If you want to conquer fear, do not sit home and think about it. Go out and get busy. – Dale Carnegie
By Ken Sheetz
There were at least 10 times on this trip when I thought I was stuck on the road to Antarctica. The ego is a scared little bunny. It shouted in my head, “You fool. Depending on crowd funding for such and expensive trip! You are going to die a homeless man in a foreign country!”
I didn’t get mad at my ego — egos being no more than organic device to keep us safe and alive when it comes down to it — but it got very noisy in Buenos Aires when I barely had taxi money after an unexpected $160 travel visa. Again ego became deafening with fear soaked worry in another tight spot where I made the best of it working all night on the web in an Argentina pizza parlor not able to afford a hotel.
The trip was so tight I was constantly meditating to overcome ego fears #1, “You’re going to humiliated calling family for help. You’ll never live down not reaching Antarctica by 12.12.12 in the LA and Sedona spirit communities.”
But each time my ego mechanisms flared into protective action it was meditation that put me back in touch with my ET angel guides would calmly reassure me, “When the opposing energies, putting up huge psychic resistance to the change 12.12.12 will help bring about, think you beaten… you will triumph.”
After one meditation when I was stressing over a $2,000 hotel bill for two weeks in Buenos Aires when I was expending more than I was taking in. This time I was given a spirit guide named Hans. Hans, a Nazi who in life had fled to Argentina after being part of a failed plot to assassinate Hitler, told me to hold my head high and be positive in the face of fear.
You can hear me channel Hans in this video. This is one of the first times I have shared channeling of a ghost.
After 2 months on the road filled with 15 hour days of crowd funding,I had finally reached the southern most city in the world, Ushuaia Argentina… on a one-way ticket. I had beaten all the ego fears and raised $5,000, and a little more in value in barter, totaling $12,000 on the very first crowd funding for a meditation.
A meditation scheme that had angered some for it’s bold intent to shift the negative energy of the long predicted Mayan pole shift of to instead foster a cool change in human consciousness. One irrational guy on FB accused me of trying to start a cult centered around myself. I laughed it off: “A cult of one?” This was a solo meditation after all!
For months I had ignored the call and hung out on the cool Malibu ranch I was doing social media for all through 2012. The distance, the cold, the cost seemed impossible so I kept trying to do the polar meditation work remotely. But the guides would tell me repeatedly I must physically be near the energy field on 12.12.12 of the South Pole in Antarctica. Somehow, also the crowd voting with their contributions was part of the energetic and I was not allowed to just call on some of my wealthy pals to fund this trip.
I remained resistant to spirit running my life. Stubborn to have my ego in control on my life. Finally, to get me heading south for Antarctica my guides literally pushed me from a comfy lux assignment in Malibu at Great Spirits Ranch with everything from sinus infections, where I literally became allergic to the ranch, to being punched in the face and threatened with guns by a film shoot visiting the ranch.
So I began the research for travel to Antarctica. To my shock I found nearly 40,000 tourists visit Antarctica each of our winters, which is their summer, December 21st to March 21st, on expedition cruises. Pricing was a small fortune, about $11,000 a person on average. So adding air cost and hotels I was looking at a $20,000 needed! My total savings in September when the call from the spirit guides became deafening was a negative $350 in my over-drafted checking account.
Ignoring the spirits telling me crowd funding was a key factor in this mission I started calling my film backers from Chicago, but I could not get any interest despite having made now three excellent docs. Why? Because despite how cool they are they have not even broken even on cost. A wildly successful of a real estate broker and builder in Chicago, I have been a creative success but not seen any big money success in film. So investors never materialized. I could have saved myself pain and trouble listening to spirit.
Finally, I surrendered and followed my guides advice and built the IndieGoGo and listened to spirit that I needed some final lessons and attunement in Sedona. Within 5 minutes I had a 3 weeks barter of videos for room lined up with SpiritQuest in Sedona, the number one private retreat company in spirit mecca Sedona. However, SpiritQuest turned out to be so fascinating to film and another project behind on editing left me little time to do Antarctica crowd funding. And it showed. We had raised on $250 in two weeks for Antarctica 12.12.12.
