Coming up for air on Halloween, from a Monday business horror I gasped at the five voicemails missed from my baby brother in Wisconsin. Worried Bruce was going to tell me my 89 year-old mom had passed, my fingers moved too fast to register on the glass of my smartphone.
When I finally calmed down enough to return Bruce’s call, my sister-in-law Marianne somberly let me know my other brother Fred, recently turned 63, had died of a heat attack the day before. Weird thing I told my love Elizabeth I felt Fred was going to be passing soon because of his dangerous addiction game. So I foolishly thought I was prepared, but the news of losing my Irish twin Fred hit me like a mile long freight train full of lead doing 90.
Marianne handed the phone to Mom. Her voice choked with tears, Mom bitterly wondered, “Losing both my husband of 35 years and Fred within only 4 months of one another, what is that about, Ken? You’re the one who talks to angels.” Deep in grief and shock myself, I told her I’d need more time to wrestle with that and did my best to comfort my mother her second born son Fred’s pain was over.
Soon as I hung up my false bravado evaporated fast as a Sedona dusting of snow, my client troubles put into somber perspective.
The only time I’d spoken to Fred in the last four years of a tough love regimen came earlier this year when I was helping my mom cope with her husband’s stroke that put him in a coma from which he’d never awaken. Mom had asked me to screen her calls from the flock of salesman seeking to sell her everything from stairlifts to funeral services.
I picked up for her saying, “D’Acquisto residence.”
Fred croaked in the gravely voice he gets with abusing, “Hey, Ken. Strange times.”
I icily said, “Sure are,” and quickly handed the phone to mom.
TOUGH LOVE IS TOUGH
Doctors warned all of us in the family gathering bedside in 2013, as Fred lay in an induced coma, that he’d die if he ever drank again. Four years deep into the tough love thing had backfired and I never got to properly say good-bye to a brother who suffered a horrible childhood right beside me. I am having trouble coping with that. The guilt is enormous.
Elizabeth, who blessedly came into my life in 2015, escaping LA to live with me here in Sedona, has comforted me as best she could after this final loss of my brother from his long drawn out death, which abuse made this a decades long process. I am not much fun to be around right now. Her patience has been epic and I swear I will not let Fred ruin this relationship from the grave.
Like my Sicilian stepfather Nick, I learned there was also to be no family funeral for Fred. No traditional Irish open casket ceremony. So I welcomed Elizabeth’s idea for us to co-create a private ceremony in Sedona to mourn Fred.
Sadly, and the pattern is all too painfully obvious, Elizabeth had lost a brother to addiction three years ago where there was no funeral. So I insisted we add William, along with my stepfather Nick to the our work of mourning their three tragic deaths.
Elizabeth has explained ritual is something of a lost art in our cold hearted modern life. She and I first created and altar for the three souls with a five day candle burning. We bought Celtic medallions for Fred and William, who had the curse of the Irish in not handling booze well and for Nick we chose an ancient piece of Hopi pottery to represent his place and an elder in the ritual.
A week into the grieving, guided by a book Elizabeth read to me each night at bed by Maldoma Some’, I dove through denial into deep anger fueled by client troubles. Troubles getting worse as I was not coping well and messing things up as my patience I normally have for my eccentric and wonderful client in abundance was crippled by my grief.
WHALE OF A FAIRY TALE
A bright spot in all this grief is I’ve been deeply touched by an amazing outpouring of love and comforting by Facebook friends that’s helped me through this. Never let anyone tell you Facebook friends are fake!
I’ve also been comforted by a certain blue whale I connect to in spirit named Robin Williams in a past life whose become a regular in my life and this blog in THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATONS. Robin volunteered to help guide Fred to his resting place in the cosmos, all the while making wisecracks like, “I can help Fred as one junkie to another that fucked up his life.”
On Saturday I decided to take a badly needed break from client troubles and Fred’s mourning and went to a Bruce Lipton lecture. I was hosting the amazing Kathleen Gildred of Gorgeous Goddess Wear and she had offered me one her vendor passes at the Create Your Life Conference she was part selling her cool stuff at. How could I say no?
What a genius Lipton is! And so funny. I wondered — as Bruce made so much clear to us all of the science of love and it’s influence on good health — guiltily about how I knew in my heart Fred would be dying weeks before Mom was frantically trying to reach me while I was lost trying to save my biggest account. Knew it cold.
I regretted amid the conference that I didn’t break my tough love regimen and call Fred Lee Sheetz at least say good bye. It sucks to be psychic sometimes. I brought my overactive mind back to present, laughing at a slide Bruce showed that demonstrated why politicians have no brains.
After Lipton’s pessimistic but paradoxically optimistic look at the extinction of all life on earth if we don’t get our asses in gear and shift our collective consciousness to love, I grabbed a Vegan lunch and mingled with Create Your Life event goers. Some of the guests said they were going on a fairy walk on the grounds of the state park behind Enchantment and invited me along.
As the golf cart arrived I was happy to see in the crowd I was not the only guy for once on one of these spiritual close encounters.
Now, ever since 2010 in Mt. Shasta over an argument over spaghetti dinner with a human/fairy – Yes, they exist! – I’ve had many failed encounters with fairy folk. So I was hoping the walk might change my fairy luck. My Irish grandmother believed in fairies and leprechauns and so I knew the fairy folk might be able to help Fred find peace.
