FATHER’S DAY AND THE WALL OF SORROW

This saddest Father’s Day ever, President Trump seeks to shift blame to Democrats for the horrific separation of Mexican children from their families even though his GOP controls both the House and Senate. I’ve channeled my outrage into this fictional short screenplay to help convey the pain of these poor innocents.

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Photo by John Moore

FATHER’S DAY AND THE WALL OF SORROW

By Ken Sheetz

INT. PANEL TRUCK (MOVING) – DAY

TINA MUNOZ, 4 years old, cries deeply into a tattered baby blanket. Her wailing is nearly drowned out by the dozen other MEXICAN CHILDREN.

BETTY, 30s, an overweight American social worker with a kind face, places her pudgy hands over her ears to try to block out the overwhelming grief that fills the panel truck’s interior. Curly Red hair matted to her head, Betty picks up her cell phone and shouts to be heard over the din of the agonized kids.

BETTY

Gods mercy! Still no AC back here! Isn’t it bad enough we ripped these babies from their family on Father’s day of all days?

Betty does her best to listen to the DRIVER, a middle aged Texan, on the phone.

DRIVER (VO/ Voice over)

Ma’am, I swear to God AGAIN there ain’t nothin’ we can do.

BETTY

Pull into a gas station and get this AC fixed!  It must be 120 degrees back here!

DRIVER (VO)

Sorry. I ain’t authorized to make no kinda stops.

BETTY:

Do you want dead children on you hands, Mister… what’s your name?

DRIVER (VO)

Mister none of your damn business! What’s broke is broke! Now, with all due respect, Betty, do your God damn job and I’ll do mine. Get them little brats shut up!

Driver hangs up on Betty. In despair, she looks around at the 13 wailing children and chooses one, Tina, to take into a consoling hug.

BETTY (In Spanish)

I’m so sorry, little one. Can you tell me your name?

Tina welcomes the embrace of Betty.

TINA (In English)

I am Tina. Tina Munoz. What’s your name, nice lady?

BETTY

Betty! You speak English so well little one!

TINA

Mama teached me ’cause we go to America; land of the free.

Betty’s sad expression shows Tina’s words have cracked in her professional demeanor. At a loss for words, Betty strokes Tina’s sweaty hair.

TINA

When do I see Mama and Papa again?

BETTY

I could lie, child, and tell you “soon”. But I want to prepare you for the sad fact I don’t —

A 5 year old boy with a bowl haircut, ROBERTO, faints to the panel truck’s floor. Tina dives to his side.

TINA

Roberto! He’s my brother!

Roberto’s eyes flutter back into his head as he goes into a racking seizure.

Betty’s fingers tremble as she dials the cell phone to reach the driver, who silently answers.

BETTY

(being as sweet as possible)

Driver? Hi.  I am so sorry if I sounded cross before. I don’t blame you for all this. But we’ve got a serious problem on our hands. A little boy, no more than four or five, is having heat stroke convulsions. If we don’t get him fresh air and hydration soon — Hello?

Betty curses under her breath as the driver cuts off the call.

As the panel truck pulls to a red light Betty eyes the side door latch.

BETTY

Fuck it.

Betty punches in her key code access and pulls open the panel truck’s side door. A heavenly breeze passes through the panel truck. Roberto gasps in fresh air, calming instantly.

An 11 year-old Mexican boy darts out the door and, quick as a deer, vanishes into the hedges.

Before anymore children can escape an angry Boarder Patrol AGENT, Mexican/American, 30s, appears at the door, brandishing a submachine gun, impending violence on his face.

AGENT (In Spanish)

All of you! Sit the fuck down!

Agent slams the panel truck door shut in Betty’s face before she can utter a word.

EXT. ARMY BASE GATES – DAY

Betty wipes tears mixed with sweat as the Mexican children, clothes soaked to their beautiful brown skin, hop from the panel truck.

Last off, Roberto leans on Tina. They slowly make their way from the panel truck, the little duo scurry to Betty and burry their faces in her soft but sweat soaked dress.

Agent spins angrily on Betty.

AGENT

I only count twelve!

BETTY (trying not to sound proud)

One got away.

AGENT

You shoulda told me, bitch!

BETTY

I tried to before you slammed the door in my face, you disgusting traitor to you own people!

Agent slightly hangs his head slightly, properly shame.

Driver appears and blows a hocker on the ground in disgust at Betty’s feet.

DRIVER

God damned liberals. You got no part in God’s work.

BETTY

I’ll have you know I am an ordained minister, you Trump loving boob!

Driver lunges for Betty. Tina and Roberto scream.

But Agent restrains Driver in the nick of time.

AGENT

Cool your jets, amigo. She’ll get hers when they find out she let one of the illegals escape.

Driver spits at Betty again, this time in her face, and hops back in his panel truck.

DRIVER

Ha! Got me another load of wetback brats to pick up anyways!

BETTY

That’s right. Help Trump build his wall off sorrow!

Flummoxed beyond words, Driver races off the panel truck in a cloud of dust.

WOMAN WITH PURPLE PLASTIC GLOVES, Black, 20s, kindly gestures to Betty to allow her take Tina and Robert through the Army Base gates.

Betty ignores her and turns warily to Agent.

BETTY

Can I please come with them? Get them settled in?

