“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams, as I imagine him from the afterlife.

A familiar new inner voice pops into the chorus that is the inner universe I call my big fat head, “Nah!  Change that quote to ‘from the great beyond!’ Sheetzy, for the blog poster.

“Why?” I ask, questioning Robin, at least the version of him I imagine him to be in the great beyond.

“Afterlife.  WRONG!  That’s human lingo,” adds Robin’s voice in my fingertips.  “In reality, in the great beyond, well, there ain’t no f’ing past or future here, no judging, no heaven and sure as hell no hell. Time and all the shit that goes with it is an earth game, part of the contract the spirit guides make you sign when you incarnate on earth.”

I pause to think, “Have I finally gone totally nuts?  How can I be hearing, Robin William’s explicit thoughts and language, his standup side, so clearly even though he passed away in August?”  Remnants of my Irish grandmother’s telling me to hide my gifts, which I managed well until 2010, another blog.

Robin chimes back in, “Stop wondering and write!”

Robin is ranting on so fast my fingers can barely keep up in my weird self-invented shorthand!  This will take forever to proof!  Not my best skill set as I came on the biz scene in the 70s when we had this person called a secretary.  PC terms even PC, hate that shit, had not blessedly come into vogue in those 70s three Martini lunch days when I rose in the Matrix of Chicago to become a millionaire.  All this was before sexual harassment abuses by assholes with wandering hands ruined it for the rest of us that simply enjoyed a little playful flirting with our secretaries that might lead to more between two consenting adults. 

These days, in the so-called more advanced 21st century where heart and fun is missing from biz, I am painfully on my own, typing poorly as Robin thinks faster than the speed of light, his voice echoing in my fertile empty skull.  Now toss in I have glaucoma and am slowly losing vision and, well, you see why proofing is not my thing.  I work every day as though it’s my last with sight.  In the future, someone can fix all my typos!  I gotta get things out there.  No time to please the fastidious with perfect blogs or post on FB.

Robin’s voice takes me from my little pity party above, “There’s this little wart of a clause that stipulates the newly departed, and that’s all I am here, suicide has its own set of rules for reincarnation.  No judging.  Death is death,  And we Newly-Deads must take a break from our eternal spirits pals.  Here in the great beyond, in spirit form, as well as on earth in human form when you incarnate it a time of painful separation.  Paradox alert!  All so a soul, like muah’s, feels the love and pain of their earthly life one last horrific time, lasting up to max 100 years tops.  Luckily, Sheetz-cheeks, here in the eternity of time and space 100 years adds up to what we call: The Moment of Cosmic Silence.  No wonder the spirit guides hide that clause between hairy butt cheeks.”

“I relate.  I’m renting a house from a coven of  lawyers, makes life hell in Sedona.” I say grimly, glaring at the defective HVAC system I sealed off that pisses me off daily.  That this family trust of lawyer won’t fix.  “There’s hope though.  I actually met a good guy lawyer on FB recently.  A loving father watching over a kid hanging on one of my FB groups.  So lawyers do actually have hearts in this and so too in the afterlife.”

“Sheetzy, again, where I am now is not the “afterlife’.  Williams to Kenneth William Sheetz.  That’s my name in the middle of your name Kenneth WilliamS heetz.  Clue, my clueless friend overcoming a childhood of Catholic brainwashing and family surpression of your mental gifts.  No afterlife.  This is LIFE!  Life in the great beyond. Ain’t nothing” after-life” about it! Robin Williams, as a sentient spirit of the universe, is eternal and operates outside of time and space.  Kinda like we are all gods here.  Robin’s not my even my name or gender here in eternity. I have no gender, I am ALL here as we ALL are,” says Robin, spreading his arms and flying right through the sun.

“Wow,” is all I can think to think to Robin seeing his name inside my name, “There’s no more to all this than meets the third-eye.”

Robin riffs on, my typing nightmare growing, “That little name clue blow your mind, my  fellow WILLIAMS?  Google William. Do it now please.  I’ll hang on Alpha Centarui while you search the all seeing oracle of your time.”

Google come back with lots of stuff.  I like this one best from Behind the Name.com about the meaning of the name William:  From the Germanic name Willahelm, which was composed of the elements wil “will, desire” and helm “helmet, protection”. Saint William of Gellone was an 8th-century cousin of Charlemagne who became a monk.