Unlike angels, fairies have egos and can be mischievous. Which is where I fall down on the fairy connection. But our sweet guide Courtney Long, a human fairy herself, was superb at explaining that fairies like people who recycle and seek the lowest footprint on the planet. Things I’ve become far better at since 2010. So I relaxed and began to connect to the faries in the beauty of the Boyton Canyon.
Wow! I saw thousands of fairies giggling in the trees lift off in the Sedona sky to meet our group of about 100. All fairy believers.
The beach-like red sand trail I slowly tread along with our enchanted group hunting faries was dappled in sunlight. A gentle breeze in the pines and cedars sparkled fairy dust everywhere. I relaxed free of client troubles and Fred’s loss when my fairy hunting eye caught sight of a pod in a cluster in bush.
Looking with my third eye, wide open with Courtney’s expert guidance, I saw in that pod a tiny fairy where I saw a newborn fairy. Instantly knew Fred had been born as a teensy girl fairy named. He told me telepathically his new name is Fredwenna.
Robin Williams, a giant blue whale soaring in the sky above the treetops above me, kidded baby Fred doing his funniest NYC accent, “Ladies and gents, I present that most adorable hot dog ever, The Fred Weena!” A few people on the tour wondered what I was laughing at.
My sorrow exploded into joy. Fairies sang a chorus of bliss. Fred was back!
After I got home and reunited with Elizabeth with a tender hug and saw that my amazing client, who has been ill so I had asked the fairies to do a healing on, had called me when I was deep in the fairy land, witnessing the rebirth of my beloved brother Fred.
When I returned the super client’s call we were in tears on both sides that we had been so harsh with each other. We’ve still not worked it out, as it’s royal mess I can’t get into here, of course. But the fairies, in whose care my lost kid brother Fred’s soul rests, tell me it’s all going to work out and not to be too anxious or sad.
Fredweena is happy in the Boyton Canyon fairy world and I am Fairy Grateful.
My next blog will be about how I repaid Robin Williams’ blue whale spirit self for helping my lost brother find the fairy lands in my next coolest ever blog post titled:
“The Ocean is Getting Lonely – The Robin Williams Visitations”
Look for it soon as writing is my therapy.
Learn more about events where we can meet plus grab some cool loot from the amazing spirit scientists supporting our planetary healing at CoolestMeditationEver.com
Scratching your head on why Trump is still going strong as he is? Blame our mass media for being not so much as fake as seriously failing to present both sides. If you watch only mainstream media and comedy you really know very little of what he’s doing.
Not all Trump believers are racist idiots. I know this first hand. Take some comfort Trump was elected to do a job of disrupting the status quo by his loyal fans, many of whom are your family and friends. They have not suddenly grown tails and horns. Don’t let yourself be polarized.
Many of his brighter backers are overlooking Trump’s obvious tendencies to racism and misogamy for a higher purpose of a badly needed reboot and freeing us from the deep state. Yeah, and it’s not a pretty sight how he’s going about it. He swims in uncharted waters.
Have some faith this is all going to work out without letting all this hoo ha that about selling soap rob your soul peace.
Extremism left or right is not healthy. Seek balance in all things.
As for me? Well, I’ve disliked Trump since the 1980s for his massive ego. That won’t change for me. But that does not mean I still can’t send intentions in the cosmic field he’ll wake up or love my friends who still back him.
My ET spirit guide Ohom said to me months ago, here on my blog, it did not matter who wins the election, Trump or Hillary. I took it to be a hopeless statement from the usually optimistic Ohom.
But Ohom revealed to me just last week what he really meant by it not mattering who wins tonight — and in this universe it’s looking like Trump — is quite positive! A lot awakening is coming. Witness Glenn Beck now praising Obama. Trump and Hillary are both shifting to light too!
Now, I understand a dream bugging me for months now. In the dream I was Trump’s social media manager for his new presidency. Trump was young again in the dream and he was listening to me that he had to feed the poor, heal the sick, end war, be a champion for women rights and to stop being so damn mean. Trump was listening and nodding yes!
I woke up in a cold WTF sweat! I breathlessly told my love Elizabeth the dream. She hugged me back to sleep. Whoa! Now I see it. The shifted youthful new Trump of light in my dream is what we can look forward to. I know, it sounds crazy. But awakening has happened to me. I was heartless Chicago real estate mogul for 20 years. Chicago’s #1 broker in ’87, builder of Oprah’s Harpo Studios. I crushed all competition. And I am living proof, as is Elizabeth who has awakened from a military life of 14 years, Trump will awaken.
So no wringing of hands tonight. Ring the bells of joy! Good times are coming, whoever wins, T or H, for us all.
This Bubble Nebula NASA spotted is a new universe rippling right for us. A wave of bliss like we’ve never seen! A true victory is near.
Congratulations to whoever wins. Be ready for change, change in your own heart and soul President Trump or President Hillary.
Now I also see why Ohom asked me to build him his own Twitter page ET OHOM yesterday. Please follow him. I will channel Ohom directly and he will answer your tweets. Many of you are going to need the same calm amazing advice he gives to cope with this crazy world of our new president.
In closing, whoever wins tonight in the Quantum timeline T or H. Relax. The nastiest elections in history are over.
