When last we left my super-self in deep space, it was September 22nd 2015, and 19 remaining asteroids were hurtling for earth. This despite the 9 asteroids I’d already mentally destroyed the night of the 21st in an all-niter of 9 planetary meditations back to back. The 28 original asteroids are the nasty mental product of a fear soaked imagination of rapture doom from an obscure Reverend in Puerto Rico. But because humanity’s fear had grown so high, these fantasies of asteroid doom had to nonetheless be debunked by NASA.
The nineteen remaining asteroids visualized by the believers in this Apocalyptic nuttiness of the Reverend and his followers are still enough to wipe humanity from the planet, my higher ET self Ohom tells me, because the Reverend’s fears of doom have tapped into the upcoming Super Blood moon of 9/28/15.
Destroying the first 9 meteors in meditation the night before, some birthday, proved far more challenging and exhausting than I’d imagined. See Prt 1 & Prt 2 before reading onward to get the whole picture of my longest meditation series of my planet saving hobby so far.
Oh, and save the straitjacket, doubters. I don’t literally believe I physically fly into space and smash asteroids with my bare hands. But I do know in my heart that on some level of reality these meditations truly do help in some small way to protect the positive side of our global consciousness. We are all Messiahs these day. No single being is coming to save us.
At the very least these planetary meditations are healing for me as an individual. And since we’re all connected and every little bit helps. Last its way more fun to experience all these 5D visions than to watch even a great movie like THE MARTIAN for this story-teller of the light.
Yes, I’ve come to accept the power of positive vision, which me and others like me are doing every day all over the world to wipe out negative visions as old as the Mayan Calendar. At his stage, 5 years into my awakening, I just accept and go where I am told by my higher self, Ohom, a 7 foot tall Insectoid from the world of Nektar.
Ohom’s DreamShield planetary missions he guides me to, some at very obscure and unplanned locations, have carried me all the way to Antarctica in real life on 12/12/12. These mission have led to my current home base, Sedona. Sedona is famed for its vortexes and rich soil filled with crystal and iron, which naturally boosts the power of my DreamShield Planetary meditations.
This also led to…proud plug… filming scientist Patrick in Sedona for two years now for a new DVD called THE NEUROPHONE EXPERIENCE just released on Amazon by yours truly, a modern-day Don Quixote. My Hollywood dream begun in 2003 after a highly successful real estate career goes on. Expect my long neglected Antarctica 12.12.12 meditation DVD soon. Stay tuned here and on DreamShield.org for the announcement. And there will be a private screening party here in Sedona and/or LA.
ASTEROIDS OF FEAR
Because the 9/21 meditations went on into the wee hours of the morning of 9/22 and were exhausting as hell, I gave myself two solid days to blog about asteroid 1-9. Good thing I finished all that meditating and blog writing before my sick brother made an emotional attack on me using my mother as his pawn on the afternoon of 9/22.
Mom resisted my lost ex-convict brother’s insistence to hassle me on my birthday, the 21st. My brother was acting out as he’s in deep pain from the fact I am holding firm to my 2013 vow that he must stay sober a full year or he stays out of my life. My tough love is predicated by the doctors all warning me, after he came out of 3 week induced coma, that my out of control bro would die if he ever drank again. On my 2013 birthday my brother heard my warning and promised me he’d never drink again. But in 2014 addiction recaptured him and my brother began drinking again in Florida in spectacular fashion and we’ve not spoken since.
So think it’s an accident that only 1/3 of the way through the series of 28 meditations my lost brother tells my mother he wants metal sculpture back he gave me for my 42nd birthday to mess with my head? He claimed to mom the sculpture was done for his share of 1993 TV show I made called Cook & Rock and he now wanted it back. When my mom called me her voice was so filled with emotion I thought she was going to tell me my lost brother had perished of drink. The poor 87 year-old woman, who has single-handily kept my brother alive was since his spectacular 2014 fall they landed him on Florida NBC TV as a dog abuser, worried about my bitter brother’s claim he’d come to my door in Sedona with the cops if I did not send him the sculpture back.