“I know your old man who beat you regular as the Sunday papers, was a William,” says Robin standing beside me patting my shoulder. “But he played a part too as a man with WILLIAMS in his name.  That part was teaching you to be funny.  Shame his darkness got the better of him.  He was manic depressive like me and you,” says Robin gently.

“Let’s no go there, Robin.  My dad, well.  It’s complex.  I’ll meditate more on this WILLIAMS pattern and him and me and you.  A Williams trinity later.  Let’s get back to the great beyond.  Where my dad’s been since 2011 after dying of bladder cancer before I could say good-bye.  He’d beaten cancer many times before.  My kids have not forgiven me for missing his farewell.  After his death he did make me that red suit of ethereal armor, with high-tech helmet, so there’s the name pattern.  Funny that armor was strong enough to help me close the Bermuda triangle but not strong enough to survive busting your soul out of area 51.  Whoa,”  I say, taking a gulp of coffee, “Back to the cosmic.  I’ve met a lot of ETs who are asexual.  Any sex thoughts from out there in the great beyond on gender?”

“Good Morning Battle of the Sexes!” says Robin with the passion his famed GOOD MORNING VIETNAM line. “Gender’s a groovy earth thing that makes life more ying and yang in the pooty tang.  Here time’s not linear.  It’s curly cue as grown-up Shirly Temple’s locks on the Good Star ship Lollipop.  Talk about a party boat!  Fucking is required at the door before getting beamed aboard naked.  Yes, Sheetz-entine, linear is as boring as the hell of the first SFX tale, The Bible.  Boring as that fat slob Limbaugh who I am sending a herd Tibetan goats to crap up with his lawn!  Here, in the great beyond, we can incarnate at any point in history, on any world, even overlap our incarnations, be either sex and marry ourselves.  Always a disaster, BTW, Sheetzrama!”

A dizzying deja’ vu, spins inside my head and I utter out loud, “Whoa,” here in my defective, but lovely, rental house, that reminds me that even the heaven of Sedona, like the great beyond, has dickheads.

“Yeah, you’ve fucked YOU way too many times, Sheetzy!  Ha!  Talk about creative masturbation!, ” laughs Robin.

“Jesus H.  No wonder my relationships are so damn weird,” I say, feeling nauseated.

“Are you a good fuck as both sexes, Ken?  Double the wardrobe decisions! If you don’t mind a personal question from the great beyond, you know, as both the man and woman in the sack?” chuckles Robin as I gag into waste can.

“Sometimes…?” I offer weakly, staggering over the washroom to swig some Pepto.

“Ha!  Way more to life than we ever, ever see!  I am no one to kid you for too much self-love.  Relationships, sure as the hell that surely does not exist, are something I never did master either.  For this reason in my a next life I must repeat that lesson.  And come to think of it, I see what you are doing with your overlapping incarnation fuck fest.  Beats hurting another soul.   So rotten I signed up for suicide before I was born.  Never again!  Wow.  I miss all my cutie pie wives and adorable kids and lovers and loves and fans, and on so, so terribly on, here in my Moment of Cosmic Silence.” says Robin and who goes silent.

I wait respectfully for Robin’s spirit to speak again as I check my Facebook and do some emails.  Cosmic multitasking.  Then I see Robin pondering, tears on his cheeks.  He drifts out past our Milky Way, a distant swirl of billions of stars and trillions of worlds.  Millions, like our own, with sentient life.

Robin’s amazing voice reverberates in my mind as he finally resumes, speaking a bit softer and more slowly than his normal mile a minute pace, in his mourning,”We spirits of intelligence are the light of the universe held in the loving bosom of the what scientists call dark matter.  A boring description for the glue that holds all reality to-fucking-gether, buzz bro.”

“I take it you’ve met Ohom, my higher self from another dimension when you say buzz bro, Robin?”

“Not yet, in your sense of linear time.  Waiting for your intro, sir, to the insectoid higher 16th dimensional you.” says Robin.

“This is more confusing BACK TO THE FUTURE, but go on,” I say in genuine frustration.

Robin speaks in the professorial tones of his character from DEAD POETS SOCIETY, John Keating,”In concentrated form, where strands of love light energy crisscross, sentient worlds like earth coalesce from mama universe’s cosmic vagina. (BTW, I wanted to write “womb” end of last sentence but Robin said, ‘No dice, Vagina’)  The universe’s babies, from the endless lovemaking here, form trillions and trillions of planets that grow up to be Gaia’s sentient sisters of the universe!”

