”
Spock takes a nervous bite of the Mac Jr. and his eyes go wide in horror. “Is this real meat, Captain?”
“Sort of,” says Kirk as he sniffs the Big Mac.
“But I am vegetarian, sir, as all Starfleet is”
“Well…Try the French fries, Spock.”
Spock shudders, downing a fry whole without chewing. He coughs.
“You look greener than usual, Mr. Spock,” says Kirk, laughing at his own joke.
Spock cracks a rare smile and says, “Permission to vomit, sir.”
Spock projectile vomits all over Kirk.
“Permission granted?” says Kirk, his face dripping Big Mac and fries.
“Apologies, sir. This Mac Jr. of your past is most toxic.”
“Caught me off guard with your rare smile, Spock.”
“Sorry, Captain. On Vulcan a smile often warns of eminent expulsion.”
“OK, this concludes our 21st century dietary experiment,” says Kirk as he wipes vomit from his eyes.
“It’s a wonder Trump survived the Mac assortment where he’s obsessively, ugh, consume all three plus fries and a shake. Shows me not to underestimate President Trump,” says Spock as he helps clean off Kirk.
TIMELINE CLUSTERFUCK
A short time later a cleaned up Kirk is perched in his captain’s chair. The viewing screen on the command deck beeps and boops as the ship buffets through layers of crystalline rainbows.
Kirk spins his command chair to Spock at the science station, “Glad to see you’re not smiling, Mr. Spock. Report.”
Spock, his eyes aglow from a personal view screen. says,”Undoubtedly a convergence point of timelines reaching epic proportions,”
“A clusterfuck of timelines,” says Kirk to Spock’s dazed look. “21st century slang, Mr. Spock.”
“Ah, yes, clusterfuck of timelines. Affirmative, Captain.”
Scotty bellows over the ship’s intercom, causing Kirk to almost spill his coffee, “Timeline turbulence! It be tearin’ our wee ship ta bits, Captain! I canna — ”
“Hold her together, Scotty. Blah, blah, blah,” says Kirk, bored with Scotty’s typical bellyaching.
“Meeting Trump the Mad Dictator already got you off your game, Jim?” teases Dr. McCoy.
At last the battered Enterprise exits a red-colored rip in space and glides into orbit over the USA.
“The Enterprise has successfully entered 21st century earth-space, Captain.”
“How can you be so sure, Spock?”
“Confirmation from the Twitter-verse. Trump’s virtual realm,” says Spock.
“Please be more precise, Spock.”
“Picking up news chatter on their primitive newscasts that — ”
“Correction ‘fake news’, Spock. Speak Trumpese.”
“Duly noted, Captain. The precise time is January 11th 2018 at 11:11 PM Eastern Clusterfuck time,” says Spock.
“Ah. Three months before Trump’s preemptive nuclear strike on North Korea. Excellent work, Spock,” says Kirk. “You get a raise.”
Spock reacts in puzzlement, “A raise? To where?”
“Um, when we reach Trump you best leave the talking to me,” says Kirk with proud smirk.
“With pleasure, sir.”
Chekov pipes in, “Captain Kirk, vith all due respect, sir. Vee Vould have much better chance of success approaching the Russian who runs Trump… Putin.”
“We’ve been over the timeline computations a thousand times, Mr. Chekov. Trump has a far more suggestive mind for melding than Putin’s.”
“On that we can agree,” says McCoy.
Sulu palms his forehead, “But, sirs. Historical records report Trump’s acting like a fool was just that, an act! Truth is Trump is a mental giant who will crush — Uh, sorry Mr. Spock. No offense intended.”
“Clusterfuck you, Mr. Sulu,” says Spock. Kirk rolls his eye in disgust.
“History shows Trump was, ‘like, wherry smart’,” adds Chekov in his thick Russian.
“‘A very stable genius!'”says Sulu, spinning from the navigation consel.
Bones goes refaced and says, “Keep your damn eyes on the screen, Sulu! You and Chekov have been hoodwinked by 200 years of propoganda and myth surrounding Trump the so-called Great. Ha. Great fat ass, is more like it!”
“Who can blame them, Doctor? History is always written by the clusterfucking victors,” offers Spock, proudly eying Kirk who looks down in to his coffee to avoid Spock’s eye contact.
“Bones’ son, a highly skilled timeline archeologist, has determined the so-called genius Trump the Great was in fact barley literate and a, um…” says Kirk trailing off.
“Moron?” says McCoy with grin as he catches up to Kirk and Spock heading for the ship’s turbolift.