Agent grimly shakes his head “no” and motions to the Woman With Purple Plastic Gloves to get to it.  She manages to send Betty a sympathetic look as she pries the weaker Roberto looses of Betty.

Tina gives Betty a last hug and dejectedly follows her big brother, the only family member she has left in the world, through the army base gates accompanied by the Woman With Purple Plastic Gloves and the Agent, doing his best not to show his self hatred.

Betty sobs into her pudgy hands as she watches the kids vanish into the Army camp.

Passing wall she spots a plaque on commemorating the internment of the Japanese in World War II, Betty falls to her knees, her sorrow watering the desert.

BETTY (sobbing at the plaque)

Happy Father’s day…

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THE END

What’s happening today, tearing children literally from the arms of parents illegally entering America, is worse than our cruelty to the Japanese Americans of WWII. Then, at least, Japanese families suffered together.

Please share our fictional account of the horrors being inflicted on these all to real innocent Mexican children, bound to be scarred for life. Only by touching people’s hearts can this American tragedy end.

And if you’d like to contribute a little something to producing this as short film please send your donation to PayPal.

Message to Earth’s Comics From Spirit of Robin Williams: Trump Jokes are Lazy Humor – The Robin Williams Visitations

I’ve truly been blessed to have Robin Williams’ spirit in touch with me often since his death on August 11, 2014. But unlike many people with psychic visions, suspiciously sure of their gifts, I sometimes wonder if Robin’s ghost is really keeping in touch or if it’s all just my wild imagination.

Robin’s spirit finds my uncertainty about his visitations quite funny. Perhaps he keeps showing up, despite my misgivings as a reluctant medium, because I always take his funny visits as a serious message from the higher realms of consciousness. And today’s visit from Robin is super welcome in this post-truth era that’s wearing mighty thin for many of us.

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Before I get to Robin’s important as it is funny June 2018 message to the world’s, as the iconic actor who played drama and beautifully as comedy describes today’s, “lazy bum comics” a little history. Robin first appeared to me shortly after his death to help me give comfort to many fans troubled by his suicide. Bummer, we lost two more celebs to suicide this week, designer Kate Spade and chef Anthony Bourdain. Fame and success are no protection against depression.

Not surprisingly, Robin’s spirit musings on his horrific suicide are heartbreakingly funny stuff. Read it on the blog in detail in a special section called THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATIONSHmm. Feels like a book’s a brewin’.

After Robin’s first ghostly visit, which happened on one of the many hikes I take here in Sedona’s red rocks, he and I bonded quickly. I would say it’s because we are brother in arms who’ve overcome battles with life’s sadness using laughs. Happily, I instantly found I could channel his comedic stylings with good accuracy for this blog.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS WITH A BLUE WHALE

One amazing day in the fall of 2014 Robin showed up with the spirits of MLK and Mother Teresa. They all wanted a tour of the Buddhist stupa. Which I gave them to my honor as though they were visiting family. I’ve still not found the time to blog about it. I promise to, Robin and readers. Stay tuned.

A few weeks after Robin’s incredible visitations began, I tuned over in bed and yelped as Robin was nose to nose with me under the covers. “Sorry, didn’t want to wake you, Sheetzy. Your snoring’s adorable, btw.”

“Thanks. I think. What brings you to my bed at the crack of dawn, Robin?”

“Sheetzo, I need you to hop on fishing boat off Laguna Beach, and channel me in.”

“Why?” I asked still half asleep, thinking back nostalgically on the days before my 2010 awakening when life was boringly normal. Robin is not the only spirt that visits me.

“Oh. Nothing special, Kenny boy.  Just gonna impregnate a virgin whale to reincarnate myself as a blue whale.”

“Oh, is that all?” I said dryly as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. This got a laugh out of Robin. But his laughter quickly faded as I explained to the king of comedy, “Buddy, I am drowning in the workload of a client’s world changer crowd funder. Much as I’d love to travel to the Pacific to help bring you back as a blue whale, Robin, we mortals still have bills to pay.”

“Work from the road. That’s what God made WiFi for.”

“Sorry.  I just can’t road trip this thing. Too big. We just launched this cool device that’s going to make it a smarter world. Boost IQ!”

“Fine, Einstein. I’ll do it myself like I have to do everything… when it comes to impregnating virgin whales!” Robin said, his disappointment in me showing on his fading ghostly face.

“Wait, Robin.  If you could just wait 60 days or so I promise –”

Robin vanished before I could finish in a disappointed but determined huff.  I got up and made some coffee and ruminated that Robin was still used to the star treatment even on the other side. So he’s not used to people saying no very often. I hoped he would not be so angry with me he’d never visit again. However, I made a note to request he not pop into my bed in future and nearly give me a heart attack.

Weeks passed swiftly. My client’s crowd funder became a hit, raising eventually $1.6 million for an update of a beloved scientist’s famed techno-meditation device. So I’d kind of forgotten about Robin’s whale gig when one day, while having a breakfast at my favorite local diner, The Coffee Pot, Robin appeared in the form of a talking blue whale embryo hovering over a portly man’s ham and eggs.

Williams shouted proudly, “I did it, Sheetzy!”

Nearly spit spraying my coffee, I looked slyly around the restaurant. As per usual, despite Sedona being an American mecca for psychics, I was, you guessed it, the only person having this outrageous aquatic visit. “Why the whole whale thing, Robin?” I asked in my mind, deciding I might get a ticket to the looney bin talking out loud to a floating blue whale fetus in a public restaurant.

