THE WIZARD AND THE ICE FAIRY – Part One

“The notion that science and spirituality are somehow mutually exclusive does a disservice to both.”– Carl Sagan

By Ken Sheetz

Once upon an alternate universe, a wizard named Zlyph did battle with an evil green dragon who had slain his king and queen while he was on a quest to a far away land.

The master-less wizard fought the green dragon with a magical ice sword to the highest minaret of the castle.

“Why do you persist, wizard? Your king and queen are ash.  This castle is now my realm!”  bellowed the dragon, blasting a gout of green flame.

“Guilt for being far away when you made your sneak attack compels me, foul one.  Vengeance for King Ior and Queen Ilsa!” said the wizard Zylph.  But he tripped over a fallen knight’s armor and was knocked out.

The green dragon cackled as he loomed over the unconscious wizard, “Too easy! Farewell, wizard.”  The green dragon drew in a deep breath and prepared to incinerate Zylph.

But before the wicked dragon could strike a fairy queen made of ice leaped from the wizard’s sword.

“Dragon, you should be ashamed of yourself!” the ice fairy queen shouted.

The dragon reeled back a few paces and said, “Ashamed of what?”

“Ashamed of a rage and fury that has taken enough lives. Go now in peace and leave this wizard to mourn the loss of his tribe,” said the ice fairy queen.

“I, I’ve met none such as you in the worlds I travel. I sense no fear in you whatsoever. You have extinguished me rage, my flame… But I can still crush you in my jaws!” the green dragon snapped at the ice fairy queen but she simply turned to snow flakes that reformed a few feet away.

“Do not try my patience, dragon. You shall not have the wizard for he is a savior to my people. I guard him forever. Fly for your life now, or face my icy wrath!” said the ice fairy queen.

“I shall depart and leave this old fool to you. My work is done here. But before I take wing there is a price for my leave,” said the dragon.

“Ask and I will consider, dragon.”

“Your name, fairy. What is it so that I may curse your name in my exile from the castle I rightly won in combat?” said the green dragon.

“I am known as Antarcticania, queen of the Orions. But know this, dragon. Curse me and your belly will turn to ice and you will perish in an instant. Be gone. You waste my time. I must tend to the wizard Zylph, savior of my people. Fly!” said Antarcticania setting loose blizzard atop the castle.

The dragon leaped into the winter storm bellowing in rage, “You have not seen the last of me, witch!”

The wizard blinked his eyes as he awoke in the king’s bed. He rubbed the knot on the back of his head, remembering he had been knocked cold in his battle with dragon.

“How in King Ior’s name did I get in the king’s bed?” said the wizard, not expecting and answer and shocked when the ice fairy queen stepped through the door. But she wore an enchantment that made her look like a simple peasant woman, through which her inner fairy beauty shone through like the sun behind a heavy laden snow cloud.

“Please lay back on rest, brave wizard. You’ve had a nasty blow to the head and may be suffering forgetfulness of your amazing defeat of the green dragon,” said the ice fairy, taking no credit for saving the wizard.

“Last thing I remember was tripping over something and conking my thick skull,” said the wizard laying back down from dizziness.

“Perhaps, great one, you have cast a spell over yourself to cause you to battle when your wits are affected,” smiled the ice fairy.

“Where is my ice sword, fair one?” said the wizard.

“You impaled the dragon with the ice sword and he flew off in a rage of hellfire ice sword and all,” said the ice fairy, keeping the secret she and the ice sword were one from the dazed wizard.

“Hmm. I can be scrappy. I guess my instincts took over. But I would never drag myself to the royal chamber to slumber,” grumped the wizard.

“You passed out after defeating the dragon and I carried you here. I meant no disrespect to your king and queen, god rest their souls,” said the ice fairy.

“Who are you? And why are you here when all perished in the castle?” said the wizard, his suspicion growing by the second.

“I am Anna, a simple severing girl of Queen Ilsa’s. I hid deep in the castle’s secret chambers during the dragon attack, ” smiled the ice fairy queen, not revealing her royal standing.

As the ice fairy smiled, the walls of the castle melted before the shocked wizard’s eyes.  The wizard transformed into a 20-year-old college student, Kyle Rodger, sitting before computer screen where the green dragon was battling the ice fairy.

“Thanks, Mr. Rodgers, that will be all for today.  Don’t want to keep you from your classes,” said a lab tech as she removed electrodes from Kyle’s head.

End Part One

 

A Talk With 1991 Me

By Ken Sheetz

The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. ~Michael Althsuler

A talk with 1991 meIt’s 2014 as I meditate in my new Sedona home to be in contact with my 1991 self.  I see myself at age 39 working late in my 303 West Madison offices in downtown Chicago on the 19th floor.  All the staff has gone home.  I’m working harder and longer than everyone as usual.

It’s January 4, 1991.  Snow drfits past the big dual pane office windows.

I glance from the windows at an invite on my desk.  I’ve been invited to a late New Year’s Eve office party that a competitor property is throwing in the east Loop.  I’m debating on going.  Parties are not my thing in 1991 or today.  My brain hurts at parties.  I am a one on one person.

I can see 1991 me gazing nervously across the street at the under construction skyscraper I am the managing partner for, One North Franklin.  I am tense as hell because the curtain wall, the very skin of the building is badly behind schedule.  I am in danger of losing $ 8 million in guarantees if the building is late in delivery.  So 1991 me paces the office like a caged beast.

Back in 2014 I am thrilled to discover this time machine compartment of my brain.  One that’s always been there waiting for me to open the hatch and fire it up.  I easily read my 1991 mind:

“Damnit.  I wonder if the GC (general contractor) is still working?  Should I try to chew his ass out now for screwing up my building or wait to Monday?” says my angry 1991 self.

I’ve always had conversations in my mind with myself like this over important matters.  — Way before my spirit awakening in 2010 where I met ET spirits that looked like angels in Italy that put me on missions to help the planet through meditation, missions that have taken me as far as Antarctica. — So this seems like a perfect time to answer myself.  And the way this works, dear reader, is it’s done in real-time as I type, so pardon my typos.

“It won’t matter.  Nothing you do is going to save this project.  Go home to your wife and kids,” I say to my 1991 me.

1991 Ken stops cold in his pace of panic, “Where did that voice come from?”  1991 me hurries to door and looks up the empty hallway.

“I’m in your head,” I say to 1991 me.

“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”

“Your wife is right about the working too hard part.  But you are not going nuts,” I say finishing a plate of hash.
A phone call from a client breaks my connection to 1991 Ken.  An hour later I find in his emerald-green Jaguar driving home to Lake Forest.

“I’m back.” I say in 1991 Ken’s mind almost making him swerve the car off the freeway.

“Who are you and how are you inside my head?” demands 1991 me.

“Who do I sound like?” I say.

“Dad?” 1991 me worries.

“Way off.  I’m you, Ken Sheetz 23 years in the future.” I offer gently trying not to sound like the father we both hate for playing mind games with us as a kid.

“You’re me, time traveling from the future like Dr. Who in my head?  Ha.  Prove you’re me.  Tell me something about me no one else could possibly know, ” says Ken of 1991 turning down the Jag’s radio playing the Rolling Stones.  ’91 Ken’s free to talk out loud in the privacy of his traveling the express lanes of the Kennedy.

I don’t need to think long and I offer sadly, “You and your wife had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”

“Jesus, you are me.  Or maybe just me going nuts.  My own voiced aged up in my head,” says ’91 me.

“I can prove I’m real with telling you what will happen tomorrow.  Give me a sec to Google January 5, 1991 news.” I say.

“What’s Google?” says ’91 Ken.