“I was going to say “fucking moron’, like his Secretary of State Tillerson called him,” says Kirk.
“Do you not meaning clusterfucking moron, Captain.”
“You’re overdoing it with the cluster thing, Spock. Fucking is sufficient.”
“Sounds like you could give my son a run for the money on timeline trivia, Jim.” says McCoy as they reach the turbolift.
“Sorry, Bones. Need you to stay aboard in command in case anything happens to me and Spock,” says Kirk as he tugs his top off to prep for a quick costume change.
“Damnit, Jim. I’m a doctor. Not nursemaid to a presidential idiot. So I am sending Nurse Oberon in my place. She’s waiting for you in the transporter room. And, Jim, You and Trump are more alike than you know, keep it in your pants for a change,” says McCoy as the elevator door to the turbolift closes on Kirk’s annoyed face.
BEAM ME TO HELL, SCOTTY
Spock and Kirk enter the teleporter room. Scotty, so busy flirting with the gorgeous Nurse Oberon, a voluptuous green-skinned Orion, that he misses the entrance of the Captain; dressed as Men in Black FBI. Spock’s disguise is a 21st century Trump fan, hilariously complete down to his pot belly and red MAGA hat.
“Captain on deck!” says Spock, annoyed at Scotty.
Scotty and Nurse Oberon snap to attention. “Captain, Mr. Spock, may I present Nurse Oberon. She’s fluent in 21st century American.”
“And why is that, Nurse Oberon?’ says Kirk as he takes her slender green hand and shakes it a bit too long.
“I’m one quarter human. My grandmother was abducted from a Trump rally by the Orions for psychological study shortly after the completion of the wall,” says Nurse Oberon, her siren voice naturally heart-melting.
“Ah yes, the famed wall with Mexico. One of Trump’s few campaign promises he kept resulting in his reelection in 2020,” notes Spock, oblivious to Nurse Oberon’s charms.
“Not quite, Mr. Spock. It was Trump’s second wall project, the one with Canada in 2022 where my Grandmother was taken,” coos Nurse Oberbon, stunned she has no effect on the Vulcan.
“What precise phycological condition were the Orions seeking to understand in examining your grandmother?” says Spock dryly.
“Granny never wavered in her faith in Trump, despite his single handily triggering Word War III, the abolishment of the FBI, the end of a free press, the Great Depression of 2020, and over 100,000 fact checked lies he told while in office,” says Nurse Oberon.
“An impressive record of Trump’s laying waste to earth, but that still does not answer my question about why the Orions were interested in your grandmother,” says Spock challengeningly.
“You see, the Orions sought to understand Trump’s hold on my granny and thereby core Trump supporters who never wavered backing Trump even as all of America’s major cities were turned to cinders, ” coos Nurse Oberon reaching, takubg iand stroking Spock’s Vulcan ears, “Oh, I can already see have to be very sharp with you, Mr. Sexy Ears,”
“Save it, Nurse Oberon. Spock is immune to your considerable charms,” says Kirk.
“Captain, may I have a word with you in private?” says Spock.
“By all means,” says Kirk, amused Nurse Oberon has shaken up the Vulcan.
Kirk and Spock step into the hallway as Nurse Oberon finishes applying flesh colored makeup to hide her green skin and pulls a frumpy dress over her Star Fleet uniform.
“Captain, I most uncomfortable about Nurse Oberon’s selection for this away team.”
“I see that, Spock,” jokes Kirk.
“Jim, please take me seriously. Given the nurse’s ancestry she is highly susceptible to the charms of Donald J. Trump,” says Spock.
“My gut tells me she’ll do just fine. Let’s go. Trump only sleeps 4 hours a night,” says Kirk, leading a reluctant Spock back into the teleporter room.
Spock steps onto the teleporter pad beside Nurse Oberon’s and the Captain’s pads.
Nurse Oberon complains, “Why must my silly old outfit be so dreadfully dull? Aren’t my assets an asset for handling Trump?”
“Aye. Blame me, lass. The mission is too important to allow distractions for the Captain,” jokes Scotty with a wink to the Captain.
The Vulcan examines his red Make America Great Again hat, “If we succeed, Captain. Perhaps America shall in fact be great again.”
“It’s all comes down to you, Spock. You must plant the fear within Trump’s warped mind that a war with North Korea ends in his impeachment for abuse of war powers.”
“Captain, I find it deeply disturbing that your ancestors saw fit to entrust your president, a single human, and in this case a highly unstable one, with the power to press a button and start a thermal nuclear war,” observes Spock.