Enjoy a taste of the new introduction I am creating with the help of my love and my new co-producer Elizabeth England. I am not sure it’s going to work better than my current version; where you meet Ohom, my inter-dimensional guide from the world Nektar in meditation 11.
I am looking for your thoughts about meeting Ohom in the opening intro to THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12.12.
EXT. OUTERSPACE – ETERNAL NIGHT
We pass through a cosmic cloud. KEN Hi, I’m Ken Sheetz, host and filmmaker of THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12. 12. Strange sound/image.
In earlier versions of this film I worried sharing that my main collaborator on this project — a telepathic space traveler named Ohom, O_H_O_M — might scare some viewers off.
Or perhaps you worry a businessman who’s built skyscrapers and Oprah’s Harpo studios who talks to brings from other dimensions might be perceived as a… what is the human term?
I was thinking more like “visionary”.
First time Ohom ever bugged me was in a yoga hall in Italy in 2010.
Shocked though he was by my 7 foot tall blue skinned insectoid visage —
Actually, Ohom you disguised yourself as a blue angel.
No, Ken. Your mind was simply not ready to accept my highly evolved insect race. So your mind chose a comfortable image for me from your childhood memories as a Catholic.
Yeah, that might have popped my cork seeing you look like a cross between a dragonfly and a 7 foot tall blue skinned human.
The Hopi, Egyptians, Indians and accepted us in many blue skinned forms.
Well, it would take me talking to my friend Barnet Bain, who produced WHAT DREAMS MAY COME and other greats like scientist Patrick Flanagan before I would accept talking to you is a gift not a curse.
I am 63 today, 9/21/15. Happy birthday to me, on a day that should not exist according to many doomsayers. Heck, shouldn’t we all be far, far away on the 1997 Hailbopp express by now?
Today, my 63rd, according self-proclaimed prophet Rev Efraid Rodriguez, is the day the first of 6 asteroids are set to vaporize our world over a period of a week. The number blooms to 28 asteroids in some crazy prognostications.
Almost like the blossoming stats I heard as a kid, when the Cuban Missile Crisis had pundits trying to top each other with scaring the hell out of us all with stories on how many times over the US and the USSR had to destroy the earth with our insane nuclear arsenals. Great for my formative years while teachers taught us to “duck and cover” under our desks if an A bomb hit before lunch break.
After the higher consciousness light bulb went off for me – with an epic vision of saving the earth in a yoga hall in Italy about the help of ETS aided by a super powered me 5 years ago – I took up saving the earth from the jerks who spread fear as a hobby. That passion hobby to simply say on YouTube, FB and Twitter, “Hey, forget these doomsayers, everything is going to be AOK. Even better than AOK,” would take me all the to the shores Antarctica for 2012.
I’ll never forget when I came back from my 24 Antarctica meditations someone close to me, no longer so, asked, “What’s next?”
I sat there on the phone stunned for a moment and lost my cool saying, “What the hell? Raising $20K on Indiegogo to go save the earth wasn’t enough for you? I’m done, Bozo. Back to my normal life.”
But life has never really gone back to normal since visiting the most energetically pristine place on earth, Antarctica. My higher self, a being I see as Ohom, is still with me, along with many new spirit guides. And, like my mission before all the way south when Ohom told me, “Few if any will believe your reversing negative visualizations propagated in the media are of any effect.” But I don’t care. I love saving the world. So here I am, still saving the world. It’s a nice world. It’s my home. And I love to help people visualize earth going on until we seed the stars, safe forever from extinction.
But lucid dream work is hard. You don’t rest like normal. So last night I thought hard about passing up the hard meditation work of deflecting not 28 asteroids from hitting earth. That’s one meditation per asteroid. More than the 24, one for each time-zone, that I did in Antarctica while I wasn’t running a multi-million dollar Indiegogo campaign as my day job while still working to crack Hollywood.
Then, right in the middle of my listening to Jonathan Goldman sound healing music, Ohom’s voice came through loud and clear, “Ken, I know the trauma of your nearly being beaten to death on your 13th birthday by your father. It troubles you each year. Depresses you. Well, after this series of 28 asteroid meditations, you’ll think of saving earth, not the lash of you father’s bloodied belt each birthday from now on.”
“Yes, that’s worth it, Ohom. Thank you for this mission!” I say out loud, as I am home alone. I cry tears of relief and shout, “Watch out asteroids! This looks like a job for Super Sheetz!”
9/20-9/21’s ALL-NIGHTER LUCID DREAM-FEST TO SAVE EARTH FROM ASTEROIDS
LUCID DREAM 1
I take some deep breaths and set the intention to dream away the negativity and fear of the Rev Efraid Rodriguez predictions and even the expanded horror of 28 asteroids. Truly a mission worthy of super powers that I’ve developed since 2010 to save our world in meditation. Is real? Well, you’re here aren’t you? Reading this blog. Whose to say? It’s both real and unreal at the same time. Holding that paradoxical thought is what keeps you grounded with your head in the stars.
Soon I am asleep and ready for action. I hitch a ride on Ohom’s inter-dimensional ship THE NEKTAR, named after his Insectoid evolved home world. It’s a short trip back in time and space. I am on the gorgeous Nektarian command deck, drinking a delicious golden beverage. I cannot describe the taste it’s so delicious. A natural high ensues. We reach the menacing 28 Rodriguez asteroids. Ohom nods and an Insectoid crewman hits a switch. The ship shudders a little.