“Call me, Nanu. That’s my new blue whale name!”

“OK, Nanu Nanu –”

“Just Nanu, Sheetzter.  Copyright stuff.”

“Ok, NANU, why reincarnate as blue whale?”

Robin twirled over a blue haired old lady wolfing down her waffles and said proudly, “Because I’m gonna teach the blue whales a new frequency of joy and laughter to broadcast around this bluesy world!”

Robin looked amused by my freaked out face. But it made total sense Robin would not rest long in the afterworld and would seek a cool way to help humanity keep its sense of humor. As if reading my mind about how crazy yet sensible this all seemed to me, Robin added,”Still the doubting Sheetz? Just take a gander at your coffee cup. – Presto!”

DSC04666Chills ran down my spine, here in the middle of the desert, a relief of dolphins swam on the coffee mug. Robin the blue whale fetus hovered over my head blowing happy air bubble rings as I called over the unsuspecting waitress. I asked her if she’d ever seen a dolphin mug at the restaurant before.

Even though the grizzled middle-aged vet waitress has seen it all in Sedona she gazed in amazement to see dolphins on my coffee mug. “Weird. All we usually got are cactuses and Kokppellis on our mugs.”

I bought the magical mug proof Robin offered at checkout. And if you’re ever a house guest I’ll happily serve you a java from the two more dolphin mugs I’ve since collected on future Williams visits to the Coffee Pot.

Note: Robin loves his coffee and often calls me over to the Coffee Pot, a favorite of visiting celebs, for his spirit visits. He met Elizabeth, my love there and told her, through my channeling, that she is Mamu his mama whale.

Wait a minute! I just joke back to the joker Robin as I write here in 2018, “Swell, so you’re telling me, Robin, that because you were pissed I wouldn’t go with you to the Pacific in 2014 you impregnated my love Elizabeth’s alternate reality whale self?”

“Bingo!  Ha ha! Man, took you 4 years to get that joke. You’re dense as a neutron star, bro,” laughs Robin.

Jeez, I Googled that a teaspoon full of neutron star weighs a billion tons. He sure thinks I am dense stuff!

Speaking of how dense we all are in these Trumpy times, back to 2014, two full years before America lost it’s sense of humor with Trump’s hostile take over of not just the news world but the comedy world.

One time back in 2015, shortly after Robin’s successful rebirth as a blue whale, as Trump began his run for king of the world, Robin told me over coffee – BTW Robin just cups his hand around the mug for its cafine energy – “Trump gonna win and he’s gonna be HILAAARIOUS as the good old USA’s most un-presidential prez ever.”

Boy, was that whale baby right. Trump did beat the unfunny Hillary. And just look at all these comics covering Trump as regular as the weather here in depressing as hell 2018.

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But, as master of comedy Robin Williams is now shouting at today’s living comics through my keyboard, putting on a Jewish accent, “Oy vey! Enough, funny people! You’re makingme mashugana! The Trump gags are stale as a two week old bagel! Stop beating a dead whale already!  ”

That last message of Robin’s rings so true don’t it? Dozens of comedians riffing on Trump’s every stumble everyday for three friggin’ years stinks like a dead whale stranded on a beach for days. The seagulls picking the carcass apart.

And Robin sadly knows all about dead whales. You see, the busy shipping lanes killed his beloved whale mama in late 2017. Grieving her loss, Robin told me in a vision, on a hike to the Airport vortex, that Mamu’s whale body had washed up on the west coast of Mexico. A few months later, in April of this year, Robin came to me to say his whale life too ended the same way as his poor Mamu.

“Don’t be a bummer, Sheetzorini! Tell your readers not to be blue for the blue whale me!” Robin chirps as I type as fast as man untrained in such can, “The Blue Dolphin Clan gave me the body of one of their brain dead young.”

“How appropriate!” getting a zing in as payback for Robin’s neutron star dig.

Robin pretends not to hear my zinger and goes on, “And I’m ready start teaching the song of joy and laugher to the dolphins now. That is soon as I can figure out where my dolphin dick is. Oh wait.  I’m a girl dolphin now. Holy mackerel!”

Pause for reader laughter Robin tells me.

“No problem, the name Robin works for either gender,” I communicate to his spirit, stalling for time to keep up on the keyboard with his rapid fire mind.

“Guess Nanu swings both ways too. Hey, know what we dolphins think of all the media’s fuss over Trump? Ever hear Flipper laugh in that old TV show?” says Robin doing a tail stand in my mind’s eye.

“You mean like this, Robin?” I say digging up a clip.

“Close enough! – Fun fact. Did you know we beautiful and brilliant dolphins were sentient thousands of eons before human’s discovered how to make fucking fire?”

“Gotta admit, like most humans I believe, we’ve always been the brightest species on the planet,” I type communucate.

“Right. Even though humans work themselves to death to get that newest model gas guzzler causing global warming?” Robin dolphin chuckles.

“Yup, Gottta admit I am looking at a new Jeep at the moment.”

“Think Prius, ya noob.”

“Need a Jeep for the 4-wheel drive for the red rocks, shark bait.”

” Touche. Well do some checks on electric that can off road. Pinkie swear? Not that I have one anymore.”