Kirk shrugs flirtatiously to Nurse Oberon and says to Scotty, “Energize.”
Once the trio de-materealize Scotty pulls out a Grand Mac and takes a huge bite. He rolls his eyes in ecstasy.
“Damnit, Scotty. Those things can kill a horse,” says bones from the view screen.
“Aye, Doctor. But this horsey will die happy!”
TRUMP MIND MELD
Kirk, Spock and Nurse Oberon silently materialize in a dark corner of Trump’s bedroom.
Art from the “failing according to Trump” NY Times
The trios eyes go wide watching Trump stuff his face with a Grand Mac, all at once. Still, the president furiously tweets,“Wolff’s book is just more fake…..”
Kirk whispers, “Fire –“.
Nurse Oberon stuns Trump mid tweet and he slumps to the bed, doing a face plant.
“Why did you stun Trump, Nurse Oberon?”
“You did say ‘fire’, Jim,” says Spock.
“I was commenting that the book FIRE AND FURY that he’s so angry about.”
“Oopsie,” says Nurse Oberon.
“It seems we are most cluster-fucked, Captain,” groans Spock.
“Fucked is sufficient, Spock. Wish Trump had finished his tweet before Nurse Oberon stunned him.” says Kirk.
“Not to worry, Captain. Trump was known to tweet erratically, sometimes not continuing a tweet for up to several hours. And of course there was the famed Covfefe tweet.”
Nurse Oberon struggles to get the president onto his back and says, “The prez weighs a ton! He needs air! Help me turn him!”
“239 pounds my ass!” grunts Kirk helping turn Trump.
It takes all three of the away team to flip Trump onto his back. At which point he begins to choke on his Grand Mac.
“Help him, Spock!”
“Captain, if I may be so bold. Might not our mission be better completed if we do nothing?”
“No one would doubt death by Big Mac,” says Nurse Oberon.
“Correction, Nurse Oberon. Grand Mac. You McDonalds USA –”
“Spock. Knock off the tri-Mac story,” grunts Kirk.
“Are you two always like this on away missions?” giggles Nurse Oberon.
Trump gags, eyes rolling into his orange face.
“Nurse, you do realize you are addressing two senior officers?” says Spock testily.
“Wait! I get it!” giggles Nurse Oberon.
“The only get I want to hear is let’s get on with this mission,” grumps Kirk.
“Don’t you see it, Captain? Spock is Gay for you!” shouts Nurse Oberon before Spock muffles her wild laugh with his free hand.
“I warned you of this Captain. Nurse Oberon is already subconsciously working to, ahem, rescue Trump, says Spock. “I estimate if we let him go on choking Trump will expire in 60 seconds.”
“Too big a hole in the timeline to let Trump meet his maker with Mac attack,” says Kirk, watching Trump turning blue.
“Very well then, ” say Spock as he yanks Trump into the Heimlich maneuver. Trump coughs his Grand Mac into Kirk’s face and gasps for air.
“The Mac of any scale is indeed your nemesis, Captain.”
“Stop stalling. Mind meld time, Mr. Spock.”
The door handle jangles. Kirk points to Nurse Oberon, “You’re on!”
Nurse Oberon pulls off her dress and climbs naked atop Trump just as Don Jr. enters.
“Kinky, Pops! Love the green body paint, babe! I leave you two love birds it!” says Don Jr. making a quick exit.
“Now, Spock, before First Lady Melania shows up!” says Kirk.
“My computations show there is only a one in 10,056.75 percent chance of that happening, sir. The two divorced just a few –”
Nurse Oberon and Kirk groan in unison, “Spock.”
“Sorry. I shall begin then. Silence please. I wish to return from this meld with all my marbles I believe is the 21st century slang for –”
“SPOCK!” shout Kirk and Nurse Oberon in unison.
Spock places his fingers over Trump’s head. “Sir! It’s real!”
“I am sure, Spock. His mind must be a real sivv of larceny and deceit!”
“No, sir. I’ve not melded yet. His famed fake hair. It’s real!” says Spock roughing up Trump orange hair. “Granted the orange color is not –”
“Spock, are you sure you are up for this mission?” says Nurse Oberon sweetly as she puts her dress back on.
Spock adjust his fingers over Trump’s right temple,”My mind to your –” Spock winces in pain.
“What is it Spock?!” says Kirk.
“Trump… Much… difficulty…never encountered such… an unfocused… mind… Must go deeper…” say Trump and Spock in unison.
