I took a long healing nap today. Doing lots of sleeping to beat the walking pneumonia. When I woke I was not feeling great and I asked one of my spirit guides, Ben Franklin, who you can clearly see in cloud photo I took yesterday, the start of the Grand Cross, “What is wrong with me, Ben?”
Ben showed me this vision I’ve created here based on what he showed me is happening right now. It’s part of my ongoing vision art series for http://dreamshield.org/ I’ve been doing since first seeing visions like these in 2010. Ben told me to “Hang in there, kid. Big changes in government are streaming in that will affect the world for a long time after the Cardinal Grand Cross is past. Fear not. All will be well… including you, Ken.”
More in from Ben. “The Cardinal Grand Cross is a powerful moment for the people of earth to assume their rightful place as the peacemakers of this solar system. Go out tonight under the stars and make peace among the warring planets.”
Some say he was needy.
Yet Simon McGreidie
Was something far worse.
Oh, the things he’d curse.
Blackness flew from his lips
When not in the chips
Words far worse than foul.
Expressed by a deepening scowl
He wore night and day
When not winning hay.
Young Simone McGredie
Far worse than needy
Has a lovely wife
Two kids, a happy life.
Having it all is not enough.
So he acts mean, acts tough.
He is best in the world
With emotions swirled.
Driven to endless toil.
Until his blood comes to boil.
Don’t be too hard on the lad.
Being number one was all he had.
Taught from age one
To be a faithful son
In the ways of winning.
From the beginning.
A sleeping warrior of hardened steel.
On the altar of commerce did he kneel.
While still in the womb.
McGreidie was already in his tomb.
A slave to the system.
A most willing victim.
Simone McGreidie
Worse than needy
Toils in the Matrix sound asleep
Endless dead work for to keep.
“If it can be imagined it is real.” – Pablo Picasso
Pablo, I love you for saying that. It means every thought that enters my mind has validity. And for this wild and Looney Tunes vision, occurring in the wee hours of 3.28.14, when I chuckled myself back to sleep, Picasso’s wisdom comforted me.
Patrick Flanagan and Stephanie Sutton in Love Forever
I told the amazing Patrick Flanagan and Stephanie Sutton of PhiSciences today, as we worked on a breathtaking crowd funder for NewNeurophone that will make the world smarter, unreal in itself, that I don’t think myself nuts when I get nutty visions.
As I explained Pat and Steph, and now share with you, dear reader, the universe is a big place and ordinary Hollywood people like me, and greats like Lucas, who’s never come out in the open like me, are very sensitive and pick up on real energy reaching us from across the stars. Writers are channels. And I would venture to say no idea we ever get is fictional, but real somewhere in the vast cosmos.
But, and a big bite you on the butt “but”, to take your visions as literal reality is a mistake. Why? Because you end up as an egotistical jerk. Such is the dark road to making yourself a prophet or pope of a new religion. And we don’t need any more of religious nonsense! Science and spirit are the way to healthy enlightenment.
And, boy, do I see too much of a serious attitude about visions here in Sedona. A place where the red rocks, laced with iron and crystals, amp dreams to such a profound degree that even the gas station attendants here are psychic to some degree that’s unnerving at times. Enough so I leave Sedona regularly for visits to the real world.
A double-think works to keep me real and humble about the epic visions I get. One that sent me all the way to Antarcitca on 12.12.12. One that keeps me real and humble even in the intensity of Sedona’s many vortexes and in a land filled with Hopi spirits of the dead.
The double think that keeps me real is to simply treat my visions as both real and unreal. This simple trick keeps me grounded, while letting my heart soar. It is something I learned from famed producer Barnet Bain. Barney, as he lets me call him as we became pals in a 2010 New Jersey workshop called Souldrama, is currently working on adapting JONATHAN LIVINGSTON SEAGULL to the screen and produced the awesome film starring Robin Williams, WHAT DREAMS MAY COME.
Last night, I was blessed to be invited to an intimate Sedona inter-dimensional birthday party for the amazing healer and channel Laurel Lyons. Her friends Gaia and Shannon did some healing with crystals bowls that were as exquisite as the large white bowl of Laurel’s. The harmonies were superb. Laurel channeled Pleadians and she gave wisdom for each us as gifts, we lucky party guests. And I love how Laurel is spiritually powered up yet grounded. I met Laurel through my wonderful assistant on the crowd funder, Genevieve Munoz.