“Fin swear then. Will do, Robin.”

“Nanu, still Nanu please.  Good because we dolphins warn…” says Robin/Nanu, trying to sound as ominous as young dolphin can,”..that your species needs to stop worrying about one certain old as fuck human being, no matter how fat, orange and nasty. HUGE waste of time. Time your species doesn’t have, BTW. ”

“Why?” I ask.

“Earth’s oceans are running out of fucking oxygen!”

In shock I do a search mid-blog based on Robin’s dire warning and found this video.  If you have 55 minutes it will wise you up in a big way even if the production values are about zilch.

Vindicated about his warning on earth’s diminishing air supply, as well as making me realize how real his visits are, Robin/Nanu grimly continues, “Better you eco-morons focus on saving the oceans, where most of your oxygen is made, than ruminating on how many cheeseburgers Trump can ingest daily without having a coronary!”

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Robin/Nanu bitingly goes on, “Be original, human comics. You’re all lazy as fuck.  Hello!  Comedy 101, you can’t make parodies about of a living one like Trump.”

“Amen, Nanu!”

Nanu Williams rants on, “Get the fuck over the pathetic Trump, funny bones, and get back to your damn job of making people laugh. Save getting political for the biggest joke on the planet… the fucking politicians! Get smart and get the word out earth is running out air instead of spreading hot air. Got it?”

“Got it! Will share, Nanu Williams the blue dolphin!”

“Cool, Kenster.  Williams out!”

Well, the you have it, straight from Robin Williams the newly reincarnated blue dolphin Nanu: Trump is officially no longer hilarious.

The Greatest Danger for and of the Trump Presidency?

Heart attack.

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Art from the “failing according to Trump” NY Times

That’s right.  Heart attack by overeating. And not just for Trump, but I get ahead of myself.

Trump’s dangling a cabinet spot before Dr. Ronnie Jackson’s nose smells of coercion for the rigging of the POTUS’s annual physical. No way Trump tips the scales at a hilarious 239 pounds. Lying about health is not healthy for Donald Trump nor America.

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Dr. Ronnie Jackson, taking medicine to new Birther lows

Karma, in The Donald’s obese case, could lead to… sing it Billy!

Not wishful thinking on my part. I actually want Trump to live out his term or, God forbid, impeachment. I say “God forbid” because can you imagine the wave of conspiracy theories and hard feelings his impeachment would result in? Seriously, it’s not worth booting Trump IMHO if it reboots The Civil War.

Guys, take it from a man who’s meditated far too long on the meaning of Trump showing up so prominently in our lives, it’s pointless to stress over Trump and his childish antics. Even if he lasts 2 full terms, likely at this point if the economy Obama rebuilt he’s coasting on holds. Heck, that’s less than a blink of an eye in the planet’s 5 billion year life so far. All the drama in the 24/7 news cycle every time he tweets some idiocy is just a big old ratings gimmick.

Let’s take a fear that pops up in various forms in liberal media: “Trump and his “deplorables”( according Trump arch nemesis Hilary)  followers are taking us down the road to an American-Nazi regime!”  Hello. America practically invented genocide, wiping out millions of  Native Americans long before the Nazis were even a twinkle in Hitler’s evil eye.

Look on the bright side: Trump looks to be here to ring out the old and stimulate the new into action. That’s if he does not commit suicide by Mac Attack. Give him this, he’s shinning the light, albeit unintentionally, in dark place of the American psyche that needs healing, all the way back to the founding fathers; many of whom were slave owners.

And speaking of liberal overkill on outrage, shame on Samantha Bee for calling Ivanka the C word. Liberals, since the other side of the political family, currently the bad boys, must lead by example, not play in the same mud as Trump. Bee should be fired IMHO.

And while we are getting real, let’s give equal time to conservative mania in the media.  Sorry Trump fans, Jared is not bringing peace to the Middle East, Ivanka is not a champion of women’s rights and no way Trump is to going bully his way to a Nobel in North Korea peace talks.  Off as of this post.

Yeah. Let’s all get really real: Liberals and their Trumped up outrage, and Conservatives, placing Trump on a shaky pedestal founded in wishful thinking, are both wrong! I am lucky enough to call a few billionaires friends and I assure you, all are quite mortal and petty at times. Money does not make anyone smart, which Trump exhibits for us daily.

Why on earth would anyone want to emulate Trump in the first place?  I mean, the overeating, and oversexed old guy is miserable. And it shows from the Michael Cohen clean up reports that Donald all too often pays big time for his sexcapades. The sad result? Trump’s marriage to Melania is a train wreck.

Cue Melania hand swat video!

Off attacks of the heart and back onto heart attacks. Coronaries are simple eating physics: Fatty foods + lack of exercise = stroke or death by clogged arteries. Next, for good measure, toss in Trump’s severe anger issues (a sad sign of the onset of dementia) into the equation and you wonder why the Don’s not already stroked out and drooling in a presidential wheelchair.

Read more at WebMD about the link of anger to heart attacks.

Heck, want proof Dr. Jackson is likely a big fat liar about Trump’s odds of buying the farm before he can undo all of Obama’s legacy? Look no further than Trump’s 2016 doctor, the eccentric Dr. Bornstein. Currently on the outs with Trump for blabbing about the POTUS using propecia for his bald spot(s). Cosmic justice for letting Trump dictate his own 2016 checkup for the enabling Bornstein.