“A company that will become to source of all factual knowledge on earth by 2014.   I am using it to research… ah, here’s something cool that’s going to happen tomorrow January 5, 1991 that you can use to tell yourself this is all very real, me contacting you telepathically from the future.  Redskins 20 – Eagles 6.  Redskins win’s final scoring drive is a field goal in the third quarter.  And in case you need more proof Randall Cunningham will pass for exactly 205 yards in the game.  Impossible to guess that stat.”

“Well, so a future stock on an oracle called Google and the score of a playoff game.  Hope this is real,” ’91 me says.

“It is real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer, ” I say sadly.

“What?  Am I going to get into a car accident tonight?” shouts ’91 me, eyes darting at the busy Chicago traffic ahead.

“Worse.  You heading for the meltdown of your entire financial life.  You’ll be returning the Jaguar to the dealer on foot in a year,” says 2014 me sitting at my desk in Sedona feeling like shit and wondering what use it is warning my past self about all this.

“How does this all unravel so fast?”

“A wave of commercial loan failures has the banks taking properties back.  By 1994 almost every building in the Loop will have gone back to the lenders.  Your building, our building, One North Franklin, we be the pioneer, the poster child, in the banks seizing commercial properties and driving rents into sub 1970 levels.  No loan will be sustainable.  But since you are the first Barclays Bank is going to annihilate you for their losing $80 million on the project.  You’ll be hung out to dry as an example to…”  I am interrupted in 2014 by client Nick Edwards who loves calling me on weekends, holidays and evenings.  In other words on my time off.  Poor 1991 me has to wait 15 minutes for to get back to Ken ’91.

“Sorry, I have a job in social media here in the future.  My hours are nuts, ” I say.

“What the hell is social media?” 1991 me says.

“The future.  Starts after a dot-com bust of 2000.  Only invest in Amazon.com and get some Apple stock. ”

Me in 1991 has progressed to the Edens expressway on the commute home to my million dollar home in the affluent suburb of Lake Forest.   A home I will lose in the crash of ’91.

“Why am I’m not working in real estate anymore in 2014?” 1991 says, half glad I am back and half not.

“By 1992 you’re poor as a kid out of college, but brokerage keeps you afloat.  By 1995 you start becoming a filmmaker and leave for a life in Hollywood in 2002.  You never look back.  You’re happy being an artist even though the money sucks,” I say.

“Gloria would never let that happen, ” says Ken 1991.

“She dumps you in 1992 when you fall off the money wagon, with a lot of help from how depressed and angry you are about losing your ass from the skyscraper repo.  So you’re free to be the artist you went to college to be,”  I say trying to make it all sound wonderful.  But I can read the rising fear and panic in my 1991 self, a self that’s still riding high and worth about $12 million at the time.

“This is more than I can handle.  I hope it’s my overactive imagination and the Redskins lose tomorrow, ” 1991 me says sadly.

“Seriously, it’s all going to be for the best.  You are a great person.  You don’t need the Jaguar, the million dollar mansion, the skyscraper, it’s all a trap.  You are about to be set free, ” I say brightly in Ken 1991’s sad mind that seems to be filling with quicksand that’s making it hard for me to stay connected to him.

“Bullshit.  You’re not telling me all the truth, ” says 1991 me.  I forgot how tough and vicious I could be in 1991.  I was Chicago’s most ruthless real estate broker.  Number one according to the Chicago Sun Times in 1987 and soon to be 1991 developer of the year for building Oprah Winfrey’s Harpo studios while building One North Franklin.  No wonder I had no time for my wife and kids.  Yeah, I’ve forgotten how super tough I had to be to get to the top of Chicago’s real estate world.  And I was driven by showing my asshole of a drill sergeant father I was better than him.

“It won’t be easy for you.  Gloria has all the assets in her name to protect everything from the banksters, what we call the obviously fucked up hucksters of finance in 2014.  In 1992 Gloria preemptively files for divorce while you separate.  She hires the toughest divorce lawyer in Chicago.  A ruthless SOB who takes every last dime you have left after the skyscraper goes back to the lender.  Worst part of all this is that her preemptive move breaks your heart.  You’ve, um, we were sweethearts since college.  You don’t see the divorce coming even though you are a ego tripping dick and hard as hell to live with.  You end up broke as hell most of the rest of your life after the skyscraper fails, and the divorce hamstrings you, until 2009 when you start a company called BuzzBroz and get back on your feet,” I quickly tell my 1991 self.

“I won’t let any of this shit happen.” says 1991 me bitterly as he pounds the steering wheel.  He outweighs 2014 me by 20 pounds and he’s strong as a bull.  I’d forgotten how strong I was.  Once in a fit of rage I broken a wooden chair in toothpicks with my bare hands..

“You can’t change history,” I say grimly, the voice of my own doom.

“I’ve almost read every science fiction ever written.  Using what you’ve told me I simply need to take steps to do things different from you did and presto, new future, ” 91 me says.

“That would mean I wouldn’t do my film career.  Wouldn’t become spiritually in 2010 awake filming a SoulDrama workshop in Italy where I saw ET angels that gave me these powers and so I would never be able to telepathically connect to you to share what I just shared.  Paradox,” I say.

“So why tell me all this shit?” 91 me shouts.  I had a loud mouthed temper back then.  Some people think I still do.  But I am as gentle as a mouse in 2014 compared to 1991.  I am bully at home with my loud voice.  My kids trembled in fear of me though I never hit them.  My voice was force of nature. No wonder Gloria divorced 1991 me.

“What if when I change the past a new future splits off?  No paradox then.  You simply become one version of my 2014 possible selves in that scenario,” 1991 me says in excitement, voice tinged with the grace of genius.

“That’s actually quite possible!  It’s a 21st century quantum physics theory called multi-verses.   Maybe that’s why I called you.  To give one of my futures that chance to beat fate,” I say in wonder.

As my savvy 1991 self pulls onto the snowy street of my Lake Forest mansion I quickly add, “Gloria’s a good woman who listens to her mother too much.  She’ll stand with you if you’re kinder and gentler with her.  No other person you ever date or love is going to click with you like Gloria does.  Get out of the skyscraper deal before the spring.  Take whatever you can get because or you end up with less than nothing.  Get a job in corporate films.  Filmmaking in Hollywood is a closed system.  You waste ten years of your life out there before waking up spiritually in Italy with the DreamShield and eventually living in Sedona.  Staying married might save the relationship with your/my kids, who become seriously fucked up by the divorce.  One almost kills themselves as a teen and both never speak to you in 2014,” I say as 1991 me pulls into the driveway.

1991 me is crying now and says, “For the kids sake most of all, thanks for all the info, future me.  It rings true.  So I’m putting big money on the Redskins to win 20-6 tomorrow.  You better be right or I swear I’ll hire a scientist to invent a time machine , find you in 2014 and beat your ass.”

We each have a tearful laugh.  My 1991 sense of humor shows the heart is still there and he adds, “With the Redskins winnings I’ll start a small corporate film biz, always wanted to make movies.  Our psychic mom always said advertising was what I should be doing.  I’ll dump my partnership in the skyscraper to Smeltzer (not real name the guy might sue 2014 me he’s such a dick) who’s always wanted to be top dog.”

“Whoa.  Be sure you get that deal in bank first.  Don’t give up control to Smeltzer until you do.  In my timeline Zeller cannot complete the deal to me for getting out as I started too late in the fall on 1991 but Smeltzer takes over anyways without giving me a penny.  Understandable.  Smeltzer’s clever.  So he won’t be hurt, except for his pride, when the market falls.  No bad karma in unloading to Smeltzer.  Smart, you 1991 Ken.  But don’t be greedy take whatever Smelter offers you.  But cash in that bank is king, Kenny boy.  Get it from the jerk, or someone else in the partnership, and good luck.  Speaking of good luck, call your corporate film biz BuzzBroz.  That’s what I call mine in 2009.”