“Done, Ken. Two down and only 26 asteroids to go.” says Ohom.
“That little jolt from the ship made earth safe from two of those huge asteroids?” I say puzzled.
The crew all laugh at my blissful ignorance and Ohom motions them to respectful silence. The seven foot tall blue Insectoid leader Ohom says kindly to me, “We’ve traveled back 5 million years in time. So that little nudge from our ship’s propulsion system is enough to make these first two asteroids miss your solar system completely 5 million years from now on 9/21/ 2015. Happy Birthday, Ken.”
“Awesome, buzz bro. Let’s kick the ass out of the other 26 asteroids while we drink this nectar of the gods!” I smile, downing a sparkling mug.
“Um. The other 26 will be a little trickier. You see, Ken, there are negative forces on your world holding the other 26 in place. The dark forces saw we alerted time, and took care of these two and cried fowl. So it’s going to be up to you, in your human form, and other meditators like you on your world, to rid the skies of the rest of the remaining 26 asteroids yourselves,” Ohom offers sheepishly.
“Free-will regulations suck. Why do we all have to keep on saving the world over and over again from these “nabobs of negativity? To quote Spiro T. Agnew.” I grouse.
“Who is this Spiro T, one of your great philosophers?” says Ohom excitedly.
“Agnew was vice president to Richard Nixon in the 1970s. Kind of a jerk actually,” I say, pleased Ohom is not all-knowing.
Reading my mind, the crew applauds my getting one up on Ohom and I find myself back in bed in Sedona. Only 45 minutes have passed on my nightstand clock. I roll my eyes and mutter to myself, “26 more asteroids to go. It’s gonna be a loooong night!”
And so it is.
LUCID DREAM 2 – 1 AM to 2 AM
It’s time for my Superman visualization. His super powers, combined with new ones I dream up give me even more powers than Supes in mediation and they are badly needed. Superman serves as an inspirational base for my expansion of his super powers. I adapted my now perfected super hero meditation from Connie Miller of Soul Drama, back in 2010. It works on the principle that all of us, Connie teaches, can call on the abilities of our favorite childhood heroes to solve problems in our lives. I just took it to a planetary scale of Reiki.
My childhood favorite hands down is Superman. At one point I had a collection of hundreds of first edition Superman comics. That is until my mom burned them all, worried her sixteen year old boy was living in a world of fantasy. Ah. Little did Mom know I was learning the heroics that in meditation would help me visualize saving billions of lives.
I transform into Super Sheetz form and take off like a bullet, passing right through the roof pf my sweet little Sedona rental home. Up, up and away I soar into the Sedona night sky. Soon the lights of the little town nestled in the red rocks, rocks of iron and crystal that help amp up my meditation powers, are left behind. I will myself to the Rev Efraid Rodriguez cluster of asteroids, hurtling for our blue world.
I note from the spacing of the Rev Efraid (has to be spoof right? E-fraid) asteroids, using my super senses, that Ohom and his team have bought earth another day, five million years ago with their nudge of asteroids 1 &2, which are gone. I will have a Happy Birthday tomorrow, even if I just return to ordinary sleep. But I feel driven, Virgo perfectionist that I am, to get on top of this stream of 26 remaining asteroids. I decide another to knock out 5 asteroids tonight. That is if I can last that long. Lucid dreams of this magnitude are exhausting.
Back in my sleeping body in Sedona, my hand presses against the rough surface of my stucco bedroom wall. I can’t even imagine being in a relationship right now. What woman could ever put up with the super sleeper I am? I do so many world saving mission, knitting the San Andreas fault together, fighting Chemtrails, that a full night of normal non-lucid, sleep is a distant memory. Maybe that’s why I’ve been called to this work so late in life, while I am alone. I was married 18 years and slept solid, well, that is except for occasional nightmares about my twisted childhood that would send be bolting up in bed and scaring my ex-wife half to death. Yeah. My poor ex.
In my lucid asteroid dream, I reach asteroid 26, working my way down in order. I wonder, “Where’s a safe place to get rid of this asteroid so that it never returns?” The sun glints among the stars as if making the invite to accept this asteroid that’s about the size of a football stadium.
Momentum is hard at first, but soon I have asteroid 26 on a sun trajectory and traveling at sufficient velocity to get there and then some. With a super shove I send asteroid 26 off. I watch with my telescopic vision as asteroid 26 nears the speed of light. In a heartbeat, the asteroid that would have wiped out China vanishes into the blaze of the sun. A small sunspot appears in place of its fiery crash.
25 asteroids to go. Still a helluva lot. Excited, I lose my lucid dream connection. I look at my nightstand clock. 2AM. Only another hour has passed. “Need to pick up the pace if I am gonna get this done by September 28th.”
LUCID DREAM 3 – 2 AM to 4 AM
No brag, just fact. After years of training, that I began as child to ward off bad dreams, I am a master lucid dreamer. So I resume the asteroid dream right where I left off. I decide on new strategy. I am going to smash this asteroids into dust and small chunks that will harmlessly burn up on entry to earth’s atmosphere. Fists forward, flying super speed, my heat vision blasting, I make short work of the huge asteroid.
24 asteroids to go.