A portal opened as the sound healing party guests worked their magic on Laurel and us all. In my mind’s eye I saw a pine cone glowing red-hot. Talk about a healing activation for my pineal gland!
After the great party, filled with good company, wound down and I went home. And all through the night I communed with a race of beings who evolved from ducks! They are from a world called Dalphine, millions of billions of light years from here and in the 6th dimension.
Friendly and straight forward the Dalphines introduced themselves, saying thumbs down for Lucas’s HOWARD THE DUCK but that they love Daffy and Donald Duck as more accurate representations of their species. So this means they have a temper, can be acerbic and love pranks. Quack!
The Dalhine world is like none other we’ve ever seen; a series of flat rectangles floating in a cluster forming a giant cube. They call Dalphine a flock world. It’s an artificial world they built when their original world was destroyed by asteroids, eons ago.
Ohom, my Orion higher self, confirmed the Dalphines are members of The League of Ghost Worlds, here to help humanity avert self extinction. But he warned me the Dalphine’s can be tricksters, and a little, well, Daffy.
I share all this profound silliness with you, while taking non of it too seriously, while looking for the serious message within. Namaste.
Spirit reporting the wackiest vision I ever had for http://dreamshield.org./ Drop by and see the new website.
Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive. – The Dahli Lama
I tire of scientists comparing humans to monkeys. One may as well compare an abacus to a super computer for brain power.
Ah, but if we humans are honest, and we seldom are, who’s really smarter where it counts? A species that’s slave to a mumbo jumbo of rules domineering males dreamed up long ago, now painfully outdated, for us all to live by? Or a peace-loving species that lives in harmony with nature?
Let’s not do monkeys the disservice and cruelty of experimenting on them in search of humankind’s answers. Heck, it might take 1 billion thick skull humans to make a shift, not 100 like in the more harmonic species of ape. Leave the sweet monkeys out of our issues.
Yes, the sooner we accept we’re on our own figuring a way out of the mess we’ve made if this world, with our so-called super brains, the better off we’ll all be.
“Love is the bee that carries the pollen from one heart to another.” ― Slash Coleman, The Bohemian Love Diaries: A Memoir
By Ken Sheetz
Kyle finishes his afternoon classes in a haze. He stumbles up the hallway and bumps into a jock.
“Watch where you’re walking, nerd,” shouts the red faced jock, towering over Kyle.
“Sorry. I volunteered for a virtual reality thing and I’m…” says Kyle as he’s shoved into a locker by the jock.
“Wait, did you say virtual reality?” said the jock, his interest softening him instantly.
“Not as much fun as you think,” says Kyle, rubbing his sore shoulder.
“Why not? Name’s Bud, BTW,” says Bud, new respect in his earnest eyes.
“Thought it would be like video game for real, but it’s not like I am myself, ” says Kyle.
“Maybe that’s a good thing!” laughs Bud.
But the jock’s humor is lost in Kyle as he adds, “I lose ME. It’s like I’m totally someone else.”
“Dummy. That’s why we play video games. After getting beat up in playing football I love getting lost in my video games where I can’t be hurt,” says Bud.
“That’s the thing. In this virtual reality you smell, feel and hear everything!”
“Whoa! As who? Who are you in this game?” says Bud.
“I’m this old wizard dude named Zylph. I look kinda like Gandalf. His arthritis bugs me. Hurts like hell when Zylph fights dragons and shit,” says Kyle.
“Intense!” shouts Bud.
Three jocks passing in the hall are shocked the star quarterback of the football team is talking to a nerd like Kyle. One of them shouts, “Joining the debate team, Bud?”
Bud just flips them off as he continues talking to Kyle, “Any hot chicks in the game?”
“It’s not a game. I don’t know what to call it. But, yeah. This ice fairy named Antarcticania saved my life. She’s disguised herself as peasant girl to Zylph, who’s clueless she saved his butt from the green dragon,” says Kyle, rubbing his head. These memories are painful.
“Maybe they’d let me take your place?” offers Bud.