I said as sweetly as I could, “Relax, mom. Fred’s mad at me for keeping my word he must be clean and sober or 12 months solid to reenter my life. He has no real claim on the sculpture but let him know it will be shipped out to him tomorrow.” Mom thanked me profusely and continued to share the horror story my brother’s ruined life until I cut her short. “Mom, please. Join me in this intervention to save him. You’re only making it take longer for your son to hit bottom by enabling him.” Mom did not want to hear this about her favorite son as needing her intervention. And so, after my thanking mom for not bothering me with my brother attack on my birthday, we made our goodbyes.
ONLY 19 ASTEROIDS TO DESTROY
At the end of prt 2 of these meditations I asked for guidance on a visualization of how to rid our dream skies of the doomsayers the asteroids 19 remaining all at once. Much needed after the psychic attack I warded off of my sick brother that day. How amazing I asked spirit for guidance of a way to beat all 19 asteroids at once before all that old family broken record of addiction that robbed me of a normal childhood with aunts and uncles dying off left and right and father who became demon when he drank.
So no sooner did I close my eyes, transform into the Super hero of Superman and fly from Sedona, did I have the super solution. I rocketed for the 199 asteroids hurting for earth. I felt the menace of these damned asteroids, brimming with humanity’s suicidal negative energy in the form of, you guessed it, addiction.
The very addiction energy killing my baby brother, only 18 months my junior. Practically my twin. Sober my brother is a powerful man to have in my corner. But drunk he represents all that was wrong with my drunkard father squared. Drunk my brother becomes jealous of anyone kind to me, male or female, and resentful of any luck in life. When he’s sick with booze poisoning his mind my kid brother is capable of freaky behaviors; like popping out of manhole covers like a crazed gopher, perching on your rooftop like a demented vulture and messing with all of us in the family living normal addiction free lives, including his own son and my kids. His rage at our healthy lifestyles knows no boundaries. Mass murder seems not out of the question, which terrifies my mother. As for me. Fear stopped motivating me to humor anyone with my awakening.
In meditation, my x-ray vision sees that all 19 of these asteroids are filled with suicidal dark addiction energy. But I bravely rocket head-on for the menacing asteroids. This doomsday rescue is personal and this one is for my addict brother and anyone on the earth stuck in addiction.
As the deadly asteroids near I recall my screenplay ELVIS AND ARMAGEDDON, a top ten finalist in a 1998 contest. The first draft of that screenplay was “1 Through 9” and it’s about two hillbilly brothers who must come to peace with each other before they can save earth from 9 asteroids. Coincidence that I was flying for 19 asteroids in meditation, a variant of 1-9? Not for this psychic screenwriter who predicted 911 five years before it happened. I take it as confirmation to knock these fucking asteroids out all at once.
If you follow my DreamShield planetary meditations you know many of my meditations are about ending addiction on earth. In 2010 I drew a diagram of a circle and a triangle at its center as a way to block the black hole to lead a group meditation in Nashville. My meditations show little mercy for the dark forces. I am a spirit warrior that takes no prisoners when it comes to addiction. I will destroy this asteroids or die in bed back in Sedona rather than fail.
Then it hits me. “It’s a trap!” A sick looking purple energy of addiction beam lashes out for me from all 19 asteroids. I dodge and dart at super speed. If even one of the beams hit me I will fall into addiction myself. But before any of the 19 beams can lock onto me, a hard thing as I am traveling 12 times the speed of light – I use my super willpower to rip a black hole in the fabric of space at the center of the train of 19 asteroids.
Instantly all 19 asteroids are sucked to the purple vortex beyond this universe. I visualize all of the addictive fear based asteroids off to a nether-dimension from which they will never return. The 19 asteroids rage with a wail impossible to describe as they vanish.
But the killer asteroids aren’t done with me yet. They reach out foe me as one telepathically and yank me for the black. If I fall in there Ohom warns me that I’ll pop out in alley in my home town of Milwaukee, a heroin addict scrounging garbage can for breakfast, my sick brother grinning over me!
The rim of the black hole rushes for me. Desperate, I smack my super hands together with a clap louder than millions of thunder bolts. A cool trick as I am in the vacuum of space where no sound can exist. The black hole slams closed just before I am sucked into my own rage at addiction. Only deep love for saving my lost brother has saved me. Free of the black holes pull I spin out of control from the momentum and crash-land back in my bed in Sedona. I take a few deeps breaths and fall straight to a blissful night’s sleep.
The next day, the 23rd, which “happens” to be my addict father’s birthday, I write I loving letter to my brother telling him to look upon the guitar as my gift back to him to remind himself how talented he is. I say in the letter all he needs to do is be 12 months clean and sober and I will be waiting with open arms.