“See, Ohom? This is going to be easy!” I say accelerating for asteroid 23, like speeding bullet. It’s about the size of Chicago, and heading that way to wipe out most of America, I super-sense. I hit the asteroid near the speed of light, but instead of pulverizing asteroid 24 I bounce off it like a bullet hitting steel. I am flung unconscious though space and crash into Mars, out cold deep inside a new crater. Dazed, I shake the cobwebs from my head and leaps from Mars, returning to battle the dwindling Rev Efraid Rodriguez asteroid cluster train.
I focus my x-ray vision on Asteroid 24 and see it is laced with ugly blood-red veining. It’s having an effect on me like Kryptonite does on Superman. I get too close and I quickly lose my superpowers, even my ability to live without air in space. I desperately space swim to safety out of range. I realize I’ll need to use some smarts to destroy the massive asteroid 24.
Next thing I know I am in Paris, sipping wine at a bistro. A beautiful young Parisian woman seated across from me, dazzling in afternoon sun, explains how to make a french braid from her long brunette hair.
“Huh? How is a hair design an answer to destroying asteroid 24?” I ask in my mind to Ohom. But there is no answer from my higher ET self, so I keep on watching the beauty weave her hair, having faith in my visions. Then it hits me. “She’s showing me how to make rope!” I leap off into the sweet Paris sky and dive into the steamy jungles of the Amazon. I rapidly snap huge vines from giant trees. Using telekinesis, I weave the massive vines into a French braid-like super rope. Told you I have more powers than Superman.
Dreams are like movies. I cut to myself as Super Sheetz swirling a lasso as big as the diameter of Chicago at asteroid 24, from a safe distance where I am immune to the power robbing red veins of this nasty negative asteroid. My space cowboy self ropes asteroid 24. Now, a super human discus thrower, I swing asteroid 24 in giant arcs of accelerating speed. I take aim and release the discus asteroid at the waiting sun. And tricky asteroid 24 is toast.
Still in lucid dream, I cautiously fly toward asteroid 23. Instantly, I begin to worry the asteroid difficulty level may escalate beyond my ability to save earth. Then I stop myself realizing that although this asteroid is smaller than the others, about the size of a US battleship, it possesses a negative super power is purely fear based. Lucky for earth, I’ve learned dark energy like this can’t stand against positive energy. I say, hoping the dark powers behind asteroid 23 can hear my lack of fear,” Piece of cake. No blood veins here. Hope you are wearing sunblock, asteroid 23.”
I push and push until the veins bugle all over my super body, but no dice. I can’t move asteroid 23 an inch. My super-senses tell me asteroid 23 is steadily raging it way for Paris to will wipe out the beauty, who I know was Gaia in human form showing me the answer to asteroid 23. My mind drifts to negativity again,”What would earth be without the soul of Gaia? Lifeless in no time.” No matter how hard I strain myself, fear grows if I am up to this mission.
I decide to go to my ace in the hole, the NEO Neurophone that makes you smarter and more serene. My day job in my day life is promoting the NEO. A real planetary saving device, NEO reverses decades of dumbing down. I hate to sound like this is a plug, but the NEO, short for Neural Efficiency Optimizer is the real deal in real life. NEO has proven a great tool to increase my lucid dreaming and mediation. My dream self puts on the NEO in space, as I hover before fear based face asteroid 23, that I now see is shaped like a giant skull.
I feel the sweet sensation I’ve come to adore of NEO’s ultrasonic bliss, I tap into universal knowledge, flow through my already super powered brain. Soon a new super power opens through my eyes. I can see magnetic energy beams from negative asteroid 23, honed on Paris like a homing beacon. I observe how this asteroid is in fact powered by fears some Parisans have about the doomsayers.
I ask my super powered brain, knowing I am solo and Ohom cannot assist me, “How do I reprogram this meteor to veer harmlessly away from earth?” In a flash of brilliance, a cool birthday gift as I was born exactly this time in the morning 63 years ago to the second, I have my answer: Dr. Emoto. The recently passed doctor experimented with water by labeling bottles and taking microscopic photos of the changes the labels made to the structure of water.
I amp my heat vision up to full power and carve the word LOVE into the side of asteroid 23. I carve hunks of asteroid away from the death mask skull of the asteroid until it is a smiley face. Asteroid 23 trembles as its ugly brown color turns to pure gold.
I carve my name proudly in the side of asteroid 23. If these visions ever prove to have been real, on some Quantum level, I want my signature on this miracle of transformation; the power of love overcoming fear.
“Ken Sheetz Was Here on 9/21/2015 for his birthday!” I burn with my heat vision onto the shiny golden asteroid. A new consciousness awakens in asteroid 23. I sense it no longer wishes to destroy Paris or the earth. Using telepathy I tell asteroid 23, which listens to me like a big happy puppy, about the Asteroid Belt. “You’ll love the Asteroid Bely 23. So many of your kind and you’ll be the Michael Jordan, who wore #23, a gem in the Asteroid belt.” I raise an arm and point the direction of the Asteroid Belt asteroid 23 changes courses and rockets off. Happy with its new life in its new golden heart!
Then I am back in my bed in Sedona. The nightstand clock reads 4 AM. I decide this is all I can do tonight. Gotta get some regular dream sleep or I will not enjoy my birthday. I am 63 but, honestly, I am getting younger and I’ve never had such a great time-saving the world before.
Enjoy my evening meditation video that led to all this lucid dreaming and know, folks, even if I do not have time to blog the rest of the 7 days and 22 asteroids left. Super Sheetz is on it. Earth, and you, are safe.