Nurse Oberon monitors the condition of both Trump and Spock. She reports to Kirk, “Pulse rate up by 50% already! Call off the meld or we lose them both.”
Spock and Trump speak as one,”Only focus seems to be… composing Tweets about Bannon the traitor… absolutely no thoughts on… matters of state.”
“Go deeper, Spock. There must be some way to reach Trump,” says Kirk.
“Pulse rate up 77%!” reports Nurse Oberon.
Tears pour from Trump and Spock as they speak as one,”Daddy… why don’t you love me?”
Inside the foggy mind of Trump, Spock watches as Fred Trump yanks young Donald’s nose to a stack of money. “You see this pile of cash?”
“Um , yeah,” says little Trump.
“Money is all that matters in life. Cash is king, you worthless brat!” shouts Fred Trump. Spock steps behind Fred Trump and does the Vulcan nerve pinch. Fred Trump falls to floor and little Trump screams.
“Alien! You killed my daddy!” says little Trump.
“He’s fine, young Donald, none of this is real. See I can make myself your age,” says Spock shrinking himself to little Trump’s size.
“Wait. I can read your mind! Cool! Your name is Spock?” says Young Trump.
“Correct. Our minds are as one, Donnie.” says Spock reassuringly.
“Spock. Huh. Crummy name. I’ll call you Spocko! My turn to play the daddy game!” says Trump growing to adult size while Spock shrinks to kid-size.
The surroundings morph into Spock’s childhood home on Vulcan. Sarek, Spock’s father passes young Spock who is weeps in a hallway, “Tears? You’re no Vulcan.”
“Hey, big shot. Stop being so mean to my pal Spocko!” says Trump and blows a hole through Sarek with a sizzling phaser beam. Sarek falls to the floor at young Spock’s feet, a steaming mess.
Young Spock gawks at Donald Trump the hole in his dead father’s chest. A begrudging smile steals of young Spock’s face.
Meanwhile, back in the real world of Trump’s presidential bedroom:
“Pulse rate 150%!” says Nurse Oberon to Kirk’s glare. “Well… it is.”
Kirk whispers in Trump’s ear, “President Trump, history has given you a great responsibility. Billions will die if you continue to escalate –”
Trump and Spock shout in unison at Kirk, “You think I give a flying fuck what happens to the world? I have my fallout shelter all set up with all the champagne and broads a man could ever want! It’s the greatest bomb shelter of all time. And anyone can join me down there for only $10 million a head.”
“What’s $10 million going to be worth when the world’s a nuclear wasteland, Trump?” says Kirk yanking Trump to his face by his silk pajamas.
“A lot! As the world population shrinks my market share gets even more biggly. I’m gonna live the lux life with the new Trump-acaplyse 24/7 reality show!” say Trump and Spock laughing madly in unison. “Bye bye Alec Baldwin, Stephen Colbert and all the other losers drafting off my fame! Nuked!”
“Bones was right.. His mammoth narcissistic ego makes doomed this mission from the get-go. Abort the mind mend, Spock!” shouts Kirk directly into Spock’s pointy ear.
No reaction from Trump and Spock, except a snide chuckle from the mind melded pair.
Spock breaks a sweat as he struggles to say, “Can’t fight him, Captain. Trump is accessing… my memory of Star Fleet history.”
Trump/Spock smirks at Kirk, “Cool, lotsa of inventions in this Vulcan skull I’ll take credit for!”
Kirk shakes Spock by the shoulders and shouts in his face,”Fight him, Spock!”
Without warning Spock backhands Kirk and sends him flying into a gold gilded wall.
“Like that for fighting? Haha! Sorry, Kirk, can’t give you your first officer back. Spocko’s Trump property now!” gloats Trump.
Kirk manages to stumble to his feet and says, “Nurse Oberon. Set Phaser to kill and execute Trump.”
Nurser Oberon obeys the captain and takes aim at Trump.
“Baby, shoot Kirk and you’re my new First Lady,” says Spock and Trump in mind meld unison.
“What can I say I love a good three way?” Nurse Oberon switches her aim to Captain Kirk.
Screaming through the pain Spock miraculously breaks the mind meld and Vulcan nerve pinches the green goddess to dream land.
“Spock, you saved the day!” grins Kirk.
Faster than one could ever imagine for such a fat bastard, Trump picks up the Nurse’s phaser and disintegrates Kirk.
“Jim!” weeps Spock.
“Fuck the smarmy asshole. With the 23rd century tech in your head we have a galaxy to conquer, Spocko!”