BuzzBroz, I like this name. Of course I would.  I think of it!  Any more stock tips or football tips for me about the future?” laughs Ken, chomping at the bit at change the future.

“You already know enough to be a billionaire ten times over.  Enough fucking greed!” I say surprised at my anger with my 1991 self.  “Greed is killing this world in 2014.  Instead use the wealth of your knowledge of the future to help find ways to stop a thing called chemtrails from happening, work on a ending poverty.  Be your childhood super hero.  BE Superman! — And I do have some better tips for you than stocks.  Get some fucking therapy for all the shit we went through as kids with mom and dad.  Especially our drill Sargent dad.  I didn’t do therapy until after the divorce when I almost killed myself from a suicidal depression.”  I say.

“Christ, I hope I can save my family or this gets grim.” 1991 says.

“Yes. Grim than I will share today, but you get through it because you are made of indestructible stuff.  Your wife and kids may not be as lucky.  One of them almost killed themselves after you got ejected from Lake Forest.  So you need that therapy help to save the marriage, to save your/our family.  Your/our father really fucked us up BIG TIME.  No shame in that.  You can be fixed with therapy!  An anger guru named Mitch Messer can clear up your anger issues in less than a year.  Make you a master of you old childhood rage.  Love yourself enough to do that for you and failing loving yourself do it for Gloria and the kids.”

“Ok, Ok, I’ll do it.  Mitch Messer.  OK.  Anger management.  I’ll do it.  Sheesh.  Guess I’m a nag by 2014,” kids 1991 me.

“Fuck you, I mean fuck me.  — And change your priorities.  Put the kids numero uno.  They need you more than you can ever know.  You are worthy of their love and Gloria’s.  Stop thinking your wife and kids are stupid to love a jerk like you.  Family first, that includes our brothers and mom.  See less of your father looking for something that ain’t there.  He’s hopeless.  Never matures to the day he dies.  He was born for one thing.  To fuck us up. —  Learn to meditate.  Live from the heart and only take on clients with heart.  Our world is dying of a lot things in 2014.  Work supporting clients looking to support a better world.  Look up a scientist named Patrick Flanagan at a company called PhiSciences and tell him Ken Sheetz of 2014 sent you.  He will believe you.  He amazing and part of my being able to reach you is from a thing he invented called the Neurophone that boosts IQ.  Not a plug.  Get one.  It will make all this easier for you.”

1991 me pulls into the driveway of my heavenly million dollar home I/we designed personally.  Ken ’91 opens the door to the huge kitchen, wondering if it’s too late to save his family life.  Gloria and our two kids, Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9, run to the door to greet 1991 me with hugs and kisses.  And in that very instant Ken 1991 and Ken 2014 both know that it’s  not too late.

I am in tears as I close the blog.  This really happened(s).  This is not fiction.  I save(d) a family.  My own.

And I did in time to take my daily meditation hike in Sedona.  Peace!

The Veteran’s Ball

“When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?” -George Canning

By Ken Sheetz

Mosaic, Rainy Day in Central Park by artist Kate Kerringer www.katkerringer.net
Mosaic, Rainy Day in Central Park
by artist Kat Kerringer http://www.katekerringer.net

A dangerously thin young man, adorned in tattered desert combat fatigues, Roger McCalister makes his way to park bench beneath the menace of clouds that hover over Central Park. 

The condo skyscrapers of Manhattan, where unimaginable wealth resides, tower in stark contrast to Roger who has not had a shower in weeks.

Still, there’s a handsome aura and stoic humor about this young vet as he breaks out his worn guitar from the traveling home on his back.  Roger perches a sign scrabbled in crayons on cardboard on red velvet inside of his open guitar case that reads:

“Homeless vet.  Give for me to live!”

A young affluent mother walks a luxury baby buggy that could feed ten vets for a week past Roger’s humble sidewalk concert spot.

“Morning, ma’am,” Roger says, not expecting an answer and not getting one as the mother hurries on avoiding eye contact.

A light drizzle begins as Roger tunes up his guitar.  Roger is mystified he’s not getting wet.  He looks up to see an umbrella with a map of the globe on it.  Roger twists further to see a beautiful redhead is being an angel keeping him dry.

“Thanks, but I don’t mind the rain, miss.” says Roger.

“Name’s, Gaia, ” says the redhead beauty.

“Never met a Gaia before.  What kind of name’s Gaia?” says Roger with a strum of his guitar.

“Hippie name for mother earth.  Mom and dad were flower children in the 60s.” says Gaia.

“I dig the 60s.  People still gave a shit, ” says Roger playing a 60s riff on his beat up guitar.

“You’re good!” says Gaia.

“Had a lot of time on my hands in Iraq and then Afghanistan.  Picked it up from a buddy named Bradley, who bought it with an IED,” says Roger sadly.

“Must feel awful to have served all that time and end up neglected by a People you served so valiantly,” says Gaia.

“I was homeless before the service.  Just back on my regular beat.   Signed up right after 9/11.  Only sixteen.  Lied about my age.  Zero hard feeling about serving America.  I had three squares a day and a place to sleep every night,” says Roger fondly.

“Why didn’t you stay in the Army then?” says Gaia.

“I wrote a song about it.  Have time to hear?  Don’t want to keep you if you have a job to get to,” says Roger, expecting her exit.

But the beauty stays and with a nod from Gaia, Roger starts to play:

“Singed up for 9/11.

War for me was heaven.

The army kept me fed.

Gave me a clean bed.”

A small crowd of New Yorkers gather as Roger sings and plays like an angel.

“Eight years went by in a flash.

Saved me up lots of cash.

When an IED took my bud Bradley

I lost my music and way sadly.

Decided to give peace a go.

But little did I know

Sharks live on land.”

Tears well in Gaia’s eyes as Roger plays his haunting song.

“My savings turned to sand.

Never learned to hold a job.

Does that make me a slob?

No one to give me orders

Now I guitar for dollars.”

People from the crowd toss wads of cash into Roger’s guitar case as plays on.

“I signed up for 9/11.

War for me was heaven.

The army kept me fed.

Gave me a clean bed.

But now that I am out

Though I scream and shout.

No one seems to hear…

Somebody buy me a beer!”

Roger stops playing with a grin and the crowd, grown to about 100 people, erupts into thunderous applause.

Gaia kisses Roger on his bearded cheek and says, “May I have this dance?”

“There’ll be no music if I stop playing,” says Roger.

“Your teacher Bradley can take over playing,” says Gaia as she points to Bradley in the growing crowd.

Bradley, all dressed in white army fatigues, steps from the crowd and takes up Roger’s guitar while a bright smile.

“Bradley!  You’re alive, bro!” says Roger taking Bradley into a hug.

“Complicated.  Shut up and dance with Gaia, you lucky stiff.” says Roger as he strikes up a passionate flamenco.

Roger bows to Gaia and they dance to the applause of the crowd in a spotlight of sunbeam.

Gaia and Roger dance up the sunbeam.  Roger looks down on Central Park at Bradley playing guitar and sees his slumped body on the park bench.

“Ah.  I’m dead…, ” says Roger wistfully.

“Nonsense.  There’s much for you to do, soldier.  I need good men like you to save my world,” says Gaia joyously.

“I enlist!” says Roger, sprouting dazzling angel wings as he dances Gaia into the morning sun.

THE END

Hi Guys, I am on long-term assignment filming super scientist Patrick Flanagan of PhiSciences in Sedona where I’ve settled down from my world travels these past four years to recharge for a bit.  2014 will see my world travels again to exotic lands and places for our planetary meditations.  For now I take the greatest journey of all, the one within. 