It is 1960, Bay View Wisconsin. Our fuzzy miniature grey Poodle named Lacy, licks 8-year-old me, giving me love like a crazy. Lacy already has some tumors. She dies sadly, years later, taking on the cancer of our family. A poodle Jesus. But for now I am basking in her very lively lick kisses. I can’t contain my little boy giggles and shout, “Lacy loves me!”
A dear relative, who will remain anonymous, one that never likes seeing me happy, like happiness is something to fear, says clucking their tongue disapprovingly, “Ken, Ken, Ken. You think that dog licking is love?”
“Um, yeah,” I say already dreading the meanness that I know is coming.
My dear relative grins, like they are addressing the village idiot, and looms near my little face, their breath wreaking of cigarette smoke, and says dryly, “Wrong, Kenny boy. Dogs just lick people for the salt on their skin.”
“Feels like love to me!” I say, tears welling. Lacy feels the tension growing in me and tries to lick away my pain.
My dear relative smells my pain and laughs crazily as they deliver their words like a death blow, “Love? From a poodle? Ha! Animals don’t have souls, so they don’t love, except salt. Dogs love salt! Ha ha ha!”
Eight-year-old me has no words. The dear relative sickly relishes the shock on my little boy face. I begin to shake with sorrow and rage at what’s been stolen from me, the love of every animal on planet earth. A word knife is lodged deep in my heart. I shove Lacy off my lap and run bawling to my room to the taunting laughter of the dear relative.
Well, it’s 2014 now. I am a lot wiser. I call bullshit, dear relative. I feel sorry you could not feel love and found it needed to shut my heart like yours. For decades you succeeded. Today I am grown now, awakened and grown wise in the power of love.
So in today’s meditation I send you, dear relative, loving Lacy doggie licks. Lick, lick, lick. Back across time and space, straight to your frozen heart. I see the licking love of our tormented brave family dog Lacy upon your heart. She is a brave furry little hero who your inner guardians are helpless against as she scoots between their legs, effortlessly dodging swords.
You are stunned, dear relative. Penetrated to your frozen core as Lacy runs about your ice caked heart. The poodle darts so fast her grey fur ignites with the flame of love. Barking and licking, she flies so fast she is a streak of fiery love. Crack! The ice about your heart is helpless as the polar ice caps today’s neglect of humanity is wreaking our world. Your heart thaws rapidly. Spring dawns in your wintery soul.
Your hateful side is stranded on a iceberg in an azure ocean. You are a red polar bear trapped by Lacy’s love. The iceberg becomes too small and you fall, roaring the last of your hatred as a new inner ocean of Lacy’s bliss and love drowns the last of your bitterness.
Tugged to safely to shore by the impossibly strong tiny soggy poodle, dear relative, you stagger to your feet on the beach of love, new color in your face. Lacy, job happily done, barks good-bye and zooms back into to her tortured 1960 body and returns to licking the eight-year-old me and you say in wonder…
“I am so sorry, Kenneth. Forgive me. Yes, doggies love salt on our skin, but I see now – oh how I see – that’s their reward for giving love so freely and selflessly!”
You run to join us on the couch, kissing me with love as Lacy licks us both.
“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams from the afterlife
December 2011, I am blessed to spend the Winter Solstice with Don Miguel Ruiz, author of the epic best seller THE FOUR AGREEMENTS to learn Toltec wisdom in the powerful setting of the pyramids of Mexico’s Teotihuacan.
Don Miguel teaches me, among many amazing things that help my DreamShield work, that in reality all of us live in a ghost world. For example: Look up at the sun and you are looking at a ghost image from 8 minutes ago. That’s how long sunlight takes to travel to earth.
Now let’s say you are sitting across the table from a fiend in a restaurant. It still takes the light milliseconds to reach you. So Welcome to the ghost world the Toltec wizard Don Miguel, where all the people we see are in the past, and ever a construct of our minds.
In the profound spirit of Don Miguel’s Toltec lessons, I humbly offer my latest spirit encounter with Robin Williams.
But before we start Robin would like a word with you.
Thanks, Ken, you amazing gorgeous human being helping save the planet working for peanuts in the spirit work, as an unknown, but not for long voice. I hope the fame heading your way never sends you back to that place and time when as a real estate mogul/dick and all you cared about was the cha ching. You deserve a spirit Oscar, broheem!
The dearly departed spirit of Robin Williams here. Real as a case and ever returning like a case of spirit herpes. BTW, Ken has doubts I am nothing more than a ghost pattern in his memory, bit of undigested veggie chili fries made by his smoking hot friend Genevieve, as he learned from Don Miguel Ruiz. Donnny boy, I’m on the other side now and here to tell you the ancient Toltecs smoltecs only have it half right. It’s beautiful over here, family, friends and fans. That’s FFFs for short. Which I’ll FFFing keep this.
Ignore Ken’s senior moment doubts. Ignore doubting Toltec wizards who miss the point: thought travels faster than the speed of light. Ignore anyone dick who tells you the human spirit dies at death. And while you are at it, feel free as hell to ignore those who make living out of warping spirit with these made up branded-religions, dreamed up by ancient marketing experts like so much bottled water. Spirit flows, has no rules. Knows no boundaries of what to eat, what to wear, what to think, bubba. From priests to rabbis, none of these jerkwads in the end know jack shit. None of you lovely people do.