“Granny, I see what you saw!” shouts Nurse Oberon as she pulls Trump and Spock into bed.
“Hold on a sec you two, Gotta grab a Viagra!” Trump paddles off the the bathroom stepping through Kirk’s dust pile.
Unable to wait for Trump, Nurse Spock’s pants down and her eyes go wide. “Mister Spock! You are most certainly not Gay!”
Spock sweeps Nurse Oberon onto his hips and she moans in ecstasy.
Out of sight in the bathroom Trump bellows, tossing tolietries through the doorway in a panic, “Damn you, Melania for hiding my Viagra again! #COCK BLOCKER!”
Spock and Oberson laugh quietly as they make love like it’s the Pon Farr!
OUTTER RIM OF THE GALAXY
“Captain’s Log, stardate 2264.2. The Enterprise is accelerating to time travel speed on a journey to the eve of World War III. All in the hopes of altering the timeline and averting the loss of billions of human lives.”
We join Kirk in his cabin, feet propped up on his desk, dictating to the ship’s computer.
“What the outcome of such a drastic timeline shift for our own time, the 23rd Century, is anyone’s –”
A knock on the cabin door stops Kirk’s log dictation. Annoyed, he says, “Enter.”
A troubled Spock steps through the pneumatic doorway. A fidgety Dr. McCoy right behind him.
Before McCoy can speak Kirk cuts him off, “Save it, Bones. I’ve decided Spock mind meld should be with Kim Jung-Un instead of Trump,” says Kirk walking to his portal window.
“Well, hallelujah. What on earth made you come to your senses?” says McCoy with a
Kirk is as silent, gazing out the portal.
“Jim?” say Spock, forgetting rank in the confusion.
Kirk points at a massive asteroid with a laser inscription burned into it’s side. Spock and Bones gawk, reading the phaser carved asteroid’s mile high message:
WARNING! ABORT TRUMP MIND MELD! LOVE, SPOCK
End of This Clusterfuck Timeline
Update 3/6/18.: Could Kirk’ & Spock’s second mind meld mission be working?
A movie whose message that anger begets more anger is so beautifully expressed it transcends its theme. I was deeply moved by this masterfully told human tragedy that has some hard won laughs at the absurdity of white male privaledge.
5 stars and the likely best actress Oscar wins for Frances McDormand, best supporting for Woody Harrelson and best actor for Sam Rockwell.
Highly recommended THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI as antidote to a Hollywood season filled with Hollywood remakes for dealing with actual human grief and rage and giving us a female hero in Frances’ Mildred willing to stand up to the world of men.
I look back on the last clear mission before my ET Ohom spirit guide lost signal for months, to attend the Trump inauguration. The mission for my love Elizabeth and I was to simply hold a space of love in the crowd of his mostly white backers.
I still have no idea why the ET Ohom chose me for this work. You see, I’ve disliked Trump since the 80s for his cheater ways of getting ahead.
Any who, here’s my attempt to integrate a message Ohom gave me today, where my flu delirium helped me reach him across the stars. I share it to you as poem. Excuse me if its not my usual positive thing but it’s my way of taking Ohom’s advice to embrace the…
CHAOS
The first inauguration I ever attended
Was over for me before it ended.
Why my ET guide sent me and my love here
Angered me as it felt dangerous and queer.
The first thing that stuck me about the crowd
Kinda small and not that loud.
Was – How white we all look
For this election of a crook.
My love and I locked in the white crowd filled with hate
Watch helpless as white robs power from black this fateful date.
Two white people with a consciences we share a field of love
All the while looking for ships, seeking help from above.
The crowd goes insane with white pride.
And I go dark and angry inside.
My space of love implodes like a collapsing star
A black hole born within white crowd I see as though from afar.
I am a fellow white co-conspirators in the age of greed.
Ignoring the oceans and earth’s fellow creatures in need.
White privilege my lifelong invisible ally.
A white life blessed by abundance since birth.
Whites laugh as the black man hands over the power.
The sky opens in a light shower.
Tears from heaven dating back to slavery.
White power making all other races their knavery.
Atop the dais, black and white man shake hands
As the thrilled white crowd stands
With the white man who tormented the black eight years.
Along with his white peers
Without relent.
Fortunes spent.
To impede hope and change
As the black’s mission was too strange.
Obama greyed and bent
Weary of the fight as president
Takes his seat as Melania
Helps swear in her mania.
The white crowd cheers!
As their color takes center stage
Fists clenched in white rage
The black ordeal over at last
Free at last! Free at last!