“I’ll chase him round the moons of Nibia and round the Antares maelstrom and round perdition’s flames before I give him up!” (Kahn inStar Trek II: The Wrath of Khan)
By Ken Sheetz
Happy first official day of the new Mayan Age, the golden age, 1/27/14. Since 12.21.12 we have been passing through a 400 day buffer time between ages, something I learned of from respected DreamShield member Gary Christmas, yesterday on Facebook.
We must remain patient despite the fact things will still look messed up on our world for sometime. You see, I was told in Antarctica for 6 days, starting 12.12.12 to help halt the pole shift and transmute all that negative energy into a shift of human consciousness through a series of meditations I was guided to perform there, that the shift into the Golden Age will still take 50 years…
“Every great architect is – necessarily – a great poet. He must be a great original interpreter of his time, his day, his age.” – Frank Lloyd Wright
By Ken Sheetz
One day I’d like to take a very basic tract home in a humdrum suburb and transform it into a wild place where the laws of space and time vanish the moment you cross the front door’s threshold.
Perhaps the bedroom is in Japan, complete with a view of the Tokyo harbor, while the living room is nestled at the white-hot heart of a red dwarf star.
The garage is Africa, complete with a pride lions and a herd of performing circus elephants, who’ve been released into the wild, but they still like to put on a great show for we silly home owners.
The bath is the entire Pacific ocean, underwater, where a band of Lumarians perform nightly with mermaids to an audience of millions of dolphins who squeak their applause.
The kitchen is Teotihuacan of old when city was a living space port. I’d give guided tours of the galaxy for only just a hug.
Green goats live in the “kids” room, where chanting Buddhist monks milk the goats as they chant, “Ommm-g this milk is very god.” No typo.
The attic is a bat cave where I hang with the dark knight as my Superman self. Each night Bat’s and I go on missions to kick evil’s ass in the humble suburban neighborhood, lost deep in the Matrix.
The flat screen TV is a portal for time and dimension traveling.
“I’ll chase him round the moons of Nibia and round the Antares maelstrom and round perdition’s flames before I give him up!” (Kahn inStar Trek II: The Wrath of Khan)
By Ken Sheetz
Happy first official day of the new Mayan Age, the golden age, 1/27/14. Since 12.21.12 we have been passing through a 400 day buffer time between ages, something I learned of from respected DreamShield member Gary Christmas, yesterday on Facebook.
We must remain patient despite the fact things will still look messed up on our world for sometime. You see, I was told in Antarctica for 6 days, starting 12.12.12 to help halt the pole shift and transmute all that negative energy into a shift of human consciousness through a series of meditations I was guided to perform there, that the shift into the Golden Age will still take 50 years to manifest fully. The ETs explain earth manifests at this planetary scale at the rate of a large tree growing from seed to maturity.
Today is the first sprout of that tree of transformation. There’s much work to do and our world’s stepping away from the brink of self-destruction is not assured unless we take action. Meditation is simply our way of getting guidance. We are on our own. Thems the rules, my fellow earthlings!
THE WISCONSIN PROJECT
I had powerful ET visit last night where I was told by Ohom, my ET spirit guide from the Orion star system, about something called The Wisconsin Project. Ohom told me that my prayers for help as a young boy, suffering child abuse at the hands of a drunken father and the neglect of a brokenhearted mother, were heard at the ET base in Antarctica and answered. There were nightly extractions where I was repaired and given abilities to cope with horrendous physical and mental abuse. I credit all this ET work with the fact anyone not knowing my past will tell you I must have come from a happy home to be so well-adjusted. Well, that was before I began sharing my visions and past sufferings as a child in order to enlighten and free minds.
And Ohom told me I was not the only Sheetz family member saved each night aboard spirit space ships from the League of Ghost Worlds, a collective of worlds that have gone extinct and are seeking to help humanity to not follow in their footsteps before we attain the ability to live outside the bounds of time and space as they do with grace and ease. You see all worlds go extinct eventually. It’s inevitable. The sad extinctions are the self-extinctions. A path we as a species are on right now and the ETs we have seen as angels, since ancient times, are here to help us divert from for our sake and for all the creatures on our blue marble in space.
So last night, after conferring deeply with Ohom, I went into meditation at 3:13 AM, to take my first trip of the Golden Age outside my body. I left my body in Sedona after saying prayers, just like I did as a child: The Hail Mary, The Our Father and The Act of Contrition. Though not a practicing Catholic today, these prayers remain magic to my child mind and work magic for me in meditation.