At the Sedona shipping store a customer raves over the beautiful metal guitar my clean and sober brother gave me 19 years ago. I realize right as the clerk starts packing that I was down to 19 asteroids to destroy with my Super Sheetz meditations before my brother asked for this art he created 19 years ago from love when the friendly customer asks me, “What’s the story is behind this amazing sculpture?
I simply smile sadly and say, “Long story. Just returning it to the artist who loaned it to me for 19 years. He needs it back to get his life together.”
So here it is Sunday October 4th, 2015. And we all still here on our troubled little blue ball. Earth saved.
Thanks, Ohom and Dreamshield and thanks to my brother, for whose recovery I meditate often, for inspiring the exciting conclusion to APOCALYPSE NOT. Get well, bro.
Ken Sheetz is a film maker and social media expert whose life has not been the same since his 2010 awakening in Italy. If you enjoy his meditation stories, packed with more excitement than most Hollywood films, and want make a contribution via Ken’s PayPal account it’s BuzzBroz@yahoo.com.
When I was almost 5-years-old my parents sent me off for a Labor Day weekend with my favorite aunt Katie, who was only twenty-two. A striking brunette full of mirth, Katie had been in her teens when she had kids. So, in many ways, Katie felt as much like a big sister as an aunt.
Katie had a new boyfriend with kids too and we all piled into an old Chevy station wagon and drove from St. Francis, a quaint blue-collar neighborhood in Milwaukee, for Devil’s Lake. The way Katie lovingly dealt with her boisterous kids in the crowded station wagon, rather than beatings or harsh words my dad used to create order, was as new and wonderful to me as the alien worlds I would one day as an adult visit on the astral plane in meditation.
Some in the family thought less of the child-mother Katie than me. Grandma Agnes, in her thick Irish brogue, would often criticize Aunt Katie,”You’re raising these kids like a damn bunch of wild Hooligans!”
Yeah, I was happy to be in this fearless new tribe from the car ride on. It was the first time I was away from home. Aunt Katie gave me more hugs and kisses on that 5 hour car ride as I’d had in my whole 5 year life, aside from Grandma’s. As the Wisconsin countryside flew by the station wagon windows I even daydreamed about Aunt Katie adopting me and freeing me from my abusive father and ice-cold depressed mother.
Labor Day was passing as fast as the pine trees out the car windows, like the whole weekend had been that had seemed to pass like a single day in my stressful home. I was doing my best to hide how deeply sad I was that this was my last day with Aunt Katie and the happy kids and cousins before returning to my raging father and the frightened mother who let my father hurt me each and every day lest she share my fate.
Every painful day for the 21 years of my home life, it seemed my father’s only joy was hurting me. Lots of therapy would be needed to overcome this tortured life my soul had chosen to strengthen me for the planetary healing work I would do 40 years later. Yes, I accept my father was doing what my soul had chosen him for. Even if he seemed to a bit too good at his job of trying to break me. Indeed, if you are ever in a jam at the end of the world, a zombie apocalypse, financial collapse, I am the calm cool character you want in your corner. I fear nothing as an adult. So as you read take heart for the brave little Ken’s suffering in this story, He’s far more than he appears. He’s an angel that lit up a dark family and no victim at all.
Sometimes, when Dad was away and I kept my mom company, her little accomplice in a conspiracy to hate my father without his catching on, Mom would see my hands trembling like a Parkinson’s victim and she then always say, “Why are your hands shaking, Kenneth? You look sick and pale.” I really did not know then. Now I know the crushing stress of a crazy father was getting expressed by my body, though my mind was in total denial, both consciously and subconsciously. To my parents, sibs, and friends, except for my tremors, I acted and appeared a happy kid.
It’s part of the reason I am a recovering hypochondriac as an adult. One who now errors on the other side, ignoring health issues until they become life-threatening. Right now I am undergoing a nebulizer Abuterol lung therapy for a HVAC poisoning I let get the better of my health. I got in this 2014 health pickle by ignoring symptoms too long, hating being that sickly young kid staring out the station wagon windows.