One November day Nick Edwards of Power of Pyramids called and asked if I would be wiling to film in Chichen Itza anywhere from 12.21 to 12.24. Nick asked me to put aside 12.12.12 Antarctica to be sure to make the filming in Mexico but I flatly refused not wanting more sinus and gun trouble from my guides, who obviously do not kid around in keeping me on track.
Now I had enough to buy a one-way ticket from Sedona to Rio but I hesitated. I’ve never traveled to South America. Would I need shots? Visas? Crazy to travel without money for the hotels and not to all the way to the port of Ushuaia or to have a boat tickets. My ego told me this was nuts, “You’ll be left stranded in South America and die of a tropical disease!” Ego is such a pussy it’s funny. Then a guide, female voice whispered, literally whispered in my ear as I was having breakfast and dilly dallying in Sedona, “Tarry not on the road to Antarctica.”
After weeks of Sedona tune up and healing from the daily cynicism of my Malibu client and a bad experience with former spirit partner who was only interested in free social media, I was ready to listen to my guides (who are even now telling me to keep sharing the mission though I am back in LA on fumes). I was ready to listen to spirit not ego. So I hopped on the internet instantly and bought the one-way tickets to Rio. I left Sedona with a lovely send off party by angel channel Terra Senorra.
I stopped though Vegas to fly to Rio, taking a Greyhound bus to my mother’s retirement condo a few days before Thanksgiving. As I was showing mom the video about the trip to Antarctica my second-hand Apple MacBook pro computer went dead. I checked the plug and it was shoot. I did not have the $80 for a new one and Mom lent me the cash. I tried to decline saying I’d have crowd money by the time I reached Rio but Mom insisted. Mom is psychic and so I listened and my got the new cord with the help of my cantankerous stepfather.
Later, my grumpy stepfather freaked out driving me to the International airport, ready to drop me in the middle of nowhere. But I calmly guided him to the departure gate as my mother shot him looks of disgust. I kept waiting for my brother Fred, a steady supporter of my work, to make a little donation for the road but oddly he was not forthcoming. Geminis!
And so with $40 in my wallet that my mother had smuggled me, I was off to Rio on a one-way ticket with no money yet for the boat ticket to Antarctica.
But I would not end up in Rio. The angels had other plans for me. I did not have a visa for Brazil which you need in advance from an embassy as it turns out. And Copa Airlines was kind enough after hearing my objective was Antarctica to skip me ahead to Buenos Aires where you still need a visa but can buy it at the airport. That all seemed wonderful. I’d just go on the wifi at the airport and raised a little crowd money to pay the visa. But when I got to the airport in Buenos Aires I was stuck in customs where there is no wifi and given only 3 hours to pay the fee or be deported back to LA!
T0 be continued on How 12.12.12. Almost Did Not Happen Part 2!
Angels do not condone violence as a solution, nor do I. Not to say I won’t pop a guy one, with fair warming, if he pushes me too far. I may see angels but I sure ain’t one. Angels simply work in ways that are 5th dimensional and so they show me things in symbolic 3 dimensional ways I can understand and report to you. Or for all I know they’ve added something to the water in LA. I have no idea why I am seeing all this as an ongoing vision for 18 months solid now. And what you see on my blogs is only about 20% of what I see. I could literally write about all this 24/7 and never catch up.
A few nights ago I meditated and asked the DreamShield to show me what the angels were up to in the quest for gentle 2012. I was whisked from LA to Chicago, where hundreds of earth angels, dressed like 1930’s mobsters, were shooting up my kinda town!
Earth angels zipped through the skies and skyscrapers of the loop, blasting away mercilessly at evil spirits corrupting our legal system and government. Legions of lawyer and judge demon spirits were blown away with the angel Tommy guns blasting bullets of lethal light. I laughed for joy at this unexpected angel work in my adopted home town!
On LaSalle Street I watched in wonder as none other that the great Humphery Bogart led a raid on the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.
I shouted to Bogey, “The Fed was a client of mine. The people I worked with seemed like regular Joes.”
“Who the heck are you?” Bogey said spinning on me.
“Ken Sheetz, a spirit reporter for the work of a gentle 2012.” I said as I held up my humble Flip camera.
“I’m huntin’ demons sucking the life outta Gaia, not regular Joes or dames! Got it?!” said Bogey shouting in my face, not a smart thing to do with my childhood of having a Drill Sargent dad, but I liked what Bogey was up to and let it slide.
“How about a gun for me then?”