Once again the prayer words rang true, and I was soon rocketing out of my body in Sedona and high above the earth. I started heading down into the green aurora field lighting the skies above Antarctica. I touched down before a tall mountain with no foothills that abruptly met the flat as a pancake ice sheet . A dot of green light appeared at the top of the tall mountain that grew downward into a slit of intense lime green light.
Mashup by Ken Sheetz from Nasa Photos
I walked through the green light slit in the mountain and found myself inside a vast hangar, safe from the severe cold I was beginning to notice even in my indestructible astral body, complete with ethereal armor . Spaceships and pilots were everywhere, in a scene almost out of Star Wars. I realized this hangar was the real deal, a channeled message to George Lucas. No Tan Tans in sight though.
None of the aliens and humans took much notice of me. Finally I came to a spaceship that my father, a great mechanic while he was alive, to my shock was happily repairing. Overjoyed to see me, Dad dropped his tools clanking and scrambled up from underneath the spaceship, much like an X-wing fighter Ala Star Wars, to give me one of his famed bear hugs. But I accepted his hug without returning any love. My dad’s young face, he looked about 27 now, despite passing at age 82, looked pained at my rejection.
“Sorry for not letting you know Zylph is one of my higher selves, Ken,” my father said sincerely. Sincerity I never heard from him in life. Nonetheless, these sincere words were strange first words. I’ve not seen or spoken to my dead father in visions for a couple of years now. Not for lack of trying! Ohom had told me my Dad was far away on a mission I’ve yet to learn of. Stay tuned. Now here he was back in my life again, without a word.
My young dead father’s face showed he knew how much that deception had upset me, once I deduced Zylph’s higher-self connection to my father. Now, Zylph’s acerbic sense of humor made sense. My father in life was a dark comic who never found a stage, unless you count his bar escapades.
“Yeah, Dad, That was damn wrong on so many levels I don’t know where to start. Why? I had made my peace with you. No need to hide behind your higher Zylph self just because you skipped the galaxy for a few years. The whole thing makes me wary of all Zlyph shared with me about removing the old to make way for the new. It seriously messed with my head like when you’d torment me as a kid. Seems you are still prone to mind games even in the afterlife,” I said, angry steam coming from my breath in the cold hangar, where spaceships came and went through the green crevice in the hollow mountain’s face.
“We don’t change, much as you might think when we die, sonny boy. But I am trying. Trying damn hard. Don’t let my screw up make you doubt Zylph. He’s me, but from a couple billion years in the future and has a lot to share. Yes, Zylph has a powerful dark side like me, but it’s in way more in check two billion years from now. Harnessed for good. We all need the dark and light to run this universe. And Zylph loves you like I do, ” said my dead father, wiping the old familiar grease from his hands to avoid my glare.
Ohom, a 7 foot tall Orion who has been chief spirit guide to me since 2010, quietly joined us, seeking to break the cold tension, as thick as the ice sheet of Antarctica.
“Your father, though in spirit form now, remains divinely human. William seeks daily to better integrate his bipolar natures expressed in one body, Ken,” said Ohom in his usually calm and soothing voice.
“Ohom, I’ve trusted you completely since 2010, letting you use my body and speak through me in videos and every day life! I asked you if Zylph, a new ET spirit seeking to guide me, could be trusted. And you said, ‘Yes, Zylph has much to share about planetary mass media and life,'” I said almost in tears, my heart pained this great being had allowed my father’s deception. “Some of the rage of my father leached back into me through Zylph. I suspect it destroyed an important relationship I was exploring with a housemate I adored in Sedona.”
“Zylph is his own being in his own right, just as I am the high self of you, so it is with Zylph and your father. My answer stands true, Zlyph has much to share to help save your world. But I see now by the profound pain in your heart how much this conscious omission of mine has cost us all. Worst of all, the love of someone dear to you that you sought to win was lost as result of my mistaken actions. I should have told you of Zylph being a higher self of your father. I hope you will accept my deepest apology for concealing the whole truth from you, Ken, on behalf myself and The League of Ghost Words, ” said Ohom, his blue wings sagging a bit at his shame.