Help support my work awakening the planet.  Make a donation at the PayPal link on Dreamshield.org and I promise you much magic will find its way back to you.

— Much love, Ken

Water Wand

“Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends”

― Wisdom of Gandalf from J.R.R. Tolkien’s, “The Two Towers”

By Ken Sheetz

I meditate this morning on putting out the raging California fires, some 56 of them.  One of which has sent San Fransisco into a state of emergency.  I use the giant 300 mile long version of a red magnetic magic wand from my childhood once again.  It’s proven a faithful effective visualization tool in my planetary meditations for water healings I’ve been doing all week.

Since I am not done with meditations for cleaning Fukushima radiation in the Pacific yet, a series of 12 meditations the guides say are needed for that mess, I will the wand down from the dream shield, powered by the collective consciousness, which hovers at the edge of space.  The dream shield is a tool of awesome positive power that I was blessed to work with ETs of the Orion star system to activate in 2010, precisely for urgent planetary emergencies like this one. The biosphere dream device can handle anything space tosses at us or we toss at ourselves.

I send the water wand plunging into the Atlantic.  The wand turns from red to blue as it magnetically draws in seawater.  The 300 miles long wand sucks in a great deal of water.  Next, I levitate the water-soaked magnetic wand from the Atlantic ocean and begin to transport it to California.  Not surprisingly, the wand is heavy and clumsy to levitate, holding many tons of water.  With concentration the wand slowly makes its way over the US for the San Fransisco area, where millions are threatened.   It is Sunday morning August 25th about 5 AM.  A galactic portal day, many are saying on Facebook.

As I slowly carry the fire fighting energy of the Atlantic to California, I think back on my asking my brother Fred to help in this DreamShield powered meditation last night.  Fred flatly turns me down, saying he is not ready to join me in planetary meditations, not now, perhaps never.  That hurt, but I respect this work is not for everyone.  Not even my brother.

Me right with Mom and Fred, circa 1950
Me right with Mom and Fred, circa 1959

Fred and I have a lot healing to do with each other from a childhood where both our parents often pitted us, brother against brother.  Fred told me last night once how, when I was senior in high school and he was a freshman, that I passed him in the hallway without saying hi.  That hurt him deeply.  I don’t recall the instance fully.  Most likely, I was just preoccupied.  I have mild ADD and I do not do well spotting people in crowds.  But Fred’s reaction tells me he is carrying guilt of some kind.

Before I can dig into what that guilt might be, my brother asks if he might visit me in Sedona for a week for my September birthday coming up soon.  Well, it was more like Fred me told me at first.  Fred can be forceful at times.  But Fred saw he was for once and apologized for being pushy.  I reassure Fred I am happy he is coming.

Next day, I make plans to house Fred at the resort in his own room.  Love my bro, but a week in same room is not my idea of fun.   I will be working in advance with angel channel Mica Monet, my beautiful Sedona spirit friend, on healing the complex relationship I have with my brother Fred.

My brother Fred tells me that he wants to come to Sedona because he is awakening to new realms and abilities that began to emerge 2 weeks ago.  He asks guidance and support from me, his closest relative aside from his son Joey and our mother.  Fred says he also hopes to have a chance to meet my friend and client inventor Patrick Flanagan.  I warn Fred I can make no promises about Patrick’s busy schedule.

A simple welder all these many years, by choice, Fred put aside college and a brilliant life as a scientist.  Why?  To follow in our bipolar father’s footsteps as a tradesman.  Nobel hands on work, but the world was cheated of much of Fred’s genius when he dropped out of college.  If Patrick is free to meet Fred it will prove an eye opener for my brother to speak with a man who has dedicated his life to inventing holistic remedies and is considered a reincarnation of Nikola Tesla.

Fred was smarter than me in school by far.  Too bright for the normal classes that I could barely get by in, Fred took all the advanced classes.  Then he turned his back on it all, just to be near dad in the trades. Fred’s reward was to be tormented by our bipolar father on the job.  One time my father, as a prank, electrified a large metal container Fred was inside of welding.  Fred was nearly electrocuted and never trusted my father again.  I distanced myself from my wild father once I grew up, while Fred held him close.

I am happy that Fred is beginning to invent things again, for the first time since we were kids.  He is working on a solar steam device and I have been lending him a little financial support, paying back some of the money he loaned me to chase my dream of being a Hollywood director.  The least I can do.

For now, however, there is a fury in my brother that radiates from him.  You can imagine it’s tough getting back on his true path at the tender age of 59.  And, just as with my 2010 awakening, many in the family feel my brother has lost his mind.  Why chase inventing versus the solid paychecks of welding as he’s been doing for nearly 40 years, they wonder?

Awakening has been overwhelming for my brother these past few weeks.  Fred experiences a wild sense of euphoria mixed with fear and calls me every few hours; compared to our normal once a week hour-long calls.  It’s been a strain on me.  A part of my recent exhaustion.  Fred’s intensely digs deep into things in ways that are hard for my active, less scientific mind to comprehend.

For 3 years the angels have been telling me one of my jobs, as an early awakened soul will be to help the new people waking up.  I just never expected that work be this personal.  My dear brother, a Gemini with a dualistic nature that has always baffled me.  It’s going to be a challenge.  But one I am up for here in Sedona with many angels both earthly and otherwise to help me.

On the phone Fred sounds like he’s drinking more than usual.  And for a few moments I hear my father’s voice within Fred’s.  An other worldly mix of anger and hope at war.  A voice I don’t like hearing as my father beat me daily.  Dad even broke my arm once by tossing me into a wall when I lashed back at his abuse with a punch to his jaw.  I was nine.

The Science of Hydration - FinalOn my 12th birthday my father nearly killed me with a belt beating.  The crime did not fit my father’s belt lashing.  I had hit my baby brother for teasing me.  I didn’t like the savings bond gift Dad had got me.  I wanted a spaceship toy.   For hitting my baby brother Bruce my father goes berserk.  Fred tells me, he is 10 at the time, that he feels so helpless as my father lashes me.  It is like witnessing firsthand the horrific scene from Gibson’s Christ in the Passion, blood flows from my back to stain my white T-shirt.  It takes both my mother and grandmother diving on my crazed father’s back to save my life.

As Fred recounts my sad birthday story from his point of view, he confesses to me for the first time that dad never even spanked him his whole life.  Whereas I was beaten badly so often I’ve lost count.  I process that revelation for an entire day and next day tell Fred he can feel free of any guilt about his free pass with Dad.  Fred took plenty of mental abuse like some sort of co-conspirator/informant.  I forgive my brother and feel his relief over the phone.  He chokes back with tears his thanks.

Despite all this, my dear brother Fred struggles now with the fact I carry no more anger about our bipolar dad, resulting from my healing work that has gone on for 20 years and concluded here in Sedona with the help of many.  Our brotherly rage fest with our father was always something we shared in common. Fred feels alone with his rage now and my breaking of wicked conspiratorial bonds he had to my dad.  Fred’s had a powerful psychic surgery from our talks.  His healing will take time.  And beautiful Sedona will help when he visits me for more pleasant birthday than my twelfth.

Fred tells me he is bringing an old family album with him on his visit to me in Sedona.  He says there is a horrific picture where my father’s “demon” was caught on film.  I tell Fred there is no such thing as demons.  Only repressed anger.  But what’s in a name?  Anger is a powerful negative force, if left untreated, a devil that wrecks all around us.  But I bravely tell Fred I will look at the album to help heal my brother carrying so much shame about not being beaten the way I was.  I already know that I will have no anger and fear looking at the photo, even if dad has horns in the photos.  Those days of fearing my dad and raging on him are past for me.  Fred and I will find a new more positive common ground in our life.