“Swell. Jimmy give the junior reporter a heater!” Bogey said with relieved chuckle.
None other than the great James Cagey slapped a Tommy gun in my hands. “Welcome to the gang, kiddo. Be sure you get my good side, my left, in any photos or I’ll brain you.”
“Ok boys, time to cut the Fed’s credit line!” Bogey shouted.
“Kill any demon that moves and the ones that don’t.” added Cagney as the angel gangsters all cheered.
Guns blazing, Bogey led our charge into the Federal Reserve lobby. Demon guards drew ray gun pistols that were no match for the angels hail of light bullets. Even your faithful reporter lost all journalistic objectivity and got in demon kills. And before you know it the battle was done, the lobby clear.
“Nothing here but a stinking money museum!” Bogey fumed.
“How’s about this? ” said Cagney pointing to an armored elevator door locked tight with an electronic keypad.
“Try 11 -11-11 as the combo,” I offered.
Cagney rolled his eyes. “No pathway to Gaia’s gonna be some lame combo any sap could stumble on.”
“Do like he says!” Bogey snapped.
Cagney complied punching in all the numbers, “See? No dice.”
“Add four more 11s for 11:11 PM. No, wait, four more 11s for AM too.”
Cagney punched in the numbers. “Crap. So many ones I lost track! Your honor Mr.Elevens.”
I counted on my fingers saying, ” 11.11.11 and 11:11 AM and PM. That’s 7 -11s, fourteen ones.” and punched in the numbers. Not an easy task as I thought as the pattern on the keypad kept shifting and the #1 hopped to another spot every couple of seconds. But as I punched in the 14th one, the heavy armored elevator door opened.
What we saw was not good however. No elevator, just darkness and showers of sparks where the elevator cab should have been.
“Wise guys cut the cords. Gotta make a jump for it.” Bogey said looking down the miles deep shaft filled with dangerous sparking wires.
“Well, boys, in for a dime… ” shouted Cagey as he jumped past Bogey into the shaft.
The rest of the angel gang followed.
“Sheetz, stay behind and watch our backside.” said Bogey jumping into the fray and not giving me time to argue.
I peered down the scary elevator shaft, filming the brave angels battle slithering snakes of dark energy. Something stunk. I was aware of an evil presence. I spun and looked smack into the face with a giant golden snake. Its pitiless eyes looked right through me with the heartless effectiveness of a credit report.
“Stand aside, mortal. Thisss is not your fight.” the golden snake spoke!
I raised my Tommy gun. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The snake leaped for me, fangs dripping with venom. My Tommy gun blazing, the snake and I fell together down the elevator shaft. ‘
I found myself in my boardroom at my Chicago real estate company. My partner and I were laughing as my construction manager sweated bullets. It was 1990, one year before my fall from the easy credit I had ridden to the top of Chicago’s commercial real estate world. We all laughed as the prospective “tenant” and took off her clothes in the middle of our employee’s presentation.
Bats flew at me as the snake hissed, “How can a man with so little respect for women that he’d bring a stripper to come into his company’s offices be a champion of Gaia?”
The snake was right. I had no comeback and it infuriated me. I drew my sword and switched on my red ethereal armor for battle as we fell for the center of the earth.
“Rage is your answer and your undoing!” said the snake as it bit right through my armor. Armor had never failed me and now in over a year of these visions. Poison raced through my veins. The speeding tumble of wires and the laughing gold snake faded.
It was 1991, I was in my family room hollering like a crazy man at my wife. Still, she bravely refused to sign the second mortgage papers I shoved in her face, papers that would have given me $250,000 to keep my failing real estate company alive.
The golden snake and I hit beam as it bit into my leg, fangs piercing me the bone. As we plumeted for the depths, locked in mortal combat, I saw a fevered parade of all the women I’d somehow hurt in my life, a fiance’, lovers, friends, co-workers, my daughter, my mother, even my Irish grandmother.
The snake was right! How could a chauvanist-jerk like me help the angels free Gaia’s heart from the vampire energy of the Fed tapping her dry?
“I’ve pumped enough poison into you to kill ten men! Why do you still persissst?” the golden snake hissed, shaking me in its jaws like a limp rag doll.