“I promise to never withhold the whole and complete truth from you again, my Ken-Self. You see, I wanted so much, too much, to have you see how far you father’s spirit will evolve into the great Zylph. So much so that my better judgement was affected. I, like your father, like me/you, am also not perfect,” said Ohom so sincerely and lovingly that my spirit brightened instantly.
“If you brought me here to this secret Antarctica base as an apology, Ohom and Dad… Well, pretty damn cool! Come here, you SOB!” I motioned to my father and gave him a bear hug back to let he and Ohom know all was forgiven.
“So you’ll listen to Zylph again?” my father cautiously asked, nervous he’d blown the connection with his well-intentioned if misguided deception for good.
“I need to think on that Gordian knot some more, Dad. But, probably. With knowing who Zylph is maybe I can put some filters in place against the contagion of your ancient rage,” I said, my worries of Zylph possessing me already fading. The pain in my heart over the deceptions melting, like the ice upon the spaceships my dad was repairing in the hanger’s relative warmth.
Ohom joined in the hug and the three of us, my dead father, now a quantum spaceship mechanic, me and the lovable 7 foot tall blue angel-like Orion, remained in embrace without words until I found myself wrapped snug in my cover in bed and back in my body in Sedona.
I thought, pulling up the covers in my cozy Sedona bed, about a dream I’d had a few nights ago about Zylph, who is from an Arabic-like world in the Antares star system 2 billion years from now. And how he and a team of other ET Arabs fearlessly rescued me from prison pit of despair over the loss of my housemate, their white robes flowing as red para sails burst forth to save me. And so I finally forgave Zylph, my father’s future higher self. In that blissful moment I went to peacefully to sleep. If sleep is what you can call what I do anymore.
Many more dreams of others people like me came in one of the most exhausting nights of my life. Dreams of many being saved from child abuse by the ETs of The League of Ghost Worlds and The Wisconsin Project came to me like old memories of childhood playgrounds on other planets. Comforted that I now have an ET father, looking out for me as penance for his sins in life in many forms, the most prominent being Zylph from Antares, I finally found dreamless rest nestled in the powerful red rocks of Sedona on this first early morning of the Golden Age.
PhiSciences.com’s Dr. Patrick Flanagan and his amazing wife Stephanie Sutton
Visit DreamShield.org to see my meditations in Antarctica and the work I am doing to record the amazing super scientist Patrick Flanagan, of PhiSciences.com who also speaks to Ohom and considers him a valuable spirit guide.
Last here is the link to an amazing new crowd funder in prelaunch where you can volunteer and be in the inner circle in bringing an amazing device called the Neurophone, proven in numerous university tests since 1957, to boost intelligence. I am a happy user of the device and it greatly has improved my meditation and writing!
“The notion that science and spirituality are somehow mutually exclusive does a disservice to both.”– Carl Sagan
By Ken Sheetz
Once upon an alternate universe, a wizard named Zlyph did battle with an evil green dragon who had slain his king and queen while he was on a quest to a far away land.
The master-less wizard fought the green dragon with a magical ice sword to the highest minaret of the castle.
“Why do you persist, wizard? Your king and queen are ash. This castle is now my realm!” bellowed the dragon, blasting a gout of green flame.
“Guilt for being far away when you made your sneak attack compels me, foul one. Vengeance for King Ior and Queen Ilsa!” said the wizard Zylph. But he tripped over a fallen knight’s armor and was knocked out.
The green dragon cackled as he loomed over the unconscious wizard, “Too easy! Farewell, wizard.” The green dragon drew in a deep breath and prepared to incinerate Zylph.
But before the wicked dragon could strike a fairy queen made of ice leaped from the wizard’s sword.
“Dragon, you should be ashamed of yourself!” the ice fairy queen shouted.
The dragon reeled back a few paces and said, “Ashamed of what?”
“Ashamed of a rage and fury that has taken enough lives. Go now in peace and leave this wizard to mourn the loss of his tribe,” said the ice fairy queen.
“I, I’ve met none such as you in the worlds I travel. I sense no fear in you whatsoever. You have extinguished me rage, my flame… But I can still crush you in my jaws!” the green dragon snapped at the ice fairy queen but she simply turned to snow flakes that reformed a few feet away.
“Do not try my patience, dragon. You shall not have the wizard for he is a savior to my people. I guard him forever. Fly for your life now, or face my icy wrath!” said the ice fairy queen.