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Election doctor Bornstein confesses that Trump dictated his presidential health report himself.

Now let’s talk about the dozen diet Cokes Trump reportedly drinks daily. Studies show diet drink are bad for the brain and may even cause cancer. Steady use of diet pop can leads to dementia; as this AARP story outlines. The same disorder that killed Regan, Mr. President, if you’re reading. Yeah, right.  As if. LOL.

My theory is Trump’s cannot start his workday until 11AM because his health is so feeble that he spends mornings as a couch potato, watching of the GMO of mind control Fox & Friends, while he drifts in and out of slumber. Here’s a short film on Trump’s shortness of breath example that will leave you breathless.

Now that’s a SAD video.  Unfortunately, I am something of an expert heart failure symptoms because I landed in the hospital for my wakeup call just 10 weeks ago. All brought on by an overeating contest with my love’s millennial. Still what I downed was organic, nothing approaching Trump’s crazy GMO diet.

Just saying, my recent horrors of the heart give me an edge seeing Trump is on the road to ruin. Let me tell you, dear reader, it’s weird as hell to feel your life’s flame get so low in heart failure that a puff of air could blow out your candle. After my wakeup call, complete with an ER visit, my doctor suggested, along with putting me on 6 medications, that I drop 40 pounds to get in optimal cardio shape. My current weight? I am down to 239 pounds from 247. How’s that for a weird coincidence? Difference is I am a real 239, Trump is not.

Scaling up with how I currently look, fatter than I’ve ever been in my life, just as fat as Trump at 239 pounds, but given he’s 3 inches taller than me, my guess is Trump’s true weight is more like 270- 280. Make your guess in comments below as to #Trumpsrealweight. If we ever learn the truth I’ll send the closest guesser a free CoolestMeditationEver.com t-shirt.

We all know Trump has ego issues. That’s why he’s not seeing he is being bad role model for we already obese Americans.  His eating habits are toxic.  Here’s great video here of two people feeling ill effects after just one day of eating like Trump.

Urp!  Now, fans of my planetary meditations, where I delve deep into the real and imagined worlds, might not know that I’ve earned a living from time to time as a paid political humorist. And I have a hit 2000 PBS show that led into the Bush/Gore debates plus a #1 in it’s niche 2008 Amazon DVD to prove it.

But please take me deadly serious when I warn Trump’s bad eating will, by bad example, kill more Americans than anything else he bumbles or blusters his way through during his troubled presidency, short of nuclear war with the equally out of shape Kim Jong Un. Please, fans and friends, especailly ME!, don’t eat like Trump!

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Two leaders who at least have poor eating habits in common. The CIA says Kim Jong Un wants American hamburgers businesses to open in North Korea out of peace talks. — I’m not kidding!

So, what do you think?  Should the GOP seek to reign in Trump’s horrible eating habits to save American lives and to preserve their chance for an 8 year run for their man?

OK. I hear you, dear readers, “Get real, Sheetz. Do you really believe a man who must always have two scoops of ice cream with his desert will ever listen to anything but his own stomach?

— Fat chance.”

Meditations on Mortality & Inventor Patrick Flanagan’s Immortality Chamber

I’ll lead off this blog with a message from my ET spirit guide:

“Every living being in the universe experiences immortality in the 5D quantum field.” Love, Ohom

Ohom as a blue angel
My best rendering of Ohom in his human angelic form

Ohom’s coolest ever message came to me in the aftermath of a March 9, 2018 heart scare. Since I’ve been blessed by near perfect health my whole life this came totally out of left field.

But a prefect storm of stress, combined with a 60 day 25 pound weight gain, brought on by entertaining a food-loving future 23-year-old son-in-law for three months, had raised my blood pressure to twice normal levels.

Thanks to my awareness that something was very wrong, my love drove me to the ER where they took one look at me and rushed me to an ICU for treatment. It was a close call this heart failure did not escalate to a heart attack or stroke. I feel deeply blessed to still be here blogging to you.

BTW, I taught my 88 year-old mom what the word blog means the other day. “Blog? What a weird word!”she complained.

29136357_10155626788907029_3418241463023042560_oOn March 11th I told the hospital doctors, determined to scare me into better self-care, that they’d find my heart was in decent shape when they examined me. I knew this not just because am I blessed with being pretty psychic, but because I had just hiked the Grand Canyon 6 months earlier with zero heart trouble.

The angiogram, which I had to wait two and a half days to have done, determined my heart, as I predicted, was not permanently damaged by my freak spike in blood pressure. (BP health tip. Avoid using baking soda for heartburn. Too high in sodium!) As well, my arteries checked out unclogged and my heart valves were working great. That happy Monday after my angiogram I was the “good news patient” in the ICU. The outright joy of the nurses and doctors over my groovy angiogram still warms my healing heart.

But it was not all roses for my heart reports. An echogram revealed that the part of my heart that pumps the blood, called the ventricles, was enlarged and my normally dependable heart operating at only half normal pumping power. No wonder I had become weak as kitten, short of breath went into heart failure.

Nine weeks into my heart recovery program at this posting, I am on a lot of expensive meds to rebuild my heart. One prescription, Entresto, costs $2500 for 60 tablets. That’s $41.60 a freaking pill!  Thank god for my Medicare which just began last fall.