By the freshness that flowed in the dank elevator shaft I knew angels were near. Bogey flew past as he took aim at the great serpent. “Because Sheetz is already dead and now, snake, so are you!” The angels opened fire and the snake vaporized in a hail of angelic fire.
Cagney caught me in his arms, “Gotcha, kid!”
“What did, Bogart, mean I am already dead?” I asked, feeling better already.
“Get some sleep now. We got miles left to go. Christ you’re heavy!” Cageny complained as I drifted off.
I sat alone on Oak Street beach of Lake Michigan. It was winter 1992. Snowflakes swirled as I stared at the waves. I’d lost everything, my skyscraper, my cars, my company, my wife and kids. I walked into the icy water and kept walking until I was deep beneath the lake and I drowned.
I blinked awake in a great cavern, Bogart, Cagney and the angels all about me. “But if I died in 1992 how am I still alive in 2011?,” I said raising my throbbing head.
“Are you alive?” chuckled Bogart.
“Seems like I am,” I said checking my pulse.
“Look, kid, this ain’t no time for a lecture on mutli-verses. Alls that’s important you showin’ up to record what the angels do and give the people hope. Now shoot your camera over there.”
Bogey pointed to Cagney who was placing dynamite atop the energy tap the fed had to the core Gaia. The tap flowed with her precious blue-white energy to Federal Reserve and World Bank siphons all across the earth.
Now an army of snakes rose from the ashes of the old and surrounded Cagney.
“Get outta there, Jimmy. We can try this another day!” shouted Bogey.
“Got my left side, Sheetzy?”
I flashed Cagney the thumbs up as I had him my Flip camera’s view finder.
“Made it, Ma! Top of the world!” Cagney shoved down the plunger.
The cavern filled with explosions and fire that made hell seem like a picnic. I couldn’t see him, in the smoke and fire, but I heard Bogey shout,”Gaia is free!
I rose to full consciousness from my meditation, knowing in some crazy way that what I see the angels doing on another plane of reality helps our world, but wondering if I am in fact a ghost.
Your love donations atDreamShield.org at the PayPal link on the page help me report work on the angel visions which, hopefully with your help, I will one day gather into a book.
“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.”
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.
“OH WOW! OH WOW! OH WOW!” – Last words of Steve Jobs as he passed.
DreamBlogger Ken Sheetz
November 1st, 11.1.11, first of the last the powerful binary dates leading to 11.11.11!
Yesterday was a hard-working Halloween; booking a block of discount rooms for our of town guests at the beautiful, and close to the event, Grand Vista Hotel (just mention “Rancho De Las Palmas 11.11.11 DreamShield” for your discount price of only $60 a night!), creating a new landing page for DreamShield on Facebook, and making thousands of new invites. But before I decide to climb from bed to start another marathon day of 11.11.11 planning and promotion I decide to meditate. Something amazing, even for this work for a gentle 2012 filled with amazing visions, happens.
THE ELEVEN LADDER
No sooner have I taken my first meditation breath when Archangel Michael appears instantly in my cozy room at BushWillows. Michael, a human-form angel, is dressed in white robes and wields a golden sword and gem encrusted shield. I am happy to see the powerful angel is ready for anything the retreating spoil sport dark forces might still throw at us.
He smiles down on my exhausted meditating body and says in my own voice, “I give you, Kenneth, the meaning of the power of 11s of 11.11.11.”
The number 11 floats from the palm of Michael’s hand to form a glistening ladder above my bed. “See now, the 11s are the two sides of a ladder joined by the cords of humanity’s DNA, at last being made fully complete on 11.11.11.”
I’d met many spirits and beings in this work so far and all have spoken in their own voices. So I ask, trying to hide my skeptical nature, “Why do I hear you with my own voice, Michael?”
Archangel Michael cracks a wry smile and says, “I speak to you, Kenneth, with your own inner voice, because my voice was created to speak to the whole world at one time. Your mortal form could not handle such a vibration as my true voice produces.”
This rings so true it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Now cease all suspicions and climb, Kenneth.”
I reach upward and take hold of the ladder. I feel my spirit slip from my meditating body as I climb through the ceiling of the aptly named Green Room here at BushWillows. The rungs of the ladder are cool to the touch and of a pearl-like material.
Shortly, I am above the city of angels here in the Shadow Hills. I’m normally not afraid of heights but the angelic ladder has a lot of bounce and sway. It unnerves me to say the least.