America’ is a swamp the scoundrel says
As though swamps are not his gator ways
Already taking all the credit for the economy’s surge
He seeks black accomplishments to purge.
Destroying all Obama has done his only urge.
“And now it will be America first!”
As though it’s not already been so.
As if we whites didn’t already know.
Since the white man stole Turtle Island from its true peoples.
Sprinkling their land with our white church steeples.
Killing their buffalo of the prairies
Angering all of earth’s fairies.
I stand honest in cheering crowd and feel the blame.
I feel it now as write about my white shame
Feeling fully white little me raised by a family of bigots
Secretly rejoicing as Trump waves to we happy white idiots.
We white fools who have elected a man incapable of vision.
Who thrives on hate and racial derision.
Who prefers to eat Big Macs
Fearless of heart attacks.
Like the one that just killed my little brother
Who disrespects the mother.
Who treats women like dirt
While ingesting tic tacs to flirt.
A year has passed since his election sought to smother
The America Dream I always idolized.
The only hope I cling to now as I write persisted.
Coming up for air on Halloween, from a Monday business horror I gasped at the five voicemails missed from my baby brother in Wisconsin. Worried Bruce was going to tell me my 89 year-old mom had passed, my fingers moved too fast to register on the glass of my smartphone.
When I finally calmed down enough to return Bruce’s call, my sister-in-law Marianne somberly let me know my other brother Fred, recently turned 63, had died of a heat attack the day before. Weird thing I told my love Elizabeth I felt Fred was going to be passing soon because of his dangerous addiction game. So I foolishly thought I was prepared, but the news of losing my Irish twin Fred hit me like a mile long freight train full of lead doing 90.
Marianne handed the phone to Mom. Her voice choked with tears, Mom bitterly wondered, “Losing both my husband of 35 years and Fred within only 4 months of one another, what is that about, Ken? You’re the one who talks to angels.” Deep in grief and shock myself, I told her I’d need more time to wrestle with that and did my best to comfort my mother her second born son Fred’s pain was over.
Soon as I hung up my false bravado evaporated fast as a Sedona dusting of snow, my client troubles put into somber perspective.
Fred (left) with me and mom
The only time I’d spoken to Fred in the last four years of a tough love regimen came earlier this year when I was helping my mom cope with her husband’s stroke that put him in a coma from which he’d never awaken. Mom had asked me to screen her calls from the flock of salesman seeking to sell her everything from stairlifts to funeral services.
I picked up for her saying, “D’Acquisto residence.”
Fred croaked in the gravely voice he gets with abusing, “Hey, Ken. Strange times.”
I icily said, “Sure are,” and quickly handed the phone to mom.
TOUGH LOVE IS TOUGH
Doctors warned all of us in the family gathering bedside in 2013, as Fred lay in an induced coma, that he’d die if he ever drank again. Four years deep into the tough love thing had backfired and I never got to properly say good-bye to a brother who suffered a horrible childhood right beside me. I am having trouble coping with that. The guilt is enormous.
Me with Fred during his coma from an ulcer 2013 due to alcohol abuse.
Elizabeth, who blessedly came into my life in 2015, escaping LA to live with me here in Sedona, has comforted me as best she could after this final loss of my brother from his long drawn out death, which abuse made this a decades long process. I am not much fun to be around right now. Her patience has been epic and I swear I will not let Fred ruin this relationship from the grave.
Like my Sicilian stepfather Nick, I learned there was also to be no family funeral for Fred. No traditional Irish open casket ceremony. So I welcomed Elizabeth’s idea for us to co-create a private ceremony in Sedona to mourn Fred.
Sadly, and the pattern is all too painfully obvious, Elizabeth had lost a brother to addiction three years ago where there was no funeral. So I insisted we add William, along with my stepfather Nick to the our work of mourning their three tragic deaths.
Elizabeth has explained ritual is something of a lost art in our cold hearted modern life. She and I first created and altar for the three souls with a five day candle burning. We bought Celtic medallions for Fred and William, who had the curse of the Irish in not handling booze well and for Nick we chose an ancient piece of Hopi pottery to represent his place and an elder in the ritual.
Grieving Puja Elizabeth and I Created for William, Nick and Fred
A week into the grieving, guided by a book Elizabeth read to me each night at bed by Maldoma Some’, I dove through denial into deep anger fueled by client troubles. Troubles getting worse as I was not coping well and messing things up as my patience I normally have for my eccentric and wonderful client in abundance was crippled by my grief.