Snuggling up to the easy-going Aunt Katie, my hands were steady, my stomach not in a knot. It was bliss for the five-year-old me. Finally Katie’s boyfriend, Rusty for his red hair, pulled the station wagon the Devil’s Lake parking lot and the kids all piled out and ran for the water. But I clung to Katie and helped carry what little things I could. Finally, after this clinging went on for sometime, Katie said, “Kenny, go swim your cousins. Um, Rusty and I have some grown-up things to talk about.”
I didn’t want to leave Aunt Katie but something in Rusty’s eye told me to go. The cousins welcomed me into the lake with splashes and giggles. As I played in the shallow waters of Devil’s Lake, named for steaming springs at certain times of the year, with my now forgotten cousins, I stole some looks at Katie. She was laughing and drinking a Pabst beer on the beach with her boyfriend Rusty. A boyfriend who tried to be friends with me, but because of my dad’s abuse I feared adult males at that time and Rusty gave up on me eventually.
Katie made out with the breast-groping Rusty with a sexy abandon I never saw between my mom and dad, who always seemed more like enemies in a truce between battles rather than lovers. I was, I admit, more than a little jealous of her red-headed boyfriend Rusty, who sported a handlebar mustache.
Some of my cousins and the other kids who were old enough to swim wanted me to go out in the deeper water with them. I watched in amazement how they windmilled their arms and kicked the water and swam like fish.
DARK SWIM LESSONS
My only swimming lessons up to then had been from Dad in our little backyard pool. He’d dunk me underwater and the only way he’d let me up to breathe was a deadly game of breath holding; I had to then see how many fingers Daddy dearest was holding out beneath the water’s surface and stick my arm out of the pool, while my little head was held tight under by his massive welder’s hand that wrapped around my skull like an octopus. Then I’d anxiously wave my arm to Dad, showing how many fingers he was showing me underwater. Only then was I allowed up from the pool to gasp for breath. Then he’d jam me back under for more “swim lessons”.
Once my mom finally said tentatively, “Bill, you’re not teaching anything but to see underwater. What the hell good is this without teaching him to swim? All you are teaching Kenneth is to hate you.” That got mom a beating. She was less helpful after that in questioning my dad’s parenting skills.
To win Katie’s attention back, I imitated what her kids did to swim with the kicking and arm strokes and lo and behold I was swimming! Of course, with only my father’s mean swim lessons, the first wave took me under before Aunt Katie could see how cool I was. Swimming went from joy to terror. I’d only swam far enough to reach the deep water and I sank like a rock. However, my father’s dark swim lesson did allow me a great underwater view of the bottom of the lake I was sinking for. In some crazy way my father’s lessons on holding my breath were my only hope. I kept holding my breath on the bottom of the lake. I could see the splashing feet and arms of my cousins above, oblivious to my sinking disappearance. I tried an underwater shout and swallowed some water.
I felt a strange tingle in my fingers and toes. I knew from my water torture from dad that lying still meant being able to stay under longer and live. Soon, despite and my aqua-man tricks learned under great pain, my consciousness was fading. I pushed off the lake bottom, but it was a sandy muck and I sank again, more out of air. Fear started to leave me as I began to see amazing shapes and colors, like tiny angels and animals in rainbow hues dancing in the sunlight on the lake’s surface above me.
I was fully aware I was dying but no longer afraid. I even calmly thought, “Well, at least I won’t have to suffer Dad’s beatings anymore.”
I had already run away from home a few months earlier. Only a kindergartener, I made it just a few blocks away before Dad recaptured me along with my little bit of food wrapped in a handkerchief on a stick like I had seen done in a 50s TV show about hobos. Dad broke that hobo stick of mine over his knee, like he tried to break my spirit, like the South Koreans he trained for combat as a US Army drill sargeant. “You little fag gook!” he would call me when enraged, forgetting I was a white kid, his kid. Somehow, even his training by the US army could never break my spirit like his recruits. And it frustrated him to no end to his dying day of bladder cancer in 2011.
Death lost all it’s sting. Dad zero to my many victories. I was ready to die, happy in that knowledge that I’d won as life left me deep beneath Devil’s Lake .
The light of the watery world grew dimmer and dimmer when a beautiful woman appeared over me, lighting up the water. Her bronze hair shimmered with an inner golden glow as she floated majestically above me, smiling. As I smiled back she said telepathically, “Ken, do not give up. Help is coming. Hold on, young one.”