“I shall depart and leave this old fool to you. My work is done here. But before I take wing there is a price for my leave,” said the dragon.
“Ask and I will consider, dragon.”
“Your name, fairy. What is it so that I may curse your name in my exile from the castle I rightly won in combat?” said the green dragon.
“I am known as Antarcticania, queen of the Orions. But know this, dragon. Curse me and your belly will turn to ice and you will perish in an instant. Be gone. You waste my time. I must tend to the wizard Zylph, savior of my people. Fly!” said Antarcticania setting loose blizzard atop the castle.
The dragon leaped into the winter storm bellowing in rage, “You have not seen the last of me, witch!”
The wizard blinked his eyes as he awoke in the king’s bed. He rubbed the knot on the back of his head, remembering he had been knocked cold in his battle with dragon.
“How in King Ior’s name did I get in the king’s bed?” said the wizard, not expecting and answer and shocked when the ice fairy queen stepped through the door. But she wore an enchantment that made her look like a simple peasant woman, through which her inner fairy beauty shone through like the sun behind a heavy laden snow cloud.
“Please lay back on rest, brave wizard. You’ve had a nasty blow to the head and may be suffering forgetfulness of your amazing defeat of the green dragon,” said the ice fairy, taking no credit for saving the wizard.
“Last thing I remember was tripping over something and conking my thick skull,” said the wizard laying back down from dizziness.
“Perhaps, great one, you have cast a spell over yourself to cause you to battle when your wits are affected,” smiled the ice fairy.
“Where is my ice sword, fair one?” said the wizard.
“You impaled the dragon with the ice sword and he flew off in a rage of hellfire ice sword and all,” said the ice fairy, keeping the secret she and the ice sword were one from the dazed wizard.
“Hmm. I can be scrappy. I guess my instincts took over. But I would never drag myself to the royal chamber to slumber,” grumped the wizard.
“You passed out after defeating the dragon and I carried you here. I meant no disrespect to your king and queen, god rest their souls,” said the ice fairy.
“Who are you? And why are you here when all perished in the castle?” said the wizard, his suspicion growing by the second.
“I am Anna, a simple severing girl of Queen Ilsa’s. I hid deep in the castle’s secret chambers during the dragon attack, ” smiled the ice fairy queen, not revealing her royal standing.
As the ice fairy smiled, the walls of the castle melted before the shocked wizard’s eyes. The wizard transformed into a 20-year-old college student, Kyle Rodger, sitting before computer screen where the green dragon was battling the ice fairy.
“Thanks, Mr. Rodgers, that will be all for today. Don’t want to keep you from your classes,” said a lab tech as she removed electrodes from Kyle’s head.
It’s 2014. I’m meditating in my new home in Sedona, trying to make contact with my 1991 self.
I see myself at age 39, working late in my offices at 303 West Madison in downtown Chicago, on the 19th floor. The staff has gone home. I’m still grinding—working harder and longer than everyone else, as usual.
It’s January 4, 1991. Snow drifts past the big dual-pane office windows.
On my desk is an invitation to a late New Year’s Eve office party a competitor is throwing in the East Loop. I’m debating whether to go. Parties weren’t my thing in 1991—and they aren’t now. My brain hurts at parties. I’m a one-on-one person.
Across the street looms the under-construction skyscraper I’m the managing partner of: One North Franklin. I’m tense as hell. The curtain wall—the skin of the building—is badly behind schedule. If the project is late, I stand to lose $8 million in guarantees.
So 1991 me paces the office like a caged animal.
Back in 2014, I’m thrilled to discover this time-machine compartment of my brain—one that’s always been there, waiting for me to open the hatch and fire it up. I can easily read my 1991 mind:
Dammit. Is the GC still working? Should I chew his ass out now for screwing up my building—or wait until Monday?
It’s worth noting: I’d been having conversations like this with myself long before my spiritual awakening in 2010—before Italy, before the ET-angel encounters, before the meditation work that eventually took me to Antarctica. (If you want the wider arc of that journey, it lives over on DreamShieldPlanetaryMeditations.com.)
So answering myself now feels oddly natural.
“It won’t matter,” I say to my 1991 self. “Nothing you do is going to save this project. Go home to your wife and kids.”
1991 Ken stops dead mid-pace.
“Where did that voice come from?”