Good news, as I make this post, I have graduated from 6 weeks of cardio training, gone on a diet and joined a gym.  I’m well on way to fulfilling my heart doctor’s rare prediction of 100% recovery. Heck, I’m going for 200% recovery. No rules against that!

Indeed, the heart pros have called my recovery “remarkable”.  So far so good.  Echogram again in June and then I’ll confirm if my heart is back to full pumping power.  I feel it is a month ahead of schedule. Fingers crossed.

I have some theories on why my recovery has been so strong, besides the incredible outpouring of love, prayer and good intentions from family, friends and fans, that I want to share with you.

Ohom’s message on the nature of what immortality actually is all about, 5D -wise, came to me a little before my heart scare, but without my getting it at first. When I get massive visions like the one of ET healing the earth in 2010, which ended me up meditating to help heal humanity on 12.12.12 in Antarctica, it can take me years to figure epic visions out.

Ironically, it was the four days on my back in the Verde Valley Hospital that gave me the unexpected free time to understand an ET vision I’d had early this year.  And I am just now finding the time to blog about it!

Looking back on my own multi-dimensional ET self as I lay in the air-pressurized as hell ICU bed, hooked up to IVs and monitors, was that what I had seen a few months earlier in the ET vision Ohom sent me is reality is  in fact is a 5D Fibonacci sfield of trillions of universes. Think of sunflower face, but as sphere, where each seed is one of an infinite number of realities.

On this timeline, on which I am happily still writing to you, and on most other timelines, there exists an infinite range of my realities; from my being dead or good as a dead, as a stroked out man in a wheelchair, to my life as a space traveling ever-youthful immortal running marathons on other worlds that humanity is colonizing in other galaxies. And all these infinite realities are ruled by one master soul that we call God.

HOW MY HEART FAILURE HELPED ME UNDERSTAND DR. FLANAGAN’S IMMORTALITY CHAMBER

Looking deeper down the quantum rabbit hole of my heart scare, I see this 5D quantum immortality I have had its origins in a 2013 2D filming super scientist Patrick Flanagan, founder of PhiSciences.com.

One hot summer 2013 day, I was editing in the sweltering closet that was my makeshift edit suite off a humble attic room, tucked above a dusty little B&B we rented for my visit from LA to film super scientist Dr. Flanagan, when my cell rang.  It was Pat on the line.  Excited he said, “Hi, Ken. Want to be immortal?”

Without hesitation I shouted, “Of course!” As I raced my rental car to Pat’s Cornville estate, which doubled then as his home lab, I felt blessed to have to this amazing genius in my life.

A gentle desert breeze blew through the screen of open front door of the great inventor’s white adobe home, perched above the Verde River with a commanding view. Pat spotted me at the entrance and called me out onto the patio. I passed through the spacious living room filled with scared objects that he and his wife Stephanie have gathered from around the world, mixed with Pat’s half finished experiments that occupied every horizontal surface.

Arriving on the deck overlooking the Verde Valley and Mingus Mountains I gasped at the sight of the world renowned scientist’s prototype made of plywood and 2X4’s you see in this video. Seeing a new invention is this early stage of development is a rare treat I am honored to have filmed. Enjoy the video before reading on.

After I finished filming I got my turn to bathe in the energies of Pat’s immortality chamber prototype. When I came out Pat said with his famous mischievous smile, “Congratulation, Ken.  You’re immortal now. You will only die if someone chops your head off, like in THE HIGHLANDER.” We all had a good laugh at Pat’s joke.

How cool to finally understand what this modern-day Tesla, Dr. Flanagan, meant. I am grateful for my heart troubles as it’s allowed me to see what Pat meant on 5D form here in 2018.  I also love Patrick’s brilliant and beautiful wife’s message in the video. BTW, she’s an absolute human angel who adores Donald Trump as president. Her high opinion of the Donald, despite my own grave reservations on Trump that often get the better on me, gives me hope there is a deeper value to his presidency than I’ve yet to see.

Stephanie’s line at the end of the Immortality Chamber video, “Isn’t it wild?” sums up a lot of the 5D fibonacci of the immortality vision for me to live with courage and to feel love for all realities. Good and bad are human labels.

Shameless and proud plug, visit the Coolest Meditation Ever (CME) page for Dr. Flanagan’s amazing Sensor v medallion. On the sales page you’ll hear the doctor explain it’s a portable pyramidal abundance field generator. I can tell you in the five years of abundance that I’ve had my Sensor V since he gifted me one is that it is the gift that keeps on giving. It’s flat out worked miracles in my life, including a return to abundant health.

I had to buy one for my love Elizabeth, pictured below. The Sensor V has worked just as great for her too. In fact she is away right now on abundant trip to the Bahamas for yoga intensive training!

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The Secret Agenda of Today’s Stupid Shit

For years we’ve been hearing whispers that America is intentionally being dumbed down by the 1% who run the planet. If true, whisper time is over. One look at the news on any day at all the stupid shit happening in DC makes it painfully obvious that the dystopian film “Idiocracy” is coming true a lot sooner than 500 years from now.

The President Camacho for this global dumbing down that America leads with a passion formerly reserved for the space race? Who else?