Lost in these thoughts of my brother’s rapid and sudden healing, I drop the water wand as it is passes over Arizona.  Rather than get mad at myself, as I might in the past, or even blame Fred for his painful distractions, I send the wand back to the Atlantic and start the meditation over.

dolphin fire fighters
“Dolphin Firefighters” by Ken Sheetz

At last the Atlantic waters of the wand finally reaches the fires of California raging outside San Fransisco.  A team of electric dolphins leap from the Pacific, grateful for the Fukushima meditations, join the Atlantic waters and pull a wave of the water soaring into the wall of flame.  Living redwoods join to battle the fire by diverting rivers.  It’s more epic the LTOR.  And the fire dies in a cloud of steam.

I know Patrick Flanagan, who is in California now visiting the Napa Valley, with his amazing wife Stephanie, are both somehow joining this planetary meditation.  Ha.  They thought they were taking a vacation to the wine country.  Angels work in funny ways.

Friday my brother received a gift from me of Megahydrate, an amazing health supplement of Pat’s Phisciences.com.  Fred, a heavy smoker, tells me gratefully he feels the hydration instantly in his eyes and dry mouth.  Cancer thrives in dehydration, I see in this meditation.  Patrick’s gift may then save my smoker brother’s life.  No wonder he wants to meet him so badly he is traveling all the way from Wisconsin, our family home.

Patrick’s amazing products are a prime example of how these meditations manifest in ways that our world can facilitate.  Earth is, in fact, a manifesting machine.  Our thoughts are things and we have far more power to shape this reality than we know.

The fire meditation a success,  I find myself in a dream of a rehearsal of a young black singer. He’s a homeless kid I discovered to carry on the work of Michael Jackson.  He looks a lot like the young MJ.  He sings a newly discovered Jackson song that Michael wrote before his death.  It’s angelic.  I am blessed to still hear it echo in my mind as a I write you, dear reader.  I am in tears as the young man finishes the love song called “Marlene”.  I take the homeless MJ kid into a hug.  He smells bad and it’s a grimy hug.  Waking, I realize it’s a metaphor for my healing brother Fred who will bring a new song to the world from old steam power.

As I write to you, dear reader, I am having an open eye vision that makes it hard to see what I type.  It’s a double-exposure where I walk the moist charred fire baked floor of the California forest.  Steam mist rises into the air.  The fires are out.  San Fransisco lies safe in the distance. I again find myself hoping, as I have for three years now, that one day my brother Fred will join me in these amazing, if exhausting, meditations.

And then the ET angel Ohom of the Orion star system asks me to get out of bed and walk to the window of my Sedona area room here in Cottonwood at a cozy B&B called the Desert Rose.  It’s time for some confirmation my meditations are real Ohom kids me, knowing I still harbor some doubts.  I throw open the little bedroom window.  I laugh at what the water wand dropped here from the Atlantic.  It is raining in the desert.  The first morning rain in my six month stay.  Rain soon to visit California.

Enjoy my meditation video about healing fire with the amazing singer/actor Lynda Valliche.  It worked here in Arizona, it will work for California.

WINNING A GREEK GOLDEN GLOBE

“O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!”
 
– William Shakespeare, “Midsummer Nights Dream”

By Ken Sheetz

Sunday morning meditation 8.18.13. Sedona Arizona area.

I lay tucked in bed in my cozy room at the Desert Rose B&B, up for the day and doing my daily morning meditation.  I have no idea I am about to have the biggest vision since the launch of DreamShield in 2010 when I saw 7 foot tall blue skinned ET angels.

FirefoxScreenSnapz087I feel called off world and I astral project myself from the resort in Sedona and quickly rocket into space.  In no time at all I am past the moon.  I will myself to greater speed.  Faster than I have ever traveled before in meditation or dreams, I break all laws of physics.  I zip past galaxies faster than any human has ever traveled, an impossible one billion times the speed of light.

I come to stop and hover outside the universe(s).  It’s a gorgeous vast tangle of galaxies, resembling the human brain’s trillions of neurons, majestically spread before me to infinity.

Now the galaxies shift into a pattern of symbols.  A mega “download”.  — A somewhat annoying New Age slang term for compressed wisdom transmitted from the spirit world of the ETs.  One day we’ll have a better word than the robotic sounding download for these amazing transmissions of so much loving knowledge that takes up so little human drive space in our brains.

What I witness in this epic download is a mixture of Reiki symbols and new alien symbols never seen before by human eyes.  I make a mental note to use hypnosis to recall them at a later date.  Recording them using the pen and paper on my nightstand would end the vision before I could copy down more than a few of the 77 dazzling symbols made of trillions of galaxies floating before me.

All for later to recall this and share it.  Or perhaps not at all as this may be a simple relay job for me.   Much of my vision work is like that.  Another reason not to disturb the vision by jotting down the amazing symbols formed of all the galaxies.  I see now, like our Gaia, galaxies are living creatures.  The galaxies have flown into these patterns, like a flock of birds, for me to see this message that will transform me and our world in ways we cannot even imagine.  For now, laying peacefully in my bed, at my Sedona base of operations for DreamShield meditations and the incredible day job of filming THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS, this cosmic majesty is more than enough.

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TRAIN IN THE RAIN

I reflect on the night before, where I took the stars of the new hit web series with over 25 million views, Patrick Flanagan and his wife Stephanie, as my guests on the Verde Valley train ride.  It rains the whole train trip, from heavy to light.  I tell the amazing couple I am sorry for the rain blocking out the stars and moon.  But as long-time residents of the desert, both are happy for the rain.

While the rain and rocks of the Verde river fly the windows, Patrick is lost in his virtual lab. An inner sanctuary where he perfects his inventions before bringing them out to share in this world.  Stephanie and he have a passionate relationship I have been lucky to catch on film.  Neither pulls any punches debating the Shift and their roles in it.  And a little wine and champagne sets off another of their brush fire talks.

As always, I am amazed these two can argue so heatedly like this and be hugging and kissing five minutes later.  It’s something I would enjoy to a smaller degree in my next relationship.   They purge and a process oceans of male and female energies like nothing I have ever witnessed.

_DSC2902A big part of the train ride is spent coaching Stephanie on dealing with the criticisms of friends and strangers about her part in THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS. These superb videos have been her first direct public exposure before the camera.  I teach her that many people have hidden agendas and petty jealousies when they make comments.  Extreme caution must be taken when listening to feedback.  Truly honest and tasteful feedback people are a rare commodity.

Frankly, when Patrick told me he wanted to share the spotlight his wife Stephanie, who had never been on camera before, I was against it.  But I listen to genius, one of my exceptions, and so I filmed Steph.  I was blown away with her deep knowledge of the ancient Mayan calendar and how its’ still very much alive.  I’ve learned from her the Mayan calendar didn’t really end on 12.21.12 like we all thought.  Kind of embarrassing for a guy basing his whole life preparing for that date for three years.  Click here to see Stephanie’s brilliant interview on the new Vimeo channel I am building for Patrick.

Patrick wants to stay in the first-class indoor car to keep working on his new invention.  He literally creates electrical diagrams in his mind first before placing pencil to paper.  Stephanie ‘s disappointed her husband is lost in thought and I escort her out of the train car into the rain.   We have the outdoor viewing car mostly to ourselves, except for a worried old tour guide from the east coast who frets about us slipping on the wet deck.  Stephanie and I grab a spot out of the direct rain under the awnings, normally meant for shade from the hot Arizona sun.

Here in the freshest damp air I’ve ever breathed, I teach Stephanie a bit my Hollywood School of Hard Knocks skills on how to listen, sift what may be useful from comments and move on.  This hard-won skill took me years to develop.  So I advise Steph to be patient with herself as she grows a thicker skin for her vital work as a new web celeb.