Now some skeptics out there are saying right now as they read my spirit words channeling through Ken, who is not the greatest typist BTW, ” LO if you, kind ghost, be you in fact the great spirit of the Robin Williams, who loveth to curse like a sailor, and no PG Popeye of sailor, in his standup, pray tell us some things only the sweet Robin would know, while editing out the F.U.s!”
No can do, Nanoo. You see, that part of me, the meat brain that held my memory is gone. Even my heart is gone, all I am is spirit now. Which is kind of like saying, “All I am is the universe.” So there is no database left for me to play parlor tricks that you sad sacks would not believe in anyways.”
To the doubters and naysayers, ever those who loved me in life who be pissed about all this ghosting shit I feel compelled to, with this ghost whisper Sheetzy, who will invariably say the poor lad is profiteering off my grisly end. I have two words to that, which I somehow remember from the great beyond, and they ain’t nanoo nanoo.
Now, get off your duffs and share the link-magic of how I am still with ya’all! Subscribe to Sheetzy blog and buckle up for Peter Pan’s Battle of Area 51, just the beginning of my work with Ken and many others on the earth. I’m omnipresent now, bithces!
– Cosmic hugs, Robin
PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51
By Ken Sheetz and Robin’s Ghost
In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts. I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully. I love my little used Jeep, my first car owned in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991 and lots of spot leasing that makes me a Gold Club Hertz man, I recall as I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.
I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before. Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.
The Orion Ohom informed me along the way, “Careful, Ken. High danger alert. Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria. To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.”
“How cheery,” I answer Ohom as I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence. I tiptoe past a sleeping guard. I’m in.
I crest a rocky desert hill. Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid. It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy. Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?” I shout. “You in there, buddy?”
“Psst, keep your damn voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then screams getting sucked back in.
I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor. This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings. I’d give you a link but stick with me. No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.
As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged. Overwhelmed by deep sorrow. Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears. The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone as an nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood. I become confused. Lost. Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.
I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus, GMOs and more and more. My father’s indestructible red armor begins to spark and short out. I trip and fall face first to the desert floor. Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear. I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.
I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy? You OK, bud? Ooh. Sorry to drag you on your face. You look like you went a few round with Popeye, bro. Ca-ca-ca! What a rotten way to start a Monday.”
I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my nose, tender to the touch and say, “Guess that force field is meant to keep out the living. You like fine and dandy.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot in this corporate fairy Iand I am dead for a moment there!” kids Robin trying to hide his sadness.
This virtual world is a well organized commercial paradise inside the spirit HARP. Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia. No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems. “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection and advertising,” I groan as an advertising blimp for McDonald’s new Quadrupole Bypass Burger floats by overhead in a cotton candy sky.
The voice of Ohom says for Robin and I to hear, “All this virtual reality is broadcast to the galaxy by Murdock Rupert. True source of his wealth.”
“Whoa! Whose talking to us, Sheetzy? Little green men?” says Robin at hearing Ohom strange voice.
“Long story,” I say as Robin helps me to my feet.
“Humor me. I’m dead and we have all of eternity, Kenny boy,” says Robin.
“Please don’t call me that. I have brother who just got out of Florida jail for two months for drinking and drugging who calls me Kenny boy,” I say sadly.
“Ah, yes, Fred. You’ve told me about his famed Near Beer Recovery program, doomed to fail. Sheetzy OK with you, my fellow sensitive friend?” I nod and Robin continues, “So the voice?”
“Hey, Robin, huge fan of your work, man,” says the disembodied voice of Ohom, echoing over the perfectly manicured lawn where a nasty looking android cop turns his head 360 degrees searching for us.
“Yeah, that one drawing attention of the police bots to us!” says Robin pulling me into crouch to hide behind a huge Ronald McDonald statue.
Ohom whispers now, “Sorry. I am Ken’s higher ET self, of the Orion star system. His guide to help him save you and himself. This place will be most difficult to escape as there will be many distractions. Could take several eons to get out.”
“Nanoo nanoo, ET brother from another mother earth. So why aren’t you in here helping us?” says Robin, not quite knowing where to look as he speaks to the air.
“Grey stolen alien tech powers the Spirit HARP. Keeps my race of Nekatrians and all other ETs out. But I can see and hear and help you through Ken’s handsome blue eyes,” whispers Ohom.
“I can tell you more about Ohom later, Robin, Let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” I urge Robin.
“OK. But you’re weirder than I am, Sheety and that’s saying something!” jokes Robin as we exit some hedges near the force field.
Hours later, after many strange distracting adventures in half built house of both our childhoods that almost make us forget to escape this fake branded corporate nightmare, Robin and I hunt in earnest for some kind of exit. Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk. The sunset is dazzling. I whistle at the beauty all around us.
“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard. You been in here now with me for six weeks, ” Robin says.
“Yup! This place is like America, filled with distractions. Look at that poor bastard over there!” says Robin.
A guy who looks a lot like my brother Fred runs on a giant gerbil wheel chasing a hot stripper holding a six pack of beer.
“Is that, my brother?” I say.
“Never met Fred. How the hell should I know?
The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.
“Yeah, let’s keep moving. Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.
“Sorry about you dad’s super suit. Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.
“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.
“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.
“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.