WHALE OF A FAIRY TALE
A bright spot in all this grief is I’ve been deeply touched by an amazing outpouring of love and comforting by Facebook friends that’s helped me through this. Never let anyone tell you Facebook friends are fake!
I’ve also been comforted by a certain blue whale I connect to in spirit named Robin Williams in a past life whose become a regular in my life and this blog in THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATONS. Robin volunteered to help guide Fred to his resting place in the cosmos, all the while making wisecracks like, “I can help Fred as one junkie to another that fucked up his life.”
On Saturday I decided to take a badly needed break from client troubles and Fred’s mourning and went to a Bruce Lipton lecture. I was hosting the amazing Kathleen Gildred of Gorgeous Goddess Wear and she had offered me one her vendor passes at the Create Your Life Conference she was part selling her cool stuff at. How could I say no?
What a genius Lipton is! And so funny. I wondered — as Bruce made so much clear to us all of the science of love and it’s influence on good health — guiltily about how I knew in my heart Fred would be dying weeks before Mom was frantically trying to reach me while I was lost trying to save my biggest account. Knew it cold.
I regretted amid the conference that I didn’t break my tough love regimen and call Fred Lee Sheetz at least say good bye. It sucks to be psychic sometimes. I brought my overactive mind back to present, laughing at a slide Bruce showed that demonstrated why politicians have no brains.
Bruce Lipton at the Create Your Life Conference in Sedona
After Lipton’s pessimistic but paradoxically optimistic look at the extinction of all life on earth if we don’t get our asses in gear and shift our collective consciousness to love, I grabbed a Vegan lunch and mingled with Create Your Life event goers. Some of the guests said they were going on a fairy walk on the grounds of the state park behind Enchantment and invited me along.
As the golf cart arrived I was happy to see in the crowd I was not the only guy for once on one of these spiritual close encounters.
Now, ever since 2010 in Mt. Shasta over an argument over spaghetti dinner with a human/fairy – Yes, they exist! – I’ve had many failed encounters with fairy folk. So I was hoping the walk might change my fairy luck. My Irish grandmother believed in fairies and leprechauns and so I knew the fairy folk might be able to help Fred find peace.
Unlike angels, fairies have egos and can be mischievous. Which is where I fall down on the fairy connection. But our sweet guide Courtney Long, a human fairy herself, was superb at explaining that fairies like people who recycle and seek the lowest footprint on the planet. Things I’ve become far better at since 2010. So I relaxed and began to connect to the faries in the beauty of the Boyton Canyon.
Human Fairy and Angel Fairy Expert Courtney Long
Wow! I saw thousands of fairies giggling in the trees lift off in the Sedona sky to meet our group of about 100. All fairy believers.
The beach-like red sand trail I slowly tread along with our enchanted group hunting faries was dappled in sunlight. A gentle breeze in the pines and cedars sparkled fairy dust everywhere. I relaxed free of client troubles and Fred’s loss when my fairy hunting eye caught sight of a pod in a cluster in bush.
Looking with my third eye, wide open with Courtney’s expert guidance, I saw in that pod a tiny fairy where I saw a newborn fairy. Instantly knew Fred had been born as a teensy girl fairy named. He told me telepathically his new name is Fredwenna.
Robin Williams, a giant blue whale soaring in the sky above the treetops above me, kidded baby Fred doing his funniest NYC accent, “Ladies and gents, I present that most adorable hot dog ever, The Fred Weena!” A few people on the tour wondered what I was laughing at.
My sorrow exploded into joy. Fairies sang a chorus of bliss. Fred was back!
After I got home and reunited with Elizabeth with a tender hug and saw that my amazing client, who has been ill so I had asked the fairies to do a healing on, had called me when I was deep in the fairy land, witnessing the rebirth of my beloved brother Fred.
When I returned the super client’s call we were in tears on both sides that we had been so harsh with each other. We’ve still not worked it out, as it’s royal mess I can’t get into here, of course. But the fairies, in whose care my lost kid brother Fred’s soul rests, tell me it’s all going to work out and not to be too anxious or sad.
Fredweena is happy in the Boyton Canyon fairy world and I am Fairy Grateful.
My next blog will be about how I repaid Robin Williams’ blue whale spirit self for helping my lost brother find the fairy lands in my next coolest ever blog post titled:
“The Ocean is Getting Lonely – The Robin Williams Visitations”
Look for it soon as writing is my therapy.