“Don’t look down!” Archangel Michael’s mighty voice rings out, now that my spirit-self can hear his real voice without vibrating my mortal body to pieces. His voice is laced with trumpet sound and echoes over the San Fernando valley. I look up and see a jet pass right through the ladder. This almost makes me fall off.
I realize it’s best to just look straight ahead and climb fast as I can. Up and up I ascend, gaining speed and confidence. Up through high wafting clouds, up past the edge of our atmosphere and into the inky black of space.
“What next?” I think as I transform into an ET blue angel form. Elated to be one of these amazing ETs in this vision, one I know as Ohom, I fly off at incredible speed over the earth. “Where am I going?” I ask but know somehow without being told by Archangel Michael at my side.
We race faster than the speed of light for Europe. “Are we heading for Italy where all the visions began?” I wonder to my higher ET blue angel self.
Michael reads my mind and says, “We are flying to Bosnia, for the pyramid of the Sun, higher that the great pyramid of Egypt. You have an important mission I want you to perform for me.”
Tiny Bosnia in sight, I rocket down from the stars faster than any human eye can detect in a beeline for the slumbering pyramid. I’ve flown many times in meditation and dream but never with this speed or power! I quickly remember why this vision is so powerful. Today is 11.1.11, first of the last 3 pure binary code dates.
In less than a heartbeat, my ET self blasts through the soil that most of the pyramid still lays buried under. I bore with ease and angelic grace through tons of stone and burst into the heart of the pyramid, a vast echoing secret chamber that no one has laid eyes on in countless eons.
Chanting in the blue ET alien language I do not understand, I extend my blue angel hands. Blue fire leaps out of my hands to illuminate the dim walls of the chamber. Carved alien symbols on the walls ignite and burn, not blue as I expect, but a sacred purple.
Somehow knowing my job has been quickly done, I bound up through the pyramid. Up through a thunder-head cloud that flashes and booms, rocketing into space once more.
Waiting for me patiently, as though this sort of mission is an every kind of occurrence for him, Archangel Michael hovers nearby. He looks down upon the earth, a pleased smile on his handsome face.
Far below, on the blue world we call earth, I see what Michael is so happy about. From the activated Bosnian Pyramid of the Sun, purple fire races in glowing lines across the face of the earth. The purple lines reach other pyramids, both known and unknown. One by one all the pyramids of earth light up brilliant purple and shoot out energy into the lay lines to form a web of fiery purple lines energy around the entire planet.
The four adorable dogs that guard BushWillows have been let loose from the main house, by their owner Deb, I can tell from all the barking. Their happy barks stir from me my meditation before I can ask the meaning of this powerful pyramid activation to Archangel Michael.
I swing my feet from bed and rub my hands over the eagle hair pattern in the back of my head that some of the projects fans, who call me Eagle Man, say was the eagle put in my hair by angels to help me overcome my doubts. Amazed by the power of this fading vision, I repeat Steve Jobs reported last words, “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow.”
Looking at the time on my night stand clock I have little time to wash up and dress to travel with my twin flame Laura De León to meet with the Vegan chef Jesse to hear their wonderful menu he is planning for 11.11.11 The Ascension Convention. I can’t wait to tell Laura about the visit from Archangel Michael and what I was honored to witness.
Despite 18 months of these amazing visions, nagging doubts remain that all this could be my overactive imagination. However, after seeing the angels close the Bermuda Triangle back in January of this year, after which immediately, societies all over the Middle East overthrew dictators and corrupt governments, then the rise of Occupy, it gives me great hope that my visions alongside humanity’s ascension is wonderfully real. And so I work on for the hope of a Gentle 2012.
Tickets on sale for 11.11.11 at DreamShield.org. Hope to ascend with you on 11.11.11 at tropical paradise Rancho De Las Palmas, just east of Malibu, CA.
“We are ascending from an EGO based existence to living from our HEARTS! The ascension is within!” – Laura De León
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
As we cruise at light speed for the 11.11.11 Ascension Convention, which Event Director Laura De Leon,I and our team of volunteers, work on this amazing event with a dedication bordering on the driven behavior right out of CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND. Or in the case of our 11.11.11 meditations of ETs and their role in the shift, A CLOSE ENCOUNTER OF THE THIRD EYE.