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Hey, don’t take my word for about Mr.-I-Herby-Demand-the-DOJ-Investigate-the-Meuler-Investigate’s idocracy., Rex Tillerson aptly, Rex described Trump “a fucking moron.”  Lucky for him, Rex lost his job because Trump runs the executive branch like THE APPRENTICE.

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Old saying in the Chicago corporate world I grew up in: First-rate people hire first-rate people. Second-rate people hire third-rate people. Exhibit A of a third-rate hire by our second rate president? Saccharin idiot, Education Secretary Besty Devos. Her mission to dumb down our schools is as transparent as her fake smile.

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Betsy DeDumb

Stupid Trump shit goes on daily that infuriates the left, which in turn agitates the right into hating the left for seeing what they don’t see due to their current stupor of a steady diet of the real fake news on Fox & Friends. This generates a negative feedback loop that is rocket fueled by social media, 4AM Distracter In Chief Tweets, Russian trolls, yes, they are still giving America a taste of its own destabilizing foreign powers medicine, all reported ad nauseam by the Trump crazed 24/7 news cycle.

Talk about disturbing to one’s peace of mind! But, ah, my theory, gained by a lot of reading, watching news and meditation, is that none of this stupid shit is accidental. So why is all the Trump fueled anger mongering?

Back to the 1% who are aware that numerous scientific studies have shown human beings lose 10-15 IQ points when angry. Hello dumbing down of the people by the elite using Trump as their champion of dumb!

Now, that you’ve been clued into secret agenda of the elite using Trump as a wet nurse to birth a race of fools – assuming you believe my theory, which dawned on me in yoga meditation BTW – please turn your back on Trump’s 7-year-old temper tantrums until it’s time to vote. Let’s drive the bad guys nuts with our intelligent indifference.

Meanwhile, as we wait to vote in fall of 2018 and again in 2020, here are some great tips from PSYCHOLOGY TODAY’s a 2011 article, one of the sources researched for this blog post to help you stay cool, and therefore smart. The article, worth your read, talks in detail about anger’s draining effect on IQ.

How to Counteract the Brain Freeze and Gain back your IQ Points – Source PSYCHOLOGY TODAY

1. Give your brain a recess.  Think of young kids in school, when the bell rings for recess. They yell and scream with free time. Your mind needs a recess to wander in an unstructured a manner. Often in this recess an idea or solution may emerge to an issue you have been dealing with.

2. Turn off the TV or radio if you aren’t consciously wanting to get news or entertainment. This is so you don’t burn critical brain resources by stimulating a fear response without knowing it.

3Seed your Unconscious. Give your unconscious instructions to work on an issue in the background as you focus on something else.

4. Clear the deck. Focus on something else for awhile or talk to a friend who is positive to change your sense of overwhelm. Allow the prefrontal cortex and your working memory to recharge.

5. Practice a mindfulness exercise. Focus on your breathing or really stay focused on what you are doing in the moment. Feel your body in space as you sit or move. Meditation, yoga, walking or a massage are ways to allow the prefrontal cortex to recharge gain your IQ points back.

Meditation has the power shape our scary reality into something more pleasant and equitable for humanity. Be smart. Trump’s not worthy of your attention.

A better day is coming

 

 

Tip #1 to Avoiding Trump News Overexposure – Comedy

Trump news, both comedic and conventional, is so incredibly pervasive in 2018 we simply cannot avoid it.

Ironically, and there’s no end to irony in these Trumpy times, talented comedians, 99% of them left leaning, riffing on Trump News has become a major source of over-saturation of fascination with Trump’s every Tweet and stumble.

I searched Google for this piece, but I cannot find stats on how many hours of Trump news we have been bombarded with daily for three years solid now.  My guess? 500 hours of new Trump content is created on mainstream media per day. My guess is based on how many 24/7 shows plus daily comedy shows focus on the Tweeter in chief.

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Blame or credit, depending how you feel about Trump news, the proliferation of today’s bumper crop of comics riffing on the Trump on granddaddy comedian Johnny Carson. As host of the TONIGHT SHOW for three full decades, from 1962-1992, “Here’s Johnny” introduced the jokes based on the daily news as part of his live show comedy monologues.

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Flash forward, past LAUGH-IN political jabs, Chevy Chase spoofing the news with Jane Curtain on SNL, plus all their SNL News descendants, and you come to the father of modern comedy news comedy; the very talented Jon Stewart. His stint as the host and head writer of Comedy Central’s hit show THE DAILY SHOW broke the bank on his TV progeny doing comedic news.

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But, BIG BUT, all these new shows have a serious liberal tilt. In other words, your brain will be hopelessly liberal slanted if you watch them all in one sitting. Take my word for it because I used to watch each and every one of these lib-talents daily before I realized I was addicted to the Trump feeding frenzy.  I slowly fell into filling my heart with comedic rage.

A term I may have just coined, comedic rage is repressed anger venting itself as “It’s better to laugh than cry!” A good thing in moderation, but in the excess coverage of today not good for the soul.

In fairness to today’s comics, of which I’ve been one via my 6.5 million view KidsTalkPolitics channel before it got hacked, the crazy stuff Trump tweets, typos be damned, is so damn funny it really does take fleet of comics to cover the insanity. Ah, yes, it will be a #SAD! when Trump’s admin ends one day, but since I don’t see on impeachment in my crystal ball, live it up funny people.