As the train winds through the rain-soaked desert, the smell of wet sage fills my lungs.  It’s then I realize helping Stephanie overcome this negativity and other negativity that bombards her sensitive soul, is one of the reasons I’ve been brought here to Sedona.

DreamShield is uniquely positive in its mission.  Wildly positive in the face of epic negativity.  All will be well in the end no matter how bad things may look is its simple yet potent message of hope.  I see in Stephanie’s face a lifting of the veil of the negative forces keeping her down.  My heart soars as we sip our champagnes while the rain-soaked train steams past ancient Hopi ruins carved in the rock mountains.

The rain lets up and I coax Patrick to take a break, from inventing god only knows what, to venture out of the luxury train car onto the open air platforms where all the majesty of the desert surrounds us.  Light rain pelts me and I now get why the dynamic couple are happy about the rain.  Patrick rejoins his wife of eighteen years with hugs and kisses.  No residue of their little argument remains.

Patrick, who has been in the public eye since the 1960s when LIFE MAGAZINE featured him as one of the top ten scientists to watch in the world, reinforces what I am teaching Stephanie about ignoring and filtering harsh comments of strangers and loved ones.  I realize this new stress of being exposed on the web is Stephanie’s the source of physical pain in her leg that she complained of as our train pulled out of Clarkdale.

With her permission and Pat’s support, I give Steph a train ride Reiki treatment.  I picture a globe of water energy soothing her cramped leg and send all tension down into the train tracks to be crushed.  Soon as I finish the healing, Stephanie hops from the bench and starts dancing on the train car deck as PEACE TRAIN plays on the PA.  I say to Patrick, “Wow.  My best Reiki healing ever.”  I only do these healings for friends, even though I constantly get heat from my Reiki teacher Dorothy Donahue in LA to hang up a shingle.

Patrick looks worried Stephanie is hopping around on the hurt leg so soon on the slippery wet train deck.  I simply shrug in amazement.

As the train ride nears its end, we pass through an old slag heap from when this scenic train line used to carry copper, not sight-seers.  The train track cuts through the heart of the slag heap.  And the old train conductor explains, with his thick east coast accent, that the slag is has just been bought by a mining company to sift gold, silver and other raw minerals from it.   Bought for 1.5 million dollars.  Not bad for an old slag heap from 1911 when this train line was first built.

I hold forth my hand at the slag heap as the trains passes through the carved channel.  I will the slag heap to send a healing surge into all aboard this train, pulled by an eagle painted engine car.  A sign for yours truly who has an eagle pattern as a natural tattoo in his head from seeing angels in Italy.  I see the sparkles of gold float into all of us.  Another download.

WINNING A GOLDEN GLOBE

Back to the next morning meditation where I travel beyond the universe: The moist desert air from the train ride with Pat and Steph has done me good.  I woke rested from my best sleep so far in Sedona.  Usually, the dry desert air and my sinuses issue are a serious problem I battle here in Sedona all night long.  Guess I am adapted to a lifetime the humid climates of Lake Michigan and the Pacific.

FirefoxScreenSnapz086I record the epic sight of the universe(s) condensed to code with a mental snapshot to review later in hypnosis.  I turn from the strange new symbols formed from galaxies to find myself standing at the front entrance of a small shop.  I look up at the sign and it says “Golden Age Curiosities”.

A shop bell chimes as I enter the magical little store.  The golden light of the shop is something you can feel as well as see.

A young goddess with sandy red hair looks up from her golden cash register. “Welcome to our little shop at the end of the universes.  What reality can I help with you, Mr Sheetz?” she says gesturing to golden shelves filled with various realities held suspended in crystal globes.

“Cool,” I say, “I’m looking for something peaceful for Earth but not boring.”

“We don’t do boring, ” says the goddess shopkeeper, taking me by the arm.  She guides me a few paces from her counter to browse new realities contained in beautiful globes lining her store’s golden shelves.

“May I suggest our Grecian Reboot model?” the goddess says with a dazzling smile. “Perfect thing for worlds like yours that need major overhaul.”

I am a power shopper in real life and I know when I’ve found the right thing, so I say, “Sold!  What’s your name, miss?”

The graceful goddess lifts the Grecian Reboot globe from the shelf as she says, “Helena.”

“Wow.  As in Helena of Troy?” I wonder.

“Just Helena,” she giggles, casually boxing my purchase of new reality for earth.  Just another day’s work for this goddess.

Pardon my brief detour from recounting the meditation vision of Helena’s store.  But as I write this I blog I just researched on Google, our modern Oracle, and I see why Helena giggles at me here in the re-telling of the epic vision.  #1 it’s Helen of Troy. #2 Helena is a daughter of Zeus.  Some references cite Helena, not as daughter but as a consort to Zeus.  Yahoo says Helena was not a goddess of any particular thing.  Not anymore.

I also just found the Shakespeare quote top of the blog, all found post-vision and note how amazing it is that it’s from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” here during midsummer in Sedona!  All these clues are meant to show me and you, dear reader, to take these vision as real on another plane of reality.  This globe of change is real that sweet Helena has gifted us.

FirefoxScreenSnapz088I peer into the Grecian Reboot globe and see the Parthenon of Greece, restored to full glory, operating in energetic lockstep with a mock Parthenon in Nashville.  A fit to all my recent visions of a Greece that never fell.  A lost timeline of a Golden Age that never ended that we are rejoining .

“Will this really do the trick for my messed up world, Helena?”

“We guarantee all our new realities, Mr. Sheetz.” Helena says with a smile that fills my heart with golden light.

The dazzling vision of Helena’s shop fades.  I lay contented in bed at the resort in meditation a while longer, awaiting more wonders.  Then I realize I am being greedy.  How the heck do you top a meditation about a golden globe given to you by the goddess Helena at the end of the universe for rebooting your home planet?

Eat your heart out, Hollywood.  No wonder I don’t bother with TV or movies much anymore.  Why with the wonders that lie within… free and easy to access?  Just a little good breathing, some concentration and, zoom, your off the stars!

I chuckle at my old Matrix greed that lingers and hop from bed a freer man.  Time for a bike ride in the desert and then coffee to blog about this while all is fresh in my mind.

Here’s my video about rain in the desert from 2005.

AGENT SMITH ESCAPES THE MATRIX

“A dream ain’t over ’til I say so.” – Ken Sheetz AKA Agent Smith

I dream this morning that I am in a training camp for psychic warriors of the Shift.  I swim in the left lane bedside three other students in a roped off area of the Pacific Ocean near Hawaii.  Logs block the path of our swim lanes.  All four of we swimmers of spirit easily manage to turn the logs to open our lanes with our minds.  We all keep swimming steadily forward through the intricate oceanic obstacle course.  Dolphins cheer us on doing stunts and squeak calls.

Sub Levitation
See more of my vision art at DreamShield.org

A submarine surfaces, blocking my swim lane. “Part of the test?” I wonder to the other swimmers.

“I don’t think so.”  says a young woman about my age.  I’m seventeen in this dream.  The age I train and become life guard in Milwaukee, where I save 17 kids in real life.

The sub turret guns spin for us.  I realize the enemy is out to kill we young psychic warriors before we can complete our training.  I hold forth a hand from the ocean and will the sub to lift from the sea.  “It’s huge.  Bigger than I can lift!” I shout to the other three students.

“You can do it, Ken!  Raise it from the sea and crush it like a clam shell,” shouts the young beauty with hair as red as the rocks of Sedona.

I strain with all my might but I am only able to lift the bow of the sub from the sea.  “Too big!”  I shout, happy now at least the sub’s guns can’t target us.  But I am not sure how long I can keep us safe from the malevolent nuclear sub.