“Slow down a little Robin.  I may be bright but I am a fucking lousy typist,” I say in my mind to Robin.  He’s in his Peter Pan outfit he likes now, flying lazy circles earth’s moon now.  It looks like fun, but I sense the deep loneliness Robin is feeling of space and his missing being flesh and blood.

“Sheetzy, mama universe and papa spirit get bizee over here. UH!” Says Robin making pelvic thrust for emphasis.  “So lot’s and lot’s earth-like worlds, each with its own set of rules those crazy spirit lawyers dream up.  All in search of that perfect blend of excitement in harmony with nature, they all exist out here.  Earth, you see, she’s just a part of one experiment.  Poor Gaia’s bordering on a cosmic nervous breakdown because her ingrate human kids are a fucking nightmare of parental abuse!  A dash too much drama and sadness there on our old blue world. ‘Sup to all earthlings!  Add a pinch of love to the recipe to save the dish, earth homies!” says Robin, soaring past a glittering eagle made of stardust.

“Speaking of sadness and drama, you brought it up, Robin, so I gotta ask –”

“Ah why, if we agree to all the shit we agree to before were born, did I accept all the crushing manic depression that killed poor me off?”  Robin rambles grimly on to my inner nod, “Been on my mind too, what’s left of it.  Don’t have all my memories here.  Hey!  You know the answer.  You told me we over coffee , Sheetzy!”

“Yes!” I type to Robin, and you at once, how efficient, on my keyboard.  “Soul stuff I learned in Italy when I asked my soul teacher Connie Miller, after meeting so many nice Italians, ‘How the hell did these sweet Italian people ever produce a Mussolini?’ Connie said, ‘The brighter the light the darker the shadow.'”

“Right on, soul sister Connie.  Yeah, my mission in life was to bring a lot of light to the world through my comedy.  And, before I was born, I knew that all the fucking darkness, balancing of my bright light, would kill me in the end.  That, to be fair to the spirit guides, one was not hidden in the small print,” says Robin, shifting to his famed Shakespeare shtick, while passing through a super nova, laughing wildly.  “Pirthee, All my days on earth, yay, verily, I fought my inner darkness longest as I couldeth, thus giving out a fair light that now outliveth my pale countenance forever more, ”

“Could one say your darkness also outlives you, Robin?” I say typing.

Robin stops on the fringe of the Nova that lights him up, pondering solemnly and says, “Ah, you do wound me to the quick, kind sir.  The sorrow of my loved ones and fans is ultra-dark.  Heavy.  Oh so heavy!  And, shit, I see some folks are following my lead.  Suicide copycats.”

All the stars extinguish around Robin and his voice fades, as when you start to lose a radio signal, “Much darkness.  But life is a never-ending dance of light and dark.  Residue light will be generated from my residue darkness.  Ying and yang.  Sides of one coin.  A point of view.  No judging.  Now, after my death, my films take on a whole new pathos.  My comedy a tint of tragedy.  I can hear some in the audience, ‘Oh that poor tortured soul… he makes me pee my pants he’s so funny!  Ha! Ha!”

Amazed by the profound, yet funny, insight Robin just shared, I say with my keyboard, “Anything more to add Robin?  Gotta get to work.  I don’t get paid to blog.  Proofing this one may take a week or two (which it has).

“Oh, do I bore you, Ken, sharing the meaning of the universe?” says Robin, making a joke of his hurt feelings.

“Heck no!  Sorry to rush you, Robin.  I value you your connection, even if it is imagined.  It’s Tuesday after Labor Day here on earth.  Short week.  Lots to do because our PR person took another job on us yesterday. So I spent all day getting great a new PS master in place.  Good recovery,  New one seems awesome.  She’s worked with many of my clients like Don Miguel Ruiz and Eric Pearl.  But it busted my balls.”

Robin guffaws and says, “At least you still have cajones, senor Sheetz.”

“Always the comedian, Mr. Williams,” I chuckle sadly,

“Yeah, our connection.  Laughs and tears. — Sheetyz, earthly movie and TVs producers love happy endings.  That’s just like the real stars of the cosmos and all the other worlds.  All love happy endings.  So, earthies, keep loving each other up.  Even when it gets a little weird around the water cooler!  Fuck all the rules, humanity. Love is all that matters for each other and every critter on the space ball ride with you.  Williams out!”

As I get up from my writing chair to make breakfast Robin adds, “Nanoo Nanoo, Sheetzy!”

Laughter is my reply, an audience of one for an interactive memory of greatest comic of all time’s spirit.