Back to why I began this post, if you want to keep some political objectivity in your life, the Coolest Meditation Ever (CME) Trumpy, picture a portly Oscar, goes to Stephen Colbert.  Forget the rest. Colbert’s’s obssessed with Trump take downs and he’s all you need.

Well, there is one other Trump comedic must-see: Baldwin.

My advice? Go light on Trump comedy binging. From hard won personal experience: More than two comic romps per day renders Trump comedy as unfunny as jokes about Trump not knowing the difference between HPV and HIV.

 

Coolest Ever 40’s Dream!

I had one of the coolest dreams of my life last night. A true mission from spirit from a happier post war America not to lose hope during these turbulent times.

It’s 1948 and I’m backstage at a New York theater. Stage hands and great actors of the past busily rush past me. I see, Bob Hope, Shirley Temple, James Cagney, Liz Taylor, Bogart and Frank Sinatra.

Frank smiles at me and says, “You’re on, Ken. Knock ’em dead.”

Enjoy some Sinatra on new tab to score this once in a lifetime inspirational dream that;s really meant for us all.

This all seems strange, in the way dreams always do while still perfectly natural at the same time. I adjust my suit, a weird combination of tux top and my old green flannel pajama bottoms. But I have a problem.

“Frank,” I ask nervously, “I gotta find the can. Mind going on for me? You know, hold ’em over while fund the john?  Hate to pee myself onstage!”

“For you, kid? Anything!” Frank says with chuckle as he dives through through curtains to thunderous applause.

I timidly ask Bob Hope as he passes by, “Sorry, Bob. Where’s the can?

“Did a spotlight can fall on your head? Cross your damn legs on get onstage!” Bob says pushing me through the curtains.

The crowd gathered below the stage that’s a balcony on 30 Rock that overlooks Time Square (Hey, it’s a dream!), erupts in applause and laughter as I appear from the curtains in tumble that I raise to my feet. Frank, master of the mic, spins toward me and says with his million watt grin, “Better late than never, ladies and gents, I give Ken Sheetz!”

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I do a funny curtsey bow the crowd appreciates and take the mic from Frank as he pats me on the back and says pointing at my hilarious getup, “Half dressed after just climbing out of bed, Kenny?’

I explain, “Like my outfit, Frank? The tux my love Elizabeth made for me is hand sewn. The green plaid pajama bottoms are from our Christmas film, where people give cash to the poor instead of junk we all don’t need!”

A standing ovation interrupts me from the good-looking happy crowd, dressed in classy winter garments, including an abundance of mink coats. I turn to Frank with shrug. “You’re slaying ’em. Go on, kid!”

“Apologies for being late. Had to grab a pee before coming out here to you good people!” The crowd goes wild with laughter. I find myself wondering out loud, “Why the heck do people always love a good pee joke?” When I spot Bob Hope in the wings, doing a face plant.

I point to Hope and joke, “Bob, I swear to God, if I pee myself in front of this fine crowd and 30 million people on TV it’s all your fault!” Putty in my comedic hands the crowd belly laughs uproariously.

Bob strides from the wings, Oscar in hand, comically looking jealous as he hands it to me, “The bridesmaid again! They Academy fails once again to give Best Actor to yours truly! But I gotta hand it to you, Sheetz. Great job!”

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Franks’s trying to say something, but the laughter and applause of the crowd is so loud that I can’t hear him. So I step for him and lean the mic to hear Frank say in that amazing voice of his…

“Ken’s flick changed a commercially bastardized holiday back to something Jesus would love on his birthday. Kenny deserves way more than an Oscar, he deserves a freaking Nobel!”

Frank kisses me on both cheeks as Hope chimes in, “Huh, kinda like a Noel Nobel, Frank?” Frank nods as he applauds me. The crowd joins in with yet another wild standing ovation just as the “time to get off the Oscar stage music” starts to play softly.

I realize I better get to the “thank yous” pronto, “I want thank all the new friends I made making this film a hit.” I oddly can’t seem to remember the title of the film I suddenly realize to my horror but press on, “I want thank my old friends director Frank Capra, my co-stars Danny Kaye and Jimmy Cagney who gave this film it’s heart and soul.” I gesture to the crowd to see Elizabeth my love blowing me kisses, “Where we would be in life without friends?”

So many loves of my life in the cool crowd I see are waving at me.  I go teary eyed spotting relatives who have passed away. “Most of all I want to thank my buddy Frank Sinatra for believing in me and my work. Peace everyone. Merry Christmas and Happy ’49!”

The echo of the joyous crowd still in my ears, I awake in bed and say to Lincoln our rescue dog, tucked away in his bed in our closet, “Wow. What a great dream, little Lincoln!” Lincoln shoots me a puzzled look and goes back to sleep since it’s only sunrise.

I check my cell phone for one of early morning messages Elizabeth‘s been leaving me each day from the Bahama’s, where she’s about 1/3 through a 5 week kirtan/yoga intensive. But. alas, no message. It takes some of the joy out of the dream as she had a freak head injury just 5 days before she left that’s made the whole thing dicey. But I shake it off the nervousness, still feeling she’s well in the field. 

Update, I was right. Elizabeth simply overslept and is off to yoga. Time for a cup of java and Saturday yoga myself with Sedona’s amazing Naomi C. Rose!