SLEEPLESS IN SEDONA

I awake from the dream in Sedona in a light sweat.  I realize it’s not a dream.  It’s a repressed memory coming to the surface.  I close my eyes and I see Morpheus smile at me.  “Welcome back to Sedona, Agent Smith,” the gap toothed Morpheus congratulates me.

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THE FALANAGAN EXPERIMENTS stars Stephanie Sutton and super scientist Patrick Flanagan

Morpheus is referring to a dinner I had yesterday in Sedona, after a lovely tour, where I was photographer for Patrick Flanagan and his wife Stephanie Sutton,of PhiSciences, whose newlywed niece was visiting with her Italian husband and best man from Italy. I explain over salad I used to be so deep in the Matrix before leaving Chicago real estate to be a Hollywood filmmaker, that the character I most related to from the film trilogy, THE MATRIX, was Agent Smith.  Stephanie and Patrick are both shocked I was such a super asshole in my real estate mogul days in the 80s and 90s.  We all get a big laugh of joy about my transformation to an enlightened filmmaker.

My escape from the Matrix accelerated to light speed after witnessing ET angelic like beings build the DreamShield for human ascension and protection in Italy in May of 2010.  The Dreamshield is a profound instrument made of a combination of Gaia’s energies and our collective consciousness as her children, then ignited by ETs.  This elevated earth from a slave planet to a protected world under Galactic Treaty commencing 1.1.11.

My adult kids are still freaked out by the amazing story of the DreamShield and have not spoken to me in over two years since I shared seeing 7 foot tall blue ET angels in Italy.  Stephanie explains my wonderful son and daughter are deep in the Matrix and their reaction of brain shut-down is typical.  Steph gives me hope that none of my kids’ distancing is really personal.

I am honored to be one of many custodians of the DreamShield, under its many names and guises.  No ego.  No high priests allowed.  After the exhausting meditation event of 12.12.12. in Antarctica, still #1 on Google search for “coolest meditation ever”, 2013 has been a year of profound healing for me in Sedona with Patrick and Stephanie.

What more wonders await me and the DreamShield, which I recently learned is the same name Navajo shamans give to their shield on which the project their visions to share with the tribe.  Sounds a lot like what I’ve done for the past 18 years; a Hollywood filmmaker sharing my visions on movie, TV and computer screens with my tribe, you.

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Meeting my Inner Morpheus

WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED DREAM

My inner Morpheus is a very real, like all imaginary characters we come to love.  He’s a paradoxical guide born of one of my favorite movies.  “Use what you learned from the Shaman in LA, finish the dream of the sub,” Morpheus advises me.

I concentrate on returning to the dream, only now I am the master I am today at 60, not a 17-year-old in training.  With ease and grace I levitate the sub from the ocean into the air.  “Gotta save the crew before I wreck the sub,” I say to the young swimmer who is now a mature beauty.

“Nice,” she says as I life the sub over to the beach and twist it onto its side. “Everyone off the ship who wants to live.”

Sailors leap and fall into the sandy beach from the sub.  I will the floating sub to shake a few times and the last sailors run off into the jungle realizing they are no match for these four masters.

I toss the sub into the sky.  I fly from the ocean after it.  The sub’s hull burns red-hot from the air friction.  Then, exiting earth’s atmosphere, the sub cools.  I see a debris field being brought for earth by rogue aliens breaking the Galactic Treaty that made earth a protected world on December 31, 2010.  These stubborn forces of the dark energy have not given up.

At dinner yesterday Stephanie Sutton spoke of a dark cloud of debris from that would create three days of darkness and death upon our world.  I realize in this meditation my mission is to wipe out that illegal spaceship towing the debris for our world.  The creepy ship’s sensor’s pick me and the sub up. They feel safe behind the debris field.  A mistake.

I form a force field about the nuclear sub and hurl it like a missile through the debris field of tiny asteroids.  I am too fast.  The hostile alien ship explodes and its tractor beam with it.  With a blast of super breath I send the debris sailing for the sun.

Mission accomplished I return to my body in Sedona and fall back to sleep.

LONG NIGHT’S WORK FOR AGENT SMITH

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Agent Sheetz/Smith

I awake from the DreamShield meditation inside a dream.  I sit up in bed surrounded by fellow prisoners.  I am Agent Smith, but I retain all my memories of this life as Ken Sheetz.  I calmly check myself over.  I am in a black prison outfit and I know this is “The Matrix” prison for our minds.

The prison is vast and high-tech.  Rather than bars, our cells are all clear plexiglass.  I walk to the balcony and watch as guards herd the zombie like prisoners to breakfast.

I step off the 3 story high balcony and fall for the prison floor like a rock.  I feel no fear.  I know my power.  I am here to free minds.  Just before I reach the prison floor my momentum stops on a dime.

A shocked guard raises a weapon. “Agent Smith?  Stand down!”

With a slight curl of my palm the guard’s Uzi flies from his grip to mine.  Mercilessly, unlike the me in mediation that spared the sub crew, I toss his body like a toothpick across the vast hall.  He falls screaming to his death.

Agent Smith has no mercy.  Guard after guard meet their Matrix makers as I stride through the vast prison floor, a one man chaos field of death and destruction.

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Mr. Sheetz I presume?

An advanced SWAT guard to my left gets a drop on me and fires.  Too slow.  I hold out a hand and his bullets turn to harmless gold water.  I fire my Uzi and it sprays high-powered water that knock him out.

At last I reach the clear foot thick walls of the prison.  An army of prisoners are behind me, anxious for freedom.  I will the vast clear vault door to slide open when a Redline subway train chatters up to the prison platform, full of new prisoners for brainwashing.

Train guards spot the prison riot and take up firing positions.  A guard yanks a female hostage from the train.  I stop opening the prison door as he tosses the young woman into the prison through the small opening I have made.  I see the young lady is my daughter.

“Janelle?” I say as she runs to my arms.

“Yes, Dad.  You have to stop.  You’re hurting a lot of people.”

As I hold my daughter she is shifting in age, a teen, 30, a baby.

“Sweetie, that’s the Matrix talking.  I am freeing people not hurting.” I say feeling the wind going out of my psychic sails.

“Look at all the dead guards,” says my age shifting daughter, her forms of her whole life flashing in rapid succession.

I see mothers with young kids on picnic blankets who look at me like a killer.  My daughter’s tears make me cry too.

THE DREAM AIN’T OVER UNTIL I SAY SO

I awake in deep frustration.  The Matrix is a bitch to escape, even for Agent Smith.  But I head for breakfast feeling hopeful I at least found my daughter.

I will continue this dream later as I was taught in 2011 by a powerful Hollywood shaman.  It’s the best thing I’ve ever learned about managing bad dreams.  Dreams ain’t over until we say.  I will free my daughter and the world from the Matrix just the way I wiped out a hostile alien ship last night.

FirefoxScreenSnapz073I love protecting my world and the fact few believe I do.  Heck, I don’t need a secret identity to be a super hero!  Genius these ETs who guide my missions.  Please, enjoy this as simple fiction writing if you wish.  It’s cool camouflage for me if you think that all this is.  Pay no attention this “Agent Smith” gone good behind the curtain.

I have so many more cosmic adventures ahead!  The ETs say I must live another 48 years guarding the earth for the Shift to take hold. Earth manifests new reality planet wide at the speed of the growing tree, about 50 years I was told in 2012.  Today I just found the time to research what kind of trees mature at that rate.  Answer according to Google, our modern oracle?  Pine tress.  I have adored pines all my life.  I have even written a 2002 screenplay called THE LAST PINE about Xmas from the POV of pine trees.  And the symbol for the pineal glade and sacred symbol is the pine tree.  Confirmation!