“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville. Oh, wait… Forgot to cut my earthly tether. Yikes. I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.
“My fault. Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground. “Happy to see you again, man! Watched you in HOOK with my night. Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.” I say doing my best acting brave to hide my loneliness that in the real world of Sedona
Williams jokes, speaking in that hilarious mile a minute rapid fire way of his,”Whoa, Sheetyz. I am an Oscar winner. Plus I can minds read now to boot. Hmm, I see you’re only “acting” all brave and all supy-superman-like. You got some serious Kryptonite poisoning over this spirit daughter of yours moving out of your digs.”
“Got me,” I say, embarrassed at my childhood abandonment issues are still crippling my life after all the spirit healing I’ve been doing.
“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.
“For what?” I say
“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.
“I did not faint. Women faint. I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.
“Whoa. Relax, man. This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost hope and change agenda. We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise. Coffee sucks here, BTW. Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup! I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.
As I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time. Change to yourself age 8. I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”
“Uh, not really, uh, time. Busting you out of here now before — ”
“Go ahead. Try, Ken. Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye. Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.
I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.
“Spiritual impotency alert! AGH! AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.
“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.
“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench. “My lap is safer than Santa’s, Come on. Up!”
I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me. With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life. A spirit daughter is rare. Appreciate her without smothering her. Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”
I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick. “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.
“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not. He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken. Genevieve’s not your mommy who left you many times as a child because she was afraid of your meanie Captain Hook of a dad, Genevieve is not your grandma who got kicked out by your mean papa and most certainly Genevieve is not your dear auntie who died from loving beer more than you.”
“She’s not?” my eight-year-old self asks innocently.
“Uh uh. She’s simply Genevieve Munoz. A sweet young lady exploring her own life who happened to cross paths with yours. A special friend, a temporary housemate, who used to be your grandma Anna in a past life. Well, I guess that’s not so simple,” says Robin gently lifting me for a swirl and standing little me up on the path. “Wanna play a game I call HELLO AND GOODBYE, little Kenny?” Robin offers, looking irresistibly mischievous.
“Ok…” I say reluctantly, not liking the sound of the GoodBye part of this game.
“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.
“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.
“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head. Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes. My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering. Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.
Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!” Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me. I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.
“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.
“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.
Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin. He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl. I spin around. “Oh no…” I whisper. My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.
“Hey, you little shit. Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words. He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.
I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan. “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin. But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.
“Don’t leave me with my Daddy! He will hurt me! He’s mean! Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.
Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.
“No! Peter Pan please. Fly me away to Neverland with you. My papa is mean. He’ll kill us both!” I beg.
“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you. Your pops is an abusing jerk. I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work. Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.
“NO! NO! My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me. I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close. I puke again on the manicured lawn. The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.
Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You! You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your. You sir are bad dad!”
“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights? Whatcha gonna do about it? Ken’s a rotten kid. The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.
“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?” As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.
My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”
But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”
“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly. My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.
“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind! Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.
“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.
“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,” kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.
I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.
My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest. “Huh? Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned. He looks at me as if wanting help. But I was a helpless child again. Watching two people I love fight. My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.
“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed. I am going to gut you like a fish! I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you. Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”
“Hello, little Kenny? A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.
“Can’t. Can’t help you, Peter Pan. I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.
“Hello, Little Kenny! Then ain’t it time you grow up? Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.
Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide! Williams shouldn’t be here. Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man. This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.
“I loved Robin’s movies. He died of depression. No different from someone dying of car crash. This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.
The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”
Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me. Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth. Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.
I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history. I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”
My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur. Every woman leaves you. And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces? Me! Ha! You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you? You make me sick, boy.”
“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook. Thanks for all you’ve done. I’m grateful, Dad. You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro. But I felt your love, your loyalty. Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.” I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.
“Growed up? Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50? That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy. You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes. They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance. Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.
“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love. I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.
“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two. But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head. I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.
Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo! Sheetz is all grown up. Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”
I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig. Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts. Today, I am proud.”
My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth. And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace. For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.
Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture. A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot. I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver. Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle
“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide. So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now. My father nods “yes” respectfully.
Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”
“What do you say, Pops? My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.
“I like it here, Son. Fought in Korea to create all this perfection. Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world. A blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.
“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me. I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore. Lost myself in the booze and drugs. I miss my wife and kids. My fans. Help your son. It’s time we started over. And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.
My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer. Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations. One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.
“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly. He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.
“For my birth daughter Janelle and spirit daughter Genevieve, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.
“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.
Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us. His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light. Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa! For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”
Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”
“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.
Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy. We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel. Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”
“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!
A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base. My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP. The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.
“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out. “Uh, sorry. Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”
“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form. Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.
“What make you say that? Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.
“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids. And more importantly, our inner kids. That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.
“No arguments here, Robin. Well, I guess this is goodbye. Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.
“Agh! Not yet. I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy. So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight. We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.
A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.
“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name is the same as the woman Ohom, my spirit guide has told me is my prefect mate but who has yet to accept my invite to Sedona. Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, Elizabeth. I wish you’d wrap up life in LA and come to Sedona.”
Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan. “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion. I said it knowing since Ohom is right about everything that she and I will meet again and share many adventures.”
“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.
I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it. Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello. I’m cool now.”
Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51. Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”
“But I have work to do today. Tax reports need –”
“Time is not linear, Ken. So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.
I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.