I was filled with more love than I can describe at this beautiful face smiling down on me. More love than I had for aunt Katie or Grandma,”Who are you,?” I said in my 5 year-old mind back to her, as though taking telepathically was a normal as Grandma’s amazing apple pies.
The beauty smiled. Her glowing gown of green seaweed swirled as a wave passed overhead. I felt cozy now on the sandy bottom of the lake as a shocked fish darted past. I peacefully began to close my eyes.
The lady of the lake shouted in my mind, “Gaia! I am Gaia! And you must live, little one.”
“Gaia? That’s a pretty name, pretty lady. Thanks but my father is so mean I don’t mind dying.” I said in shame at betraying my father’s dark secret. He beat us all in the family, from mom to me. Beatings were the cost of living in his home where he controlled all through fear and abuse.
“Your poor sick father William knows no better. He truly does love you and the rest of the family,” Gaia said gently taking my little oxygen deprived blue hand and kissing it. Warmth spread from Gaia’s lips through my little water chilled body when a man’s hand reached right through Gaia and pulled me through her body. All went black…
Gaia became the earth. I saw her from space long before the astronauts. I saw galaxies and many of Gaia’s sister worlds. “Come home, little Kenny.” Gaia’s distant voice called to me.
I flew for Gaia’s sweet call back from the galaxies, down to earth and through the clouds. My spirit hovering above, in the dimming Labor Day sky, I saw my little 5-year-old body slung over a tan man’s shoulder. He ran like a Greek god for the shore through the shallow water. The young lifeguard tossed me on the sandy beach where my shocked aunt was yelling at my oldest cousin, “Kenny’s only five! You were supposed to watch over him in the water!”
The gathered crowd to watch, locked in fear of losing one so young as me. I was telepathic to all their sweet concern and it brought me further down from the sky. This was 1957 and they didn’t do mouth to mouth CPR back then. The lifeguard pushed down on my abdomen so hard I felt I would explode the way my father tortured me by sitting on my chest until I screamed and often passed out.
“No. I will not go back to that life!” I said and my spirit turned and flew for the sun.
Gaia appeared in a cloud, blocking my flight and said this time not telepathically but out loud, “Live, little one. Please, live.” Her words and voice were so sweet that I flew straight for the beach without a word and dove back into my body. Water gushed from my mouth and as I choked my first breath. I was back in my 5-year-old body.
I sat up on the beach and the gathering clapped and hugged each other. My cousins danced for joy. I was picked up in the loving embrace of my beautiful aunt Katie. Black haired and blue-eyed like my dad, Katie showered me with kisses instead of punches like her sick brother. “Oh my god you scared us, Ken!” Then Katie added in shame, “Please don’t tell you father and mother about this. They’ll have my hide for almost letting you drown.”
Not knowing what a “hide” meant, I nodded agreement just the same, happy not to arouse my father’s wrath at this kind woman I loved. This I see now was my first enabling of an addict’s negligence. Poor beautiful Aunt Katie would die just after her 40th birthday, her good looks robbed by alcohol and drug addiction. The fate of many in my family lineage. Katie’s loss so young, she should still be here, is one I’ve never fully recovered from. Fighting family addictions that kill people I love is why in 2011 I donated 150 videos, a $50,000 value, in barter for a $500 a month room for a small room in a grungy North Hollywood home, office to Bradley Quick’s beloved Cool Change Foundation. Bradley would be the gateway to my opening to my spirit gifts. It was the best barter I ever made despite the bad deal money-wise it was for me.
Katie was only a 20-something when I nearly drowned that fateful Labor Day and my first meeting with Gaia. Katie and Gaia seemed the same being as Katie wrapped me in beach towels and warmed me with the best hugs of my life. My relieved cousins went back to swim in Devil’s Lake as Katie warmed me fully back to life.
“Here, Kenny boy, get some food in you,” Aunt Katie offered me fresh peanut and jelly sandwich. I gladly took a bite. Food never tasted better before or since, despite a little bit of beach sand that had gotten into it in all the commotion.
“I saw angels,” I said innocently to Katie as I enjoyed the sandwich. The world was more alive than I’d ever tasted or saw before or since. I can still close my eyes and see the sparkle of the sun Devil’s Lake reflected in Katie’s wide blue eyes.
“Angels?” said Katie looking very frightened in a way that frightened me.
“Yeah, Aunt Katie. Little rainbow-colored ones and a big one named…. Uh, named, um I