I am being literally rebuilt in Sedona to last at least another 50 years by Patrick Flanagan’s life enhancing PhIScience‘s longevity products.  None of this was planned by me or Patrick.  It’s divine synchronicity at full power.  And Patrick’s reward is that the ETs of DreamShield are downloading him nightly with new discoveries that I am told will lead to human immortality.  How cool it that?

Maintaining the DreamShield is sacred.  I am on the case like an Agent Smith of the light, keeping it cool to free your mind.

Pay Attention to That Man Behind the Green Screen!

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Note the golden medallion like shape of the wizard’s work spot?

A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others. – Wizard from “The Wizard Oz”

By Ken Sheetz

“The Wizard of Oz” is my all time favorite movie.  Last night I had a dream/vision of getting caught like the Wizard behind the curtain.  In the dream a vast green screen is a spread across a valley I stand above atop a vast mesa.  I am the media Gandalf for an army light workers resting between battles.

A warrior princess I am serving spots the fact I use the illusion of the green screen and shouts,”Trickery?!”

“Yes, and no, fair warrior.  The green screen is a portal for those on the web to travel and share in your battles for change.”  I say handing her my camera with a graceful bow, “Please, if you’d be so kind as to snap a picture of me stepping from behind the curtain I would be deeply honored.  It’s time for me to be seen.”

The warrior princess takes my camera with a wry smiles and says, “I would be honored to capture your magic behind my magic, Wizard.”

“Don’t be alarmed.  Flying is quite easy for me.” I say as I step into thin air and float gracefully downward into the valley to a spot to have my photo taken by the warrior princess.

But as I drift to the green screen I find myself teleported aboard a train in the Wild West of the 1800s.  I sit down with a grizzled sheriff as the Sedona rocks speed by out the train window.

The Science of Hydration - Final
Real-life Wizard Patrick Flanagan

“Welcome aboard, Wizard.  How come you can time travel and levitate, and I can’t do squat except shoot people?” the sheriff says, spitting into a spittoon.

“Make no comparisons, sir.  You are right where you need to be.  You have greater powers than you know.  We are all connected, sheriff.”

SEDONA HEALING KEEPS GETTING BETTER

I awake feeling better than I have in weeks.  I’ve been getting out from behind my desk and out of my head.  DreamShield’s mission has become less in spirit and more in connection to those around us.

Feeling guided to be stronger in form, I’ve joined a health club and bought a pass for hiking the canyons as the weather here in Sedona cools.

Patrick Flanagan has been advising me on lowering my blood pressure by releasing anger with my father.  He’s enjoying the blog about my progress. Over lunch the other day I tell him, “Yeah, my issue is not giving love but letting people love me.”

“No.  You don’t do love well either giving or receiving, Ken.  Until you release your anger with your father no love will flow.” the scientist says sipping his iced coffee in the 111 degree heat of August in Arizona.

That stings.  I feel like I have been giving great love with the videos I make for Patrick.  But when I look at it hard, that’s just excellent performance on my part.  I do love the genius.  But the videos are mostly me performing with the little love I can squeeze out of my closed heart.

FINALLY FORGIVING MY BIPOLAR PAPA

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My father 6 months before his passing. He loved the story of the DreamShield I told him in 2010. My kids are another story. They were shocked I saw 7 foot tall blue angels in Italy.

So this past weekend I finally did let of my anger with my father in a personal DreamShield meditation in Phoenix at the dazzling Botanical gardens.  It was interesting how sad I was about the idea of releasing that father anger. A sure sign I was truly letting go.  After I finished the short ceremony among the cactus in bloom I see how clearly I was holding my father, who passed in 2011, to this world.  I freed a soul 30 months in limbo and myself in Phoenix where the new me begins to rise.  I ask my father as I finish releasing us both of old rage, “Any last words, Dad?  Before you leave?”

The answer is simple and heartfelt in my father’s voice, “I am sorry.”  My tears dry fast in the 112 August Phoenix heat and Dad is gone.

The next day I feel lighter in the private dance lessons I am taking from Mica Monet, a healer here in Sedona.  She’s a great teacher for this Wizard too often stuck behind a computer and in his head.  She also is the first client friend to turn the camera on me like the warrior princess in the dream, though there was no physical resemblance.  Her photo of me has become the banner art for my social media company BuzzBroz.com.

The other night after salsa class we had dinner at Enchanted Village, it’s set deep in the rocks of Sedona.  I shared that Patrick had out me over the top on her father forgiveness advice.  Then I listened to Mica, when I could stop myself from interrupting, an issue I am working on, as the angelic one shared her plans for more dance classes, art, fashion and more.  This confirmed my feeling we all need to be doing more in form.  The mental part of the shift is passed.  It’s time to get real.

ENCHANTED LOVE MEDITATION

After a sumptuous meal, Mica and I do a two person Dreamshield mediation about accepting love personally under the stars and the rocks of the Enchanted Village.  I’m happy to have her expertise on the emotion of love with me as I place my hand to the wet lawn of the freshly watered crochet field.  Mica has had a rough childhood, like most light workers who choose this in our life contract to make us spirit warriors and wizards.  And so she shares the same issues in feminine form as I do.

“Let the love of Gaia flow into you through the earth, Ken.” she says sweetly. “Trust.”

“I’m trying… but my love is still all going outward to Gaia. I can’t feel her love,” I say sadly.

“You are a man.  That’s giving energy.  Accepting love is harder for males.  Don’t lose hope,” Mica says.

Desperate to accept Mother Earth’s love I get down on my hands and knees and bow my forehead to touch the wet lawn. “I only feel a trickle from the flood of love Gaia is sending me.”

“Good start,” says Mica.

“Shit I forgot your leftovers!”  I say and run back to the restaurant.  Funny way to end a mediation, we both laugh as I run off.

“Meet you back at the car,” Mica shouts after, alone beneath the stars with Gaia.  Maybe Gaia wanted some one on one time with Ms. Monet.

GRATEFUL TO ALL MY SEDONA WIZARDS

It’s such fun hanging with such great wizards in Sedona.  Even Connie Miller, who been working on helping me forgive me father since 2010 when I first saw angels in Italy, miraculously showed up here for a weeklong SoulDrama workshop in May.  Accident?  Nah.  That’s the magic of the DreamShield I am honored to be custodian to!  I am sure she’ll be happy to hear I finally managed the job and took her insights onto my new quantum physics theory of bipolar disorder that just might earn me a Nobel prize one day.

No easy task, as my father made childhood a living hell for me.  A sentence of 18 years of daily insanity.  I can’t express my gratitude to her, Patrick, his wife Stephanie Sutton, who worked on getting me focused on why I chose such a bipolar father before birth and sweet Mica, all three for helping me heal the biggest wound of my life.  It’s been that hard for me.  A team of three people working on me daily for six months.

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Patrick Flanagan’s 14K Gold Platted Sensor V Medallion

Most of the 44 completed videos for THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS have been filmed on green screen.  But like the dream I have stepped from behind the green curtain for this stellar video about Patrick Flanagan’s portable portal, as I fondly call his Sensor V medallion.

Since I began wearing the doctor’s medallion the flow of wealth and abundance has increased.  This allows me to do work on my teeth and eyes that need some repair from a 2008 recession that’s never really ended.  Man does not live by meditation alone.

BTW, Patrick is also a huge Oz fan.  He’s brought the Emerald City to life at Burning Man.  No accidents in all this work.  I am honored to be the media wizard bringing you his real life wizardry via my magical green screen.

Enjoy this teaser video about the amazing Sensor V medallion.  Martian inspired jewelry that’s out of this world.

Special thanks to Somas for inspiring me to get a new lens to capture the wizardry of Patrick’s medallion.