Learn more about events where we can meet plus grab some cool loot from the amazing spirit scientists supporting our planetary healing at CoolestMeditationEver.com
These thoughts on life’s brevity and its fragile nature yet beauty were written a few hours before the tragedy in Vegas. Already they feel like words from another era, another me. Nonetheless I offer this blog with prayers for the lost and wounded at the concert last night as we must accept in our crazy times that we must live each day with as much love and light as possible, no matter what fate has in store for us.
OCTOBER 1, 2017
Our neighbor Paul, a gregarious man with a beard Santa would envy, dropped by today while I was weeding the backyard, that grew wild while I traveled two months out three this summer showing our new Antarctica meditations film across the southwest with my love and partner in all things Elizabeth. Well, it was more like Paul was dragged here by his big dog that outweighs the thin as rail scrappy 70-something.
The former trail guide Paul’s adorable German Shepard, Julie, who I learned is eight years old, gave Elizabeth and me both kisses and presented herself for hugs. Paul gave welcome advice for packing for our upcoming hike into Havasu Falls in the Grand Canyon this week. He suggested 25 pounds max weight for us each. His assurance I could make the hike calmed Elizabeth who has been worried sick about my being in good enough shape to make it to the blue green waters.
As I watched my teenage, by human years, Lincoln and the frisky 56-year-old, by human years, Julie work on lifting Lincoln’s play skills, I thought about my 65th birthday last week. How weird a thing age is. Turning 65 means now magically means I am on the same great Medicare coverage Bernie Sanders is tilting at windmills for us all.
It makes no sense to me as I pondered, while Julie snuck into the house to steal Lincoln’s bones, that my arbitrary birthdate, which some bureaucrat decided made me insurable with Medicare, while Elizabeth is stuck on Obamacare. BTW, I have to thank Elizabeth, an expert in Medicare, for guiding me to the best coverage in the complex decision making process that would puzzle most lawyers for its complexity of choice.
I dislike Trump for his huge ego and mean heart, have since the 80s. My spirit guide Ohom has said he’ll have an awakening to higher consciousness while in office. But I grow weary of the wait after three hurricanes have had no impact on his stubborn ego.
But the Trumpster is right for once, Obamacare is not a good thing for enough people. Certainly not for me. I got un-Affordable health care quote of $400 a month with a $5000 deductible only 50% coverage and no pharma plan. Pass! Now under Medicare I am covered 100% for about $300 a month for all drugs and medical with a $180 dedcutible. That’s more like it!
Unfortunately, Trump has no real plan to replace Obamacare with something better once he repeals it. He simply hates Obama and is out to ruin anything the black man did out of spite and simmering racism.
Enter Bernie to the rescue.
I love Bernie’s plan of Medicare for everyone, much as it’s not going to have the votes. But there’s hope it will pass after a sweep of the Tea Party candidates ruining the Republican party beside ineffective Dems in the 2018 elections. We need to get to the center again as a nation.
I shook off the odd feeling of siding with Trump and Bernie at the same time that was enough to make me feel like my head might explode. So I turned me thoughts to our dogs living 7 times faster a life than we. Putting my consciousness into the dogs POV, as they sniffed the yard hunting for lizards, I could see we humans seem to move through time in slow motion in comparison to them. It was groovy to visualize they do not suffer any feeling of a shorter life anymore than we feel cheated that Redwoods live thousands of years longer than we do.
Then I thought of Mayflies who live only a few hours once they emerge from the water. I checked in and yes, same for them. A lifetime is measured in a few hours feels as long as our own. By comparison to a mayfly, I thought, smiling up to take in the deep blue Sedona sky, I am redwood tree in lifespan.
One day I will outlive little Lincoln as I have many pets in my life. But it’s nice to realize our little doggie does not feel his life is short. Indeed, his life is like Einstein’s theory of relativity in doggie form.
Then I thought how good it is to be so vibrant and healthy at 65, fit enough to take on the Grand Canyon at an age when my grandmother was in the nursing home. After all, when I saw the Dreamshield in 2010 I was told I will live to well over 100, as some have in my family, to continue to help usher in the new age .
And now that longer life I am to have is blessed with the best mate of my life and should I be injured I now have the insurance Bernie dreams of for us all. Fingers crossed he pulls it off a miracle. It will be like he won the elections after all as he should have in the first place.
On March 11th I told the hospital doctors, determined to scare me into better self-care, that they’d find my heart was in decent shape when they examined me. I knew this not just because am I blessed with being pretty psychic, but because I had just hiked the Grand Canyon 6 months earlier with zero heart trouble.
Media, Meditations & Musings 