“A very merry un-birthday to you!” – From Disney’s adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”
By Ken Sheetz
I don’t enjoy my birthday. But it still comes every September 21st, usually the Equinox when it’s not a leap year like this one. The reason I don’t like my birthday? My father, who died 18 months ago, gave me more than a traditional birthday spanking when I turned thirteen. You see, back in 1965 my dad got it in his head that age thirteen was manhood. When I popped my kid brother Bruce in the jaw for teasing me about it getting a savings bond instead of the space toy I wanted, Dad popped his cork and beat me to within an inch of my life.
So, each year around my birthday I go through what the shrinks call “anniversary depression”. I hoped all the personal growth DreamShield has brought that my 2012 birthday might be different. But a few days away from my birthday arrival the old anniversary rage at my dad, a shockingly gargantuan amount, boiled up in me like a volcano. Desperate to minimize my birthday blues, I disabled the notifications on my Facebook page before turning in for the night in the Great Spirits Ranch RV, determined to rough my birthday out in solitude.
Dad’s been dead 18 months now. A wonderful man when not drinking, Dad loved adventure. In a November 2011 vision of him Dad was on the adventure of all time, aboard a sleek silver bullet shaped ship traveling faster than the speed of light. When I asked my dead father where his amazing space ship was going he said he’d let me know when the time was right.
Apparently, the time had come because at 4 AM on the morning of my 2012 birthday, as I lay awake in bed staring at the RV ceiling, dreading the coming day’s annual sorrow, I heard my dead father say, “Ready to know where my space ship has been heading, Ken?”
“Sure,” I said warily.
“Close your eyes.”
I closed my eyes and saw Dad’s silver space ship once again rocketing through the stars. But I knew in that instant this was not outer space. Dad’s ship was traveling to the center of my inner universe.
Soon Dad and I were standing on the freshly mowed lawn of our old home in Bay View Wisconsin. I breathed in the fresh air of 1965 that wafted off Lake Michigan. Invisible to all but each other, Dad’s ghost and I watched as the blue Chevrolet family station wagon pulled up to the curb.
Mom, a young beauty again in her 30s, was first to hop out of the car with her favorite Bruce, five-years-old again, in tow.
Ghost Dad watched with some shame as his drunken 1965 self stepped from the car and slammed the door shut so hard and loose piece of chrome fell off. “You ungrateful little shit,” said 1965 Dad lighting up a smoke. “You don’t like your savings bond I’ll burn it, but no more damn toys! I was working and supporting my Ma and sisters when I was thirteen.”
My brother Fred, age eleven and my thirteen-year-old self hopped from the car, avoiding Dad as he did his drunken best to fix the fallen chrome.
“A savings bond is cool, Kenny.” said Fred, still my best friend to this day.
“I wanna model space station.” I grumbled.
“Don’t know when to quit do you, boy?” said 1965 Dad, cutting his finger on the sharp chrome, angrier by the second.
Smelling his chance to amplify family drama, Bruce ran up to Fred and me laughing. “Ha! Ha! Ken got a stupid savings bond for his birthday!”
My younger self reared back for a punch, the punch to my smartass baby brother’s jaw that would send my father into a drunken rage. A rage where he’d beat me to a point I felt I was going to die and did in a way.
But my ghost father had other plans. He simply reached out and held my 1965 self’s hand back. So I never hit my baby brother. My 1965 father stormed in the house to fix his cut finger. Fred and I ran off giggling from relief to hide out in the tree house until Dad sobered up.
My spirit self stood for a moment with my ghost father. I listed in stunned peaceful silence as seagulls sang over Lake Michigan. It was all so simple, so elegant a solution. My ghost father had traveled back time to change the past. And now there never was a beating on my lucky thirteenth.
“Happy birthday, Ken,” Dad said, tears of pride and joy welling in his blue eyes.
I woke in bed weeping and thanking my father. I could feel it to my core. Deep healing. I was 100% cured of my anniversary depression.
Friday morning, my 2012 birthday, I woke filled with renewed energy, not only for my arrival date on the planet earth but life. A scientist/artist/builder pal, Brian Kutza, offered me a ride off the ranch to the grand opening of John D. Riley’s new gallery and healing center happening that night in Santa Monica and I gladly accepted.
Photo by Brian Kutza
While Brian dropped me off in Santa Monica to pick up his divine compliment Ellen and his adorable daughter Kendra in Pasadena I saw RESIDENT EVIL 5 and bought some new clothes as a birthday gift to myself. At John’s party I met beautiful new friends and happily told guests it was my birthday. I thought to myself at one point, “So this is the joy people normally feel on their birthdays!”
Today September 22nd, the 2012 leap year Equinox, I told my brother Fred about my birthday visit from Dad’s ghost. Fred was very happy for me.
Badly beaten on my 13th birthday? Nope. Never happened in this Golden Age we are entering where miracles await us all. Happy Equinox 2012.
Please support my mission to reach Antarctica before the Mayan Calendar ends for a pole shift meditation at DreamShield.org
From the heights of these pyramids, forty centuries look down on us. Napoleon Bonaparte
By Ken Sheetz
A powerful Shaman told me, in 2011, that before 12.21.12 got here I would do a powerful meditation to correct the energetic geometry of the Luxor pyramid to match that of Giza. Now, over a year later, on June 13, 2012, the time had come to fulfill this part of my mission. Hard to believe it has already been two years now of fantastic planetary meditations to many energetic points around the world- with many more to come, so stay tuned to this blog.
Lynda Valliche
Despite being TSA-worn from the short hop flight from LA, I went straight to the Luxor hotel/casino and met my meditation partner for this DreamShield work, Lynda Valliche. I explained to Lynda what we’d be doing over a coffee in the Starbucks tucked away in the vast lobby. The actress , singer, business woman and healer was enthused to begin and so we headed into the sloped elevator and up into the pyramid.
I had booked a private room, 17-106 (any numerology experts out there?), for the meditation because I knew it would be impossible to meditate in the noisy casino/lobby or grounds of the hotel. Lynda and I chatted excitedly as we made our way to the room across the 17th floor balcony, past the endless inverted rows of rooms. I sensed ET beings taking up positions in each of the hotels hundreds of rooms to power the meditation. The air of the giant hotel was totally electric.
While I used my Mac and Google to research the proper dimensions to make the Luxor an energetic twin to Giza, Lynda took apart the cushions of a lounge chair and arranged a comfortable place for us to meditate, near the sloped glass of the curtain wall.
Ken Sheetz’s natural eagle hair pattern appeared in 2010. I said It’s proved an amazing tool in his meditations.
Soon, Lynda and I were deep in meditation. I held forth my hands to the windows, which floated in the sunlit reflection of the mirrored glass, looking quite alien. I told Lynda I sensed the ET angels in each room putting their hands forth with us. But as soon as I set the intent for the angels to create an energetic match to the Giza pyramid, I felt a resistance to the energetic expansion. After struggling a bit longer with the expansion I described the unexpected resistant energy to Lynda.
A moment later, Lynda’s guides sent her a message. She explained she was being told that the mission had changed, that she and I were now to join the Luxor to a secret pyramid somewhere else in the world. She asked me how I felt about this.
I said it rang true because the eagle pattern that appeared mystically in my hair pattern when I first saw the angels create the DreamShield in Italy in 2012, had begun to tingle. I turned my energetic of the eagle loose and it blazed out the Luxor hotel windows and was quickly in high orbit, scanning the earth at impossible speed. Soon, buried beneath a mountain in China, my mystical eagle located Lynda’s guide’s hidden pyramid. Looking through the eagle’s eyes I gazed upon a giant China pyramid as it glowed with a white energy like the Luxor’s. A shudder ran through me as the Luxor pyramid began adding thousands of levels to its ever-expanding base. Deep into the earth the Luxor rapidly grew, while the pyramid in China did the same. Heading for a collision at the earth’s magnetic iron core.
Soon the two pyramids joined, not in a collision, but gently intertwining at the spinning earth’s core. I felt pure electricity blast through me, but I was unafraid knowing Lynda and I were both well protected by the host of ET angels in the Luxor’s every room and on every new level added to the pyramid. I saw an eagle-eye vision of a new giant diamond that spanned the earth between the opposing pyramids.
The planet size diamond now began to turn and blast out a powerful wave of energy that swept across the entire universe. I marveled at the sight of alien races on many worlds welcoming this wave of new energy. I was delighted seeing our work wash over countless worlds. I was everywhere at once. One with the cosmos, realizing the shift of 2012 is universal and earth’s role far more than we realize in our human form.
The dazzling visions faded and I lowered my trembling hands. After sharing what we each saw and felt, Lydna expressed her dislike for the term “angels”. I explained it was the best term I could use given how similar the ETs that work with me look to angels, except they are 7 to 10 feet tall, blue and have spiked wings that glitter. One can imagine that primitive man would think these ETs angels Gods. The explanation seemed to satisfy her a bit and we laughed it off, hugged good-bye and she hurried off for some fun with family and friends in good old 3D Vegas.
Alone in the room, the sun setting over Vegas, I walked to the sloped glass wall of the pyramid and touched it. My happy face hung suspended in a reflection. I chuckled because I had seen my face like this in a dream the previous week and now here it was. Confirmation. You see, I still have some lingering doubts from time to time about all this vision stuff. The ETs give me these signs, like the eagle on branded on my head, to remind me this all real on another dimension of reality that affects ours. I smiled at my alien-like reflection, amazed how these DreamShield meditations never turn out how I, or in this case a shaman in 2011, might have preconceived them.
And for these surprises in the planetary meditation work I am grateful. The unpredictable nature of what we do keeps us safe from the dark forces who underestimate the power of the work. I love how the element of surprise keeps all this so much fun for me and my mediation teams, from 2 and up in size, that been blessed to be a small, but vital, part of the shift to a gentle 2012.
Before she left the Luxor, Lynda made sure to tell me her guides say that outcome of the Shift is not yet certain. I agreed because this is a free will world and the future has many possible outcomes. But assured her that if we do the work my guides tell me humanity will not fail. Change will come. And it won’t be overnight change like some happy movie ending. It might even seem hopeless at times. But over 50 years, change will come and our world will be saved from our species’ self-destruction. This has been a protected world since May of 2010. The game is over and who knows if the process might accelerate? But it certainly won’t be longer than 50 years, the speed at which a planetary transformation manifests currently.
In one epic dream after the Luxor meditation, I stood in a large group in ceremony at Great Spirits Ranch, where I am based in 2012 and blessed with amazing support. And I saw an old friend get possessed by an alien presence. My old pal’s face filled with black veins and then he assured me in a strained voice, “Everything will be fine. Don’t give up.” Talk about keeping me on target!
Come hear me speak about DreamShield’s exciting plans for a North Pole meditation at our Skywatch event on July 14th in Malibu at the ranch. The event features famed UFO expert Renato Longato with music by Kalix Sky and fire dancing by Mila XStarzx. Sign up on Facebook to reserve your spot for only $33.
Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company. Mark Twain
By Ken Sheetz
The visions here at Great Spirits Ranch continue to astound me. Last night I awoke at 4:30 AM and knew I must do a DreamShield meditation for the next phase of the Shift, a phase we’ve all been waiting billions of years for, since the birth of this universe. And without any “thinking” I knew what I must do: Expand Heaven.
I traveled to the dimension of Heaven in a blink, how I knew the way I do not question, I simply knew. There were gathered a multitude sitting amongst the clouds. I’ve never been to Heaven before so my earthly mind said, “Hmm, people sitting on clouds. Guess the cliches were cliches because it’s true.”
I announced, in a surprising voice that carried to the infinite distances of the tiny point of Heaven, which is a dimension no bigger than a molecule, “On March 12, 2012, Hell was closed for once and for all. Reconstruction of a new inner Earth in it’s place is going perfectly. Now, the time has come to end Heaven as well.”
I could see sadness, but resolve, on the faces of the many beings from countess worlds, and so I added, “Rejoice, for Heaven is to be dissolved and spread. Expanded until its essence permeates all the universe and thereby brings a new Heaven to all.”
And a great cheer rose from the countless angels and spirits. Then, in utter silence we began the work of expanding Heaven from a tiny molecule to a vastness that will encompass the entire universe. The force and energy of the work of the multitude felt like a non-pressure. I was expanding too.
The start of Heaven’s expansion underway, I returned to my exhilarated human body in my RV bedroom at the amazing Great Spirits Ranch. Falling instantly back to peaceful slumber for the rest of the night, I had wondrous dreams of Heaven’s glorious expansion. I saw the divine feminine unfold in its full beauty and power. I saw the masculine become invulnerable to all disease and disorder.
So, if the world seems a bit more colorful and brighter today, your step a bit lighter, thank the higher powers who assure me that when 12.21.12 comes and Heaven is upon us all, “Everything will be fine.”
For more of my vision work please visit www.dreamshield.org where you’ll find PayPal links for donations and links to my blog.
The following vision art is the creation DreamShield.org founder Ken Sheetz. But Ken is only one of millions having visions of other realms of reality. We encourage you to contact us at imagitv@aol.com with any vision art of your own for posting here on our blog.
What kind of world is this that can send machines to Mars and does nothing to stop the killing of a human being? Jose Saramago
By Ken Sheetz
Photo by Stephen Collector
Like the trip to Italy that began DreamShield in May of 2010, I was bartering a spiritual workshop, this one in Mexico, for social media services. And like Italy, with that barter there were still expenses for travel. Earning money for a spur of the moment trip during the holidays was tough, especially in a disintegrating economy. But through sheer will power to attend this once in a lifetime class on the one year countdown to 12.21.12 I got the dough together and was on my way to the ancient ruins of Teotihuacan Mexico.
Soon I was learning Toltec wisdom from a world-renowned master. It was pure joy. My consciousness rapidly expanding. Old patterns being discovered in the ruins of Teo and erased.
The goal of the 4 day workshop was to set our group dreaming of a better 2012 was a perfect fit to my DreamShield mission. I felt divine guidance to be in Teo for the one year countdown to the end of the Mayan age.
But, I must admit, I also felt out of my league to be attending such a gathering of eagles as the teacher called us one day in Teotihuacan Mexico when we were atop the Pyramid of the sun. Even though a natural eagle pattern has emerged in my hair as it’s whitened since seeing angels in Italy the first time. Yeah, an eagle in my hair and I still have doubts.
It’s an odd stage for me. I am no longer a newbie to spirit work and but there’s still a lot I do not have a clue about. I feel like a spiritual teenager. Well, a good thing to feel as I turn 60 in the fall of this amazing year of 2012!
In any case, I certainly felt honored to be in Teo. Fellow advanced students, I’ve learned at these gatherings, are as much a part of the learning as from the master. One classmate, a charming man from Turkey, shared meditation technique for quieting the mind at the pool I had not heard about.
Later, I walked deep into the big garden behind the hotel, which sits itself upon ruins of Teo, that have never been excavated, and gave his technique a whirl. It involves dividing your attention in two, giving half your awareness to a sound and the other to something visual.
I lay on my back on the manicured resort lawn and focused on the clouds and the feel of the grass in my hands. Soon I went deeper than I ever have in meditation. I saw dazzling energy erupt from all the Teotihuacan pyramids at once and was visited by the three angels from Italy that built the DreamShield in May of 2010.
MISSION TO MARS, 12.20.11
I looked up at the three 7 foot tall angels I had first met in Italy. The spiked feathers of their blue wings glittered in the late Mexican afternoon sun.
“The solstice is not until tomorrow. You’re a day early.” I said as my higher Ohom ET angel self, annoyed my vacation was getting interrupted.
Archangel Michael said, “Element of surprise.”
“Yes,” I sighed, already far wiser than my Ken-self when I become Ohom.
Michael pulled me to my feet. I looked down from my 7 foot height saw my human Ken-body resting on the lawn in warm Teo sun.
“Well, at least my human self is having a rest.”
“Let’s go!” said Gabrielle, a beautiful female blue angel.
A year ago, I didn’t know the names of these angels, let alone that I was part of their clan of galactic enforcers from the Orion star system. Now 18 months later we had been on many missions together, closed the Bermuda Triangle, a failed Martian artificial merkaba experiment that had destroyed Atlantis and the remnants of which cause our wars and divorces, healed the San Andreas fault, melted a portal in space time for the earth to travel to the 5th dimension, unscrambled time with the MERLIN code, cut the tap to Gaia’s energy for the world’s banks and the Fed and much more recorded in this blog.
We rocketed into the sky from the gardens of the hotel. I could see the vast Teotihuacan pyramid complex shrinking beneath us as we broke though the clouds.
As we reached the edge of space, without asking, I knew our angelic mission. Rescue the heart of Gia. A heart I knew was no longer on the earth that was quickly shrinking beneath me. No, Gaia’s heart was being held by hostile Martians on a fortified canyon called Valles Marineris on Mars.
The rescue of Gaia’s heart would be dangerous, even for us with our Galactic enforcer powers, as this Martian canyon was filled with traps and weapons bent on our destruction. A tough search as the canyon is many times deeper than earth’s Grand Canyon and long as the entire US continent.
“If you are not happy in this world you are stupid.” – Don Miguel Ruiz, Author of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS
By Ken Sheetz
Asking for Help with a Gentle 2012 from Quetzalcoatl at The Pyramid of the Sun
I sensed in meditation, that at its zenith, the multiracial culture of Teotihuacan did not know poverty or shame. It was a culture of pure positivity and love. Looking deeper, I saw in my meditations at the pyramid of the Sun, that the Teotihuacan culture became great through the tender guidance of ancient astronauts. Or ETs as we call them, even though they have been here on earth long before our species emerged.
How then did Teo fall, I further meditated? Ohom, my higher ET self sadly answered, “When our space ships left on a mission to another of the young worlds we care for, the people of Teo fell into fear of our return. Deeper and deeper the people sank in darkness without the light of the “Gods” as they called us. Finally, one of your elders suggested human sacrifice would speed our return. In desperation some of the people agreed, while other people who did not agree left Teotihuacan forever and took to the jungles in secret.”
Ohom continued, “One day, when the “Gods” returned of our own accord, we were appalled at the taking of human life in our name and so we took back our gifts of technology you were not ready for. Humanity was left time to evolve on its own before the ETs would ever return again. Our return is delayed by human sacrifice in the form of war, greed, starvation and consumerism that has never been greater than it is in 2011.”
As Ohom’s words echoed I saw Teo’s ancient people weep as the ships left for the stars in the middle of the night. Such sorrow went out from the people that I sat up from my meditation in deep racking sobs.
Ohom’s voice comforted me, “Please know, Kenneth, that though you may not be able to see us that we have never truly left you and do watch over you and all the people of your blue world in secret.”
A year from now Earth enters a golden age. The ET council still debates how fast our transformation will be, anything from a night-time to a million years for humanity to become the protectors, not consumers, of this world.
Both a night-time and a million years are the blink of an eye in universal time. My higher self, Ohom, has asked the ET council that full transformation to a positive society be 50 years, of which we are now 18 months deep into.
I urge you to get in touch with you higher self in the coming year in meditation and put in your vote with the ET council for the speed of our evolution. Much as I love him, I hope Ohom is out voted and the shift is faster rather than slower, for all our sakes and the world’s. Please post your vote for the length of the Shift and your reasoning below!
I recognize all of the above could be my own overactive imagination in my DreamShield meditations, simply beautiful symbols for my subconscious to express in words the deep impact Teotihuacan had upon me. An impact merged with my own history of abandonment as a child. Or perhaps that my sad history is why I have been gifted to see into the fall of the Teo. Who can say?
All that matters is that whatever it is that moves you, be it religion, science or visions of your own amazing minds, that we strive to change our society from the negative to the positive.
Angels do not condone violence as a solution, nor do I. Not to say I won’t pop a guy one, with fair warming, if he pushes me too far. I may see angels but I sure ain’t one. Angels simply work in ways that are 5th dimensional and so they show me things in symbolic 3 dimensional ways I can understand and report to you. Or for all I know they’ve added something to the water in LA. I have no idea why I am seeing all this as an ongoing vision for 18 months solid now. And what you see on my blogs is only about 20% of what I see. I could literally write about all this 24/7 and never catch up.
A few nights ago I meditated and asked the DreamShield to show me what the angels were up to in the quest for gentle 2012. I was whisked from LA to Chicago, where hundreds of earth angels, dressed like 1930’s mobsters, were shooting up my kinda town!
Earth angels zipped through the skies and skyscrapers of the loop, blasting away mercilessly at evil spirits corrupting our legal system and government. Legions of lawyer and judge demon spirits were blown away with the angel Tommy guns blasting bullets of lethal light. I laughed for joy at this unexpected angel work in my adopted home town!
On LaSalle Street I watched in wonder as none other that the great Humphery Bogart led a raid on the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.
I shouted to Bogey, “The Fed was a client of mine. The people I worked with seemed like regular Joes.”
“Who the heck are you?” Bogey said spinning on me.
“Ken Sheetz, a spirit reporter for the work of a gentle 2012.” I said as I held up my humble Flip camera.
“I’m huntin’ demons sucking the life outta Gaia, not regular Joes or dames! Got it?!” said Bogey shouting in my face, not a smart thing to do with my childhood of having a Drill Sargent dad, but I liked what Bogey was up to and let it slide.
“How about a gun for me then?”
“Swell. Jimmy give the junior reporter a heater!” Bogey said with relieved chuckle.
None other than the great James Cagey slapped a Tommy gun in my hands. “Welcome to the gang, kiddo. Be sure you get my good side, my left, in any photos or I’ll brain you.”
“Ok boys, time to cut the Fed’s credit line!” Bogey shouted.
“Kill any demon that moves and the ones that don’t.” added Cagney as the angel gangsters all cheered.
Guns blazing, Bogey led our charge into the Federal Reserve lobby. Demon guards drew ray gun pistols that were no match for the angels hail of light bullets. Even your faithful reporter lost all journalistic objectivity and got in demon kills. And before you know it the battle was done, the lobby clear.
“Nothing here but a stinking money museum!” Bogey fumed.
“How’s about this? ” said Cagney pointing to an armored elevator door locked tight with an electronic keypad.
“Try 11 -11-11 as the combo,” I offered.
Cagney rolled his eyes. “No pathway to Gaia’s gonna be some lame combo any sap could stumble on.”
“Do like he says!” Bogey snapped.
Cagney complied punching in all the numbers, “See? No dice.”
“Add four more 11s for 11:11 PM. No, wait, four more 11s for AM too.”
Cagney punched in the numbers. “Crap. So many ones I lost track! Your honor Mr.Elevens.”
I counted on my fingers saying, ” 11.11.11 and 11:11 AM and PM. That’s 7 -11s, fourteen ones.” and punched in the numbers. Not an easy task as I thought as the pattern on the keypad kept shifting and the #1 hopped to another spot every couple of seconds. But as I punched in the 14th one, the heavy armored elevator door opened.
What we saw was not good however. No elevator, just darkness and showers of sparks where the elevator cab should have been.
“Wise guys cut the cords. Gotta make a jump for it.” Bogey said looking down the miles deep shaft filled with dangerous sparking wires.
“Well, boys, in for a dime… ” shouted Cagey as he jumped past Bogey into the shaft.
The rest of the angel gang followed.
“Sheetz, stay behind and watch our backside.” said Bogey jumping into the fray and not giving me time to argue.
I peered down the scary elevator shaft, filming the brave angels battle slithering snakes of dark energy. Something stunk. I was aware of an evil presence. I spun and looked smack into the face with a giant golden snake. Its pitiless eyes looked right through me with the heartless effectiveness of a credit report.
“Stand aside, mortal. Thisss is not your fight.” the golden snake spoke!
I raised my Tommy gun. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The snake leaped for me, fangs dripping with venom. My Tommy gun blazing, the snake and I fell together down the elevator shaft. ‘
I found myself in my boardroom at my Chicago real estate company. My partner and I were laughing as my construction manager sweated bullets. It was 1990, one year before my fall from the easy credit I had ridden to the top of Chicago’s commercial real estate world. We all laughed as the prospective “tenant” and took off her clothes in the middle of our employee’s presentation.
Bats flew at me as the snake hissed, “How can a man with so little respect for women that he’d bring a stripper to come into his company’s offices be a champion of Gaia?”
The snake was right. I had no comeback and it infuriated me. I drew my sword and switched on my red ethereal armor for battle as we fell for the center of the earth.
“Rage is your answer and your undoing!” said the snake as it bit right through my armor. Armor had never failed me and now in over a year of these visions. Poison raced through my veins. The speeding tumble of wires and the laughing gold snake faded.
It was 1991, I was in my family room hollering like a crazy man at my wife. Still, she bravely refused to sign the second mortgage papers I shoved in her face, papers that would have given me $250,000 to keep my failing real estate company alive.
The golden snake and I hit beam as it bit into my leg, fangs piercing me the bone. As we plumeted for the depths, locked in mortal combat, I saw a fevered parade of all the women I’d somehow hurt in my life, a fiance’, lovers, friends, co-workers, my daughter, my mother, even my Irish grandmother.
The snake was right! How could a chauvanist-jerk like me help the angels free Gaia’s heart from the vampire energy of the Fed tapping her dry?
“I’ve pumped enough poison into you to kill ten men! Why do you still persissst?” the golden snake hissed, shaking me in its jaws like a limp rag doll.
By the freshness that flowed in the dank elevator shaft I knew angels were near. Bogey flew past as he took aim at the great serpent. “Because Sheetz is already dead and now, snake, so are you!” The angels opened fire and the snake vaporized in a hail of angelic fire.
Cagney caught me in his arms, “Gotcha, kid!”
“What did, Bogart, mean I am already dead?” I asked, feeling better already.
“Get some sleep now. We got miles left to go. Christ you’re heavy!” Cageny complained as I drifted off.
I sat alone on Oak Street beach of Lake Michigan. It was winter 1992. Snowflakes swirled as I stared at the waves. I’d lost everything, my skyscraper, my cars, my company, my wife and kids. I walked into the icy water and kept walking until I was deep beneath the lake and I drowned.
I blinked awake in a great cavern, Bogart, Cagney and the angels all about me. “But if I died in 1992 how am I still alive in 2011?,” I said raising my throbbing head.
“Are you alive?” chuckled Bogart.
“Seems like I am,” I said checking my pulse.
“Look, kid, this ain’t no time for a lecture on mutli-verses. Alls that’s important you showin’ up to record what the angels do and give the people hope. Now shoot your camera over there.”
Note Cagney’s wings of flame in the film WHITE HEAT? I saw him blow up the tap to Gaia before finding this amazing still.
Bogey pointed to Cagney who was placing dynamite atop the energy tap the fed had to the core Gaia. The tap flowed with her precious blue-white energy to Federal Reserve and World Bank siphons all across the earth.
Now an army of snakes rose from the ashes of the old and surrounded Cagney.
“Get outta there, Jimmy. We can try this another day!” shouted Bogey.
“Got my left side, Sheetzy?”
I flashed Cagney the thumbs up as I had him my Flip camera’s view finder.
“Made it, Ma! Top of the world!” Cagney shoved down the plunger.
The cavern filled with explosions and fire that made hell seem like a picnic. I couldn’t see him, in the smoke and fire, but I heard Bogey shout,”Gaia is free!
I rose to full consciousness from my meditation, knowing in some crazy way that what I see the angels doing on another plane of reality helps our world, but wondering if I am in fact a ghost.
Your love donations atDreamShield.org at the PayPal link on the page help me report work on the angel visions which, hopefully with your help, I will one day gather into a book.
“The oneness many in spiritual work have been talking about may be about something else entirely. Namely, oneness with our multi-universe selves.” — Ken Sheetz
I could write entire blogs about each of these visions but I will be brief and let the vision art I am creating do a lot of the talking.
#1 – 11.10.11
It was long day of prepping for the big 11.11.11 Ascension Convention event. Exhausted, I stagger to my room at the Grand Vista hotel near Rancho De Las Palma, the event site, tear back the covers and collapse into bed without even the energy to brush my teeth. I am instantly in that semi-conscious state that often leads to visions.
Soon my spirit leaves my fatigued body and I ascend above the Simi Valley. But the air is not normal. Rather it is like a great faceted diamond, pancaked from horizon to horizon. My higher self tells me that these fractals in the atmosphere are all different universes where I exist in many pieces and places. One universe, where for example, I am still married, another where I am still an architect, and so on, one universe for every possible choice I’d ever made or the world made for me.
My higher self now says it is time to unite all my divided selves. So I hold forth my hands and begin to will all my countless selves into this one vessel. Slowly at first, but with a growing speed that dazzles me, billions of my other selves start to integrate into one ascended self. As the amazing process continues at exhilarating speeds that are indescribable, the sky fractals become less and less until the sky is one and so am I!
Knowing I am done, my spirit flys back to my meditating body in the Grand Vista hotel and I fall blissfully asleep, excited for the magic that awaits me on 11.11.11.
“I may see angels but I am far from being one.” – Ken Sheetz
Two weeks ago, on the magical binary date of 11.11.11, I co-hosted a beautiful event about the ascension with a star-studded evening of speculation about ETs role in the Shift I’d been guided to create by a God-like voice 18 months ago in Italy. The masterful ceremonies and workshops had been created to perfection by the amazing multi-talented co-host Laura De León of MyMysticMuse. Just one problem. I was not very “present”, to put it mildly, for my own event.
I’ve been pondering for the entire time since, wishing I could have enjoyed something so beautiful that I’d help create, all stemming from an angelic vision I had in Italy for a gentle 2012. The 11.11.11 event is possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been a part of bringing into this world. So why had I been so hard on myself and hard for Laura and others on the team to be around me that day and the weeks leading up to the big day? Why was Laura’s singing her amazing Babaji song with Philippo Franchini one of the few moments I truly enjoyed on 11.11.11? Exhaustion? No. This was more than simple exhaustion. The excuse I tried to hide behind post 11.11.11.
I took a break from pondering my failure to enjoy 11.11.11 to ponder the parallels of family dynamics in why I’d not enjoyed Thanksgiving this year. I was traveling from my Vegas Thanksgiving, back home, the way I’d been doing in these tough times for two years now, by a Greyhound Bus. The Friday 10 AM bus back to LA was 5 minutes late without any Greyhound announcements so I calmly asked one of the bus terminal attendants, “What’s the delay?”
The Greyhound attendant smirked at me and said in a thick Asian accent, “Buddy, you better learn something. This is Greyhound! Bus gets here when bus gets here!”
The people in line laughed at my expecting decent service for what is not that much less than a Southwest Airline fare.
A sweet little Black lady, with a white fur hat that made her look like a stylized rabbit out of Alice in Wonderland, turned to me from ahead in line and said, “Public transportation, mister. Gotta expect this kinda thing.”
I reminded her, like it was my duty as a remnant from a long gone, more caring America, “Greyhound’s not public, except for treating customers like a public toilet.”
Rather than laughter as I expected, people in line reacted in silence as though I was rocking the boat. “What boat? It’s a bus, you bunch of sheep!” I raged inwardly as I dug into my knapsack, grabbed the Thanksgiving leftovers Mom had made for the bus ride back to LA, the land of dreams, and thought back on my Vegas 2011 Thanksgiving, having a picnic in the terminal.
The trip got off to a rocky start in this very bus station on the way in to Vegas on Wednesday. My stepfather Nick, a fiery tempered Sicilian who holds grudges like a character who stepped right out of Mario Puzo novel (first suspect, please, if I am ever murdered) kept me waiting at the Greyhound terminal for half an hour.
A half an hour where I’d learn the Vegas Greyhound terminal front door is a den of prostitution. Unable to see through the dark tinted terminal front doors I was forced to stand with my backpack full of Mac gear, stranded, like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to be plucked by pimps and thugs who kept giving me the hairy eyeball.
Finally, after what seemed hours, Nick and my Mom’s car arrived. I quickly tossed my bags and myself into the backseat. No apologies for running late from Nick, of course. The crabby 83 year-old-man sat stoic and uncaring at the wheel. — Not unexpected. Nick’s not spoken to me much in three years since I read him the riot act over his outlandish claim I was trying to kill my mother by adjusting the condo temp by one degree downwards.
Most I’d hear from Nick on the entire visit was his yelling at my 82-year-old mother to “Shut the hell up!” when she screamed after he almost rear-ended a car. A retired as a prison guard, Nick’s belligerent treatment of my Mom, like a prisoner he was keeping in check, gave me heartburn. I had a coughing fit.
Mom asked if I was sick and I told her, “Nick yelling at you is the only thing making me sick. Well, that and being let stranded for half an hour as I watched other arriving passengers all picked up within the first five minutes.” Getting pissed at me snapped Nick out of his tirade at Mom and back to silence. Old training as kid from how I’d take the heat for Mom to save her from my real dad, who passed early this year.
Now, I managed a tense front seat to backseat chat where I filled Mom in on a few things in my life. We’ve never talked about the angels and ETs working for the cause of the Shift I see in meditations. And didn’t now. I guess I’d think she’d feel I’ve gone off my rocker. Why worry her? She has no concept of what a blog is or how to work a computer and has seen nothing of my writing.
Soon we arrived at the small one bedroom condo Mom has carved into a pretty home. She said to me timidly, not her style, “Hungry, Ken? We already ate, not knowing when you’d really get here on the bus.”
Me right with Mom and Fred, circa 1950
I played along, even though it was only 5:30 PM, and ate alone at the kitchen counter while Mom filled in my brother Fred, who had manned the condo during my pickup from Greyhound. Which was odd. Fred usually came to greet me. “Ken’s goin’ to Mexico for a film shoot next month, Fred,” Mom chirped.
Fred puffed on cigarette and grunted, “Beats gardening I bet, eh, Ken?”
Fred knew from our weekly phone talks, we both cling to like a family life raft, that I’d made a deal for social media barter where I was living at a spirit resort called BushWillows north of LA. Because they had gone into suspended animation on the resort for reasons unknown, the owners instead wanted gardening help instead of web work.
Now here was my brother, making fun of my doing manual labor to keep a roof over my head in the worst recession ever. How it stung me to the soul. What happened to my sweet “over the phone” brother I wondered looking at the grouchy Fred? Yep, a voice answered, four days with Nick contaminated his aura. He be back to normal when he returned to Wisconsin.
Mom sensed the tension with Fred and chimed in, “I bet you’re learning lotsa gardening stuff. Right, Ken?”
“Yep.” I answered meaning it, biting into Mom’s steak that was like rubber.
“After Mexico Ken’s filming in Hawaii first two months of the year, Fred.”
I could see Fred was puzzled so much good fortune had popped up since we spoke only a few days earlier. Now that the 11.11.11 event of 15 hours days of work for 3 solid months without pay was over and I could refocus my energy. I was beginning to feel some of the old fire that made me a millionaire in the past. Fred didn’t like me much when I was millionaire who’s most famous project was building Oprah’s Harpo Studios, and rightly so. I was a dick when I was rich. Not next time, if there is one, will it be so!
“Lousy economy might finally be lifting.” I muttered into my meal.
Soon as I finished my solo dinner and complimented Mom, despite how god awful the steak was, Nick put on his coat. Mom and Fred quickly followed his lead. “I just got here. Where’s everyone going?” I groused.
“Casino, ” Fred grinned as I steamed, “Relax. Mom and Nick did the same thing to me when I got here: Quick meal then off to the slots!”
So without even a chance to rest or a catch-up on life, besides the brief car talk with Mom from the backseat, I was soon in Nick’s car again and heading for the Orleans, a locals casino my mother and Nick frequent often for the loose Keno slots. Nick complained to my Mom as he cruised the Orleans multi-leveled lot for a parking spot, “Handicapped spots all gone getting here so late.”
I let the dig pass, as I let so much pass with Nick. For a comedy writer when I am not helping angels manifest a gentle 2012, this man is a gold mine for material. We parked not very far from the door despite my “late” arrival. I climbed from the backseat of the car, dreading the casino, already sorry I’d come. I limped for the casino, having slightly pulled both hamstrings hauling wheelbarrows full of compost early in the week at the gardens.
Sure enough, soon I found myself in the smokey noisy as hell confines of the Orleans casino, surrounded by drunken gamblers and haggard locals.
Fred plopped himself on a Keno machine beside Mom and lit up. Mom’s 82 but going strong and she was ready for action, silent Nick her bodyguard. It was almost as though I ceased to exist. I tried to make conversation, but the casino noise that keeps people hypnotized with noisy beeps and bloops and smoke won. So I excused myself and limped my way to my old Vegas escape pod, the movies.
We all agreed, Nick in silence of course, to meet back at the Keno spot midnight when the gambling ordeal had hopefully reached an end. I say “hopefully” because there have been nights when Mom or Fred or Nick get on a winning streak where they all stay out to 3 or 4 AM and I’d end up taking a taxi back to condo myself.
I saw two movies back to back to kill time and lose myself. ARTHUR’S CHRISTMAS, an instant classic 4 stars out of 5 and HAPPY FEET TWO, a doh doh bird of a penguin flick, 1 star. But I fell asleep so don’t take my word on the penguins if you enjoy hearing Robin Williams do a bad Spanish accent.
Midnight, when I got back to the Keno machines Mom and Fred were fighting about, of all things, meatballs sandwiches. I was relieved. The meatball fight meant they’d lost at Keno and so we’d be going home at a decent hour. Fred was craving a Subway meatball treat and would not be swayed. Mom who had won a little that week offered him $5 from her pot.
Fred sniped, “I have a paying job,” he said looking at me, who has not had a paying job since college, but who usually does very well despite that fact in a normal economy, “I pay for my own meatballs. And when I win I buy for everybody.”
On the way to the car, while Fred got his beloved meatball sandwich, Mom worried to me, “Fred’s been in a bad mood all week.” I took a look a Nick and thought, “Who wouldn’t be with that sourpuss around?” feeling compassion for my beloved brother and more for Mom who was living with this grumpy diabetic every day.
But then, surprisingly, my heart began to open for my fellow grouch Nick. At Souldrama in Italy I learned it’s what bothers you most in others that you are bothered most about in yourself. I saw the grouch I was around the loving dream team that had come together from 11.11.11. And here was Nick, in the bosom of a family that loved him, driving wedges between us all and himself. I saw the little boy Nick was who lived as an orphan on the streets of Milwaukee. No one to love him. And then I saw myself as an abused child who never knew what a happy family life was, wrecking the happiness all around me because I did not know how to handle joy on 11.11.11. And I finally forgave Nick for his junk and me for mine.
I was so deep in thought about my brother grouch Nick that I barely remember getting back to Nick and Mom’s condo after the casino. Fred ate his meatballs making a big deal of it to tease Mom, Nick pulled out the sleeper sofa. Mom and I made up my bed which I quickly collapsed into.
Despite the rough first day in Vegas I was still looking forward to tomorrow. I’d come to Vegas almost every year for 25 years for mom’s Thanksgiving cooking. She makes a great bird. Mom announced to Fred and me as the lights went out, “Night, boys. I’ll getting up to start the turkey cooking at 8AM.”
The night passed with fits of sleep as Fred snored loud enough to wake me. As I tried about 3 Am to get back to sleep I had a vision that was fresh and pure as I saw all the many sacred sites I’d mediated at since 10/10/10 ignite with bright white sparks across the globe, Vegas included where I saw the Luxor casino erupt, spewing energy to the DreamShield surrounding the planet. I saw it matched by energy flares from the real pyramids.
The dazzling clean and pure vision surprised me to full consciousness. “Why was a grump like me allowed to see such angelic glory?” I thought weeping into my pillow. I’d thought, or perhaps even hoped, that since DreamShield’s missions were on prime binary dates, that somehow after 11.11.11 my vision powers might end and life could return to normal. Whatever normal is in these crazy times with innocent people getting beaten down in the Occupy movements. I’d not talk about the visions with anyone next morning on Thanksgiving.
At 8AM as promised, Mom emerged from her bedroom, trusty flashlight in hand because the drapes were all closed. I peeked open an eye to watch her tip toe past as she swung the bright LED flashlight when suddenly she tumbled to the floor!
I bolted from the sleeper sofa and helped her up. Mom pointed the flashlight down at a cushion. “Twisted my back. How the hell did that get down there in my way?”
We both looked over at snoring Fred, who must have peed ten times during the night and knocked over the cushion at some point.
Mom softly giggled and squeezed my hand saying, “Go back to sleep, Ken. I’m OK, ” and she, putting the cushion out the way, went about starting the bird cooking.
Thanksgiving was here at last. The trusty old folding card table of 25 years of Vegas Thanksgivings came out as the Packer’s trounced Detroit on the old tube style TV. Soon the moment I’d suffered an 8 hour Greyhound trip and put up with the casino was here. The bird was perfection. Mom’s stuffing was great. All was heaven at last except for one thing that was missing: Mom. She was still in the kitchen cleaning up and missing the whole meal.
Then Fred did something that rattled my ego. As Nick came to the table Fred slid the chair for him. He even adjusted Nick’s gravy bowl to give more table space for Nick. And all my spirituality from the night before vanished. I was angry at Fred’s deference to this guy who made my visits to my mother such a hell.
Then Nick and Fred just dug in and started chowing down without waiting for Mom.
“Mom, I came all the way here to see you and have turkey,” I shouted to mom, cleaning up the kitchen like a mad woman.
“Yeah, come and eat, Mom, ” Fred chimed in, mouth full of turkey.
One possible answer to this mystery would come this morning as Deb, the BushWillows owner where I am staying observed about Mom’s odd behavior in her crisp South African accent as I dumped off a fresh load of compost, “Might be your Mum was cleaning up so she could get out of the house right after the turkey and resume gambling.”
Had my mother’s passion for gambling, some would say addiction, now eclipsed her time for dinner? Who knows? When she finally sat down when were all nearly done with her feast I tried to grab a picture of her only to be shouted at, “Don’t take my picture with my mouth full!”
My brother chimed in, “He did the same shit to me.”
I spun to Fred, camera in hand, “Shit? You call me taking your picture shit?!”
Mom sighed, “Boys, it’s Thanksgiving. No fighting.”
But I was furious and had to leave the table. I’d wanted to share my adventures surviving in Hollywood over the past year, my adventures in social media, my spirit project. And here I was fighting at the dinner table with my 58-year-old brother like we were kids while Nick shot my Mother a, “See?” look of satisfaction.
Later, I apologized to Fred and hugged him about the shoulders. He shared he’d been not having a good time this trip. Mom and he had been fighting the whole time for reasons he really could not put into words.
Soon as the second NFL game ended it was off to the Orleans casino again and the family disconnect. I saw two more movies, HUGO, one star for having a boring plot and bad child acting, and THE MUPPETS, of which I give zero stars and could barely keep my turkey down through.
Friday morning the alarm had been set for 8AM to get me to the station by 10AM but once Nick started to dress he did not slow down and I found myself on the way to the horrible station far too early. Mom tired to sit in the back seat with me but Nick would have non of that. He barked at my mother like she was a convict to be disciplined, “Get in front with me so you don’t have to jump out at the bus station!”
I patted Mom on the shoulder from the backseat as Nick sped for the station and she held my hand. Arriving 15 feet from the curb Nick parked in the middle of traffic. I came to the window and kissed Mom good-bye. She grabbed my hand as Nick raced the car off, until Mom’s soft fingers pulled away from mine.