Yes, it all makes sense as DreamShield began from ET angels. I can still see their alien skin sparkle and their gowns glow, thinking back to the yoga hall in Italy in May of 2010. I watched breathlessly as the ET angels created the energetic force field I eventually named the DreamShield… once I came out of shock. An energy field that has many names. One of such infinite power that one day humanity will learn to use it to shift earth from one part of its orbit to another to out dance any hostile element or foe, perhaps take us safely into the 5th Dimension.
Laura, with little help from me — as I’ve been busy creating the website, making 11 promo videos and populating the event on Facebook after securing sponsor Earth Shift Products (how perfect is that?) for the amazing venue of Rancho De Las Palmas and arranging to film the spectacle for LiveStream.com/DreamShieldTV — has worked herself to exhaustion assembling a stellar group of a dozen workshops, great musicians and exhibitors for this interstellar event.
And to cap it all off Laura secured Galactic Dolphin channeler Aros Crystos, my friend the DreamShield-Nashville, Renato Longato, a famed UFO expert, and Jackie Salvitti, an ET healer, as the keynote speakers of the day with music by out of this world Philippo Franchini, who will accompany Laura in sacred song. Take a peek but come back.
My hope is that all the 1s in the 11.11.11 date are a sign of first contact and that Renato, who is gifted at calling in UFOs for Sky Watches where ships have in fact been filmed with witnesses of 20 people, see the video on our DreamShield official 11.11.11 web page, will succeed in getting a ship to land so that all who wish might take a quick trip to Mars on to cap off the great day. Hey, a guy can dream can’t he?
THE 11TH VAULT MEDITATION
Somehow, during all the commotion of The Ascension Convention prep work, the message for what I am to conduct my meditation about on 11.11.11 has come through loud and clear. The premise is clever and powerful. Like I say ET angels have a great sense of humor and irony.
Corporations fought tooth and nail with our courts over the past 150 years to be and remain classified as artificial living beings. Artificial beings, strangely, with the same human rights as we the people. And they succeeded. But what the corporations did not foresee, but what the angels have, is that in becoming living things they created a heart for themselves. Granted, that corporate heart may pump money instead of blood, but a heart is more than a pump and we together with the ET angels are going to warm that corporate heart!
I see that once their hearts are warmed they can no longer fund war, harmful products or tolerate poverty and famine. As Laura said when she convinced me of the ascension theme for this event “The Ascension is Within” and this mediation is the ultimate inside bank job.
Come meditate with us on 11.11.11 to Re-Boot the planet into the Golden Age. Tickets for 11.11.11 The Ascension Convention on sale at DreamShield.org
To ride a horse is to ride the sky. ~Author Unknown
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
Looking back on how fast the first year of DreamShield went, December 21, 2012 is almost here. Well, as I write it is still 595 days, 8 hours, 22 minutes and 11 seconds away.
One year ago, in a yoga hall that was a former horse stable in Italy, I had powerful vision of 3 ET style blue angels joining our SoulDrama group of 12 humans who were deep under the meditation spell of Guilia, the healer of Santa Maria Del Sole, who was chanting over us in words of ancient Hebrew, words that she has kept secret so far, even from me.
In that yoga hall vision on 5.5.10 I saw the 3 ET style angels join their blue energy to we dozen humans. This in turn, over a period of about a week of successive visions, created an energetic shield around the earth to ensure a gentle 2012 that I named the DreamShield.
This first vision has been recounted many times in ceremonies and on the web and has been seen by thousands of people all over the world. See our first of 220 videos on the topic of 2012 here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lg4wDtw3vD4
I somehow thought I could go back to my normal life after the big 10.10.10 event, an event that an angelic voice guided me to conduct, and come back to the DreamSheild global events I’d also been guided to do in Italy last year on 11.11.11, only 6 months away now, and the finale on 12.12.12. But just a few weeks after the fabulous 10.10.10 event a series of planetary meditations came to me again from the mysterious voice starting November 1, 2010.
The 11.1.10 event ceremony was at NoHo Park at the 9.11 monument and was conducted by Isabella Stoloff, the Shaman who had conducted opened our 10.10.10 event. Profound visions happened to me now for the third time in a row. And they have never failed to happen every time I meditate on the mission of a gentle 2012.