He hurries to the door and peers into the empty hallway.
“I’m in your head,” I say.
“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”
“Your wife is right about the working too hard part,” I reply. “But you’re not going nuts.”
A phone call from a client snaps the connection. An hour later, I’m back—this time riding along in his emerald-green Jaguar as he drives home to Lake Forest.
“I’m back,” I say—nearly causing him to swerve off the Kennedy Expressway.
“Who are you—and how are you inside my head?”
“Who do I sound like?”
“Dad?” he asks, uneasy.
“Way off. I’m you—Ken Sheetz, 23 years in the future.”
He laughs nervously. “Time-traveling from the future? Prove it. Tell me something no one else could possibly know.”
I don’t hesitate.
“You and Gloria had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”
He goes quiet.
“Jesus. You are me. Or I’m losing my mind.”
“I can prove it another way. Tomorrow—January 5, 1991—the Redskins beat the Eagles 20–6. The final score comes from a third-quarter field goal. Randall Cunningham throws for exactly 205 yards.”
“What’s Google?” he asks.
“A company that will become the source of almost all human knowledge.”
He shakes his head. “If that game happens exactly like you say, I’ll believe you.”
“It’s as real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer.”
“What—am I going to crash tonight?”
“Worse. You’re heading for a complete financial meltdown. In a year, you’ll be returning that Jaguar on foot.”
The unraveling comes fast. Commercial loan failures. Banks seizing properties. By 1994, nearly every Loop building goes back to lenders. One North Franklin becomes the poster child. Barclays Bank loses $80 million—and makes an example of you.
“You’ll survive,” I tell him. “But not as the man you are now.”
By 1992, I’m broke. By 1995, I’m making films. By 2002, I’m in Hollywood. The money sucks—but I’m happier than I’ve ever been. (That pivot—and everything after it—connects to the broader body of work at OveractiveImaginationPictures.com.)
Gloria leaves when the money disappears. The divorce is brutal. The kids are hurt badly. One nearly doesn’t survive their teenage years.
“This isn’t a warning,” I finally tell him. “It’s a gift.”
I urge therapy. Anger work. Gentleness. Putting family first. Leaving the skyscraper deal early. Taking cash—any cash. Starting a small corporate film company. Naming it BuzzBroz.
I tell him the truth I never wanted to face:
The wealth was a trap.
The rage was inherited.
The collapse was the opening.
He tries to fight it. Of course he does. 1991 Ken is ruthless—Chicago real estate tough. A man built out of pressure, swagger, fear, and a need to prove something to a drill-sergeant father who never offered the kind of love you can actually stand on.
And then 1991 Ken—my 1991 Ken—does something surprising: he gets creative.
“What if I change the past,” he says, “and a new future splits off? No paradox. You’re just one version of my 2014 possible selves.”
“That’s actually quite possible,” I say. “A 21st-century theory called multiverses.”
As he pulls into the driveway of my Lake Forest mansion, I push one last time—faster, like the signal is fading.
“Be kinder to Gloria. Get out of the deal before spring. Take whatever you can get. Cash in the bank is king. Don’t wait for pride to do your accounting.”
“And therapy,” I add. “I mean real therapy. I didn’t do it until after the divorce, when I almost killed myself from suicidal depression.”
“Christ,” he says. “This gets grim.”
“Yes,” I say. “But you’re made of indestructible stuff. The question is whether your wife and kids have to pay the price for your anger.”
There are entire libraries on what trauma does to families—and how anger gets handed down like a cursed heirloom. If you want a grounded, mainstream overview of how therapy helps people rewire emotional patterns, the American Psychological Association’s psychotherapy resources are a solid place to start.
He threatens to bet big on the Redskins. He threatens to invent time travel and beat my ass. We laugh—tearfully—because even at my most intense, the heart was still there.
Then he opens the front door.
Gloria and our two kids—Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9—run to greet him with hugs and kisses.
And in that instant, both versions of me know:
It’s not too late.
I end the meditation in tears.
This really happened(s). This is not fiction.
I save(d) a family. My own.
And I still had time for my daily meditation hike in Sedona. If you’re into meditation as a practical tool—not as a personality—some of my calmer work lives at CoolestMeditationEver.com, and my civic sanity project lives at PoliticalCoolDown.com.