As I finally shuffled my way onto the hour late bus I was an hour early for, the Asian Greyhound attendant who gave me such a hard to for my simple question about when the bus was coming kidded to the bus ticket taker. “Don’t let this guy aboard. Troublemaker. Probably drunk.”
I smiled sadly in agreement, I’d beem drunk on family rage and rage with myself for not ascending as Laura De Leon had so brilliantly realized was the mission of 11.11.11. I was stuck in my ego and not operating from heart.
But as I have written to Laura, when she sang like an angel on 11.11.11, something did shift in me. A small spark deep in my heart. The fact I can even write so clearly of my painful thanksgiving and feel compassion for Mom, for Fred, for me, even for Nick and his little inner boy from the Great Depression, gives me hope Laura’s spark is growing and that I am ascending and so is the world.
Long as the visions keep coming I promise do my humble best continue to report the angels work to you. I don’t profess to understand what they are doing or if I am really seeing them or if it’s all some amazing lucid dream I’ve been having for 18 months solid or it’s something they are putting in the drinking water these days. If you like my reporting please go to DREAMSHIELD.ORG to help me help with the work of manifesting a gentle 2012. Thanks, Ken Sheetz.
Now enjoy some Nelson Riddle about Route 66 which I traveled on for this Thanksgiving saga.
Greetings, Earth brothers and sisters! Ken Sheetz has given me permission to speak to you, dear reader, directly, about 11.11.11 and humanity’s ascension to a gentle 2012.
This is Ken’s higher self, Ohom. I am from, what you call, the Orion’s Belt star system. My species looks much like yours except we are 7 feet tall and blue skinned and have wings. We have lovingly watched over your species for eons. Some have called us angels.
The good news for humanity is that at joyous events like DreamShield 11.11.11 The Ascension Convention, hosted by Ken and Laura De Leon, well over 5 million people meditated as one at 11:11 AM and PM across the face of the earth, setting the intention of ascension in motion. Rejoice, for humankind has taken the first baby steps on a journey to the stars as a species capable of caring for your world and therefore full admittance to Galactic Society.
I warn you, however, despite your newfound 11.11.11 success, that ego plots against the heart like a dying movie villain trying to take all with him if he cannot win. Stay true on the path of heart lest you lose your way like the 1960s when so many light children became ensnared by material pleasures and were consumed by ego.
The time has come to put thought into action. Do something peaceful yet powerful to shake off the greedy selfish ways of a world run by Ego and enter the Golden Age of Heart.
On behalf of all sentient members of Galactic Society, we congratulate you on climbing the 11 ladder on 11.11.11. Your ascension is at last begun and begun well. Know that we are at your side to guide and protect whenever you call upon us.
Namaste,
Ohom
Ken Sheetz back on the computer. I thought I was done blogging but another message is coming through from an earth angel pal of mine you’ve all met before, the fiery Angus McPherson. Angus leads the Galactic Enforcer Clan, here to help Earth prepare the way for the Shift, despite a temper that sometimes gets the best of him. He’s a scary to some on the outside, good for his job, but he’s a sweetheart who in the end always gives mercy to those deserving it rather than his swift sword.
In spring of this year, 2011, I witness Angus aid Archangel Michael and a host of his warrior clan touch down in Rome and do battle dark forces that have been corrupting the Catholic Church. I saw many demons slain to give the church a chance for a clean start. The victory was swift and sure. Even now thinking back on this stunning vision, which I’ve told only a few people about until now, gives me chills. Angus asks now I pass over the computer keyboard to him…
Ocuppy Wall Street Potestors Console Each Other At Zuccotti Park Evictions - Photo Huffington Post
Aye, one look at the day’s news of evictions of the Occupy protestors sweeping the world shows me that my work as a galactic enforcer is far from over!
My hope is that it be of some comfort to you to know that I’ve been in hard at work the eviction business myself for close to a year now. Truth be known, skirmishes been afoot ever since my delivering the Galactic Council’s eviction notice under the treaty of Pangea.
Fairly given on December 31, 2010 at 11:59 Earth PST, this eviction notice is for all hostile ET forces to comply with the non-interference provisions or to depart this world via “Love Boats” we have provided no later than December 21, 2012.
Take heart lads and lasses, although the dark forces that have dominated your world for eons, pitting you one against another for pure sport, taking your gold off world to their own and leaving you with on holographic forgeries, and countless other atrocities that make my blood boil, are demonstrating with their spiteful ways that they will fight to the very end! Come 12.21.12, the dark ones cannot prevail against your determination and sheer numbers, not to mention the aid of Galactic Society for your ascension as full members. The dark ones efforts to starve you out, to mock you, the harm you are all being recorded by the beings of light and come 2012 there will be penalties long overdue for these stubborn usurpers.
Aye, my eviction continues as do their evictions of Occupy which serve as a mockery for the kindness we have extended . Hold firm and be of good cheer. They can’t stand love in the face of how they seek to throw you into fear. You victory is assured as I, and the rest of my clan, round the all up. We do this from Love until the final chance for them to vacate earth come 12.21.12. After such time there may be no love boats.
Change is coming and we salute you for your bravery and desire for a world where all shall live in joy and abundance.
Your faithful servant,
Angus McPherson
On 11.09.11 I had a vision of Angus and his eviction work. Seeking a major hostile ET clean up in advance of the many 11.11.11 events happening around the world a battle took place in the sewers deep beneath Wall Street. All hostile ETs surrendered rather than be slain by Angus and his enforcer clan.
But no “Love Boats” were in earth orbit at that time for evacuations. But such is Angus’ unlimited power, I once saw him tosses away an entire enemy fleet with a wave of his arm, that Angus flew out over the Atlantic and raised the Titanic from its slumber and landed it at Battery Park to take the hostile ET forces off world.
So it’s no wonder after all that he’s angry about the evictions in Zucotti Park! Stay tuned. I have feeling Angus is up to something big in the quest for a gentle 2012.
I don’t enjoy my birthday. But it still comes every September 21st, usually the Equinox when it’s not a leap year like this one. The reason I don’t like my birthday? My father, who died 18 months ago, gave me more than a traditional birthday spanking when I turned thirteen. You see, back in 1965 my dad got it in his head that age thirteen was manhood. When I popped my kid brother Bruce in the jaw for teasing me about it getting a savings bond instead of the space toy I wanted, Dad popped his cork and beat me to within an inch of my life.
Vision art “Welcome back” by Ken Sheetz 
Media, Meditations & Musings 