Moving forward from 11.1.10 Isabella would not be available as she was in Orange County and busy with her own interpretation of 2012 and Sarah, despite her amazing skills as holistic doctor and third generation palmist and social butterfly, had a young kids and a busy practice to juggle. So I was a bit lost on how to move forward with a series of planetary meditations I was being guided to perform on binary dates that were rolling up fast.
Enter the amazing Laura De Leon to the DreamShield story! Now with her help and Sarah plus Lee McCormick’s help in Nashville as our sponsor and Nathaniel Hansen’s as our website guru we were ready for anything.
Laura became a dear, dear friend in the process. She has a practice helping Hollywood talent reach their full creative potential called MyMysticMuse. And she became my personal guru along with DreamShield’s and I became her social media guru with my BuzzBroz.com buzz biz.
Ramon Govea and Kara Mooney would also step up to meet the challenge of the Gateway year of DreamShield in hosting our very first dance meditation at the Temple of visions on 3.11.11. And Laura would amaze me by singing sacred music at the event despite the loss of a family member that week.
Together our global team would perform 25 DreamShield meditations between 10.10.10 and today 5.1.11. They cover a broad range of issues from tectonic plate activity reduction, to solar flares, greed, clean energy, to the the intimate like healing the earth from child abuse and addiction. None of the of us have take any pay for all this. DreamShield a labor of pure love supported by love donations at DreamShield.org. Where we hope you please visit to donate.
But stay with us for this important 1 year anniversary DreamShield vision before you run off to give.
THE TWELVE HORSES OF 2012
This morning I was deep in meditation in my studio at The Cool Change Foundation, a bit sad that I’ll be leaving soon as all the video and web work that I have donated to that charity has blossomed into a production schedule that makes it too busy for me to have the peace and quite I need for my meditations and writing.
In the vision my father, who passed in January on 2011 after a sudden cancer took him, came to me. He’d not been to visit me from the after life for weeks. Last time I saw him he having an adventure aboard a sleek silver spaceship traveling faster than the speed of light for the center of the universe.
Dad had changed much. He was young again. He looked to be in his 30s. His cancer wracked body of 82 years a distant memory. Dad glowed with an inner light now. He leaned to me said to me, “Sorry I left you nothing in my Last Will and Testament, Ken.”
I explained I’d not expected a thing as my step mom, 15 years his junior, needed everything to get by plus I added, “Other thing is I think you thought you’d never die.”
My father smiled proudly at my unselfish behavior and said, “Here’s my inheritance for you son. A gift to help your work of ensuring a gentle 2012.”
A white horse appeared before us that rivaled the beauty of Pegasus. Before I could say a word another horse, black as the dark of space appeared beside the white horse, followed by a Palamino with white mane.
“One horse for each month of your first year with DreamShield, Ken. – 12 horses for the work of 2012,” my father proclaimed as ten more horses appeared in rapid succession. Each glowed with an inner light shining dazzling hues and shades of the rainbow upon Beck Street in North Hollywood, where we stood in the vision that morning as the sun rose.
Now a golden chariot appeared behind the powerful team of 12 horses.
“Get on!” my father said chuckling at my hesitation. “Take these. You’ll need them.” Dad, a former welder, placed 12 lightning bolts in my hand and swatted the lead horse, the white horse on the butt.
The team of 12 mighty horses charged up Beck Street and spun right onto Chandler Boulevard heading west. Car tires screeched. Horns honked at the spectacle.
The horse team took to the morning air, carrying my chariot along like a feather . I spun the team east on Laurel Canyon Blvd and flew for the sun. Soon I could see LA and the Pacific far below. Whales cried out to us from the sea as we left the atmosphere.
I saw the DreamShield pulsing white and strong below. “Wow!” I wondered to myself thinking of what to use the lightning bolts for. Happy of the magic of these beautiful and healing spiritual adventures. Not just a lifetime but for all time in every incarnation I have ever had in every dimension.
Please give today in honor of the one year birthday of DreamShield as there is much to do in preparation for 11.11.11, another global celebration like 10.10.10. No official word yet but for Greece we may be gaining access to an ancient temple. I feel guided to travel to Greece for that one and hope Sarah and Laura will feel the call to be there as well. Help make it happen. We have thousands of fans now, If all gave what they can, even if it’s only $10 or $20 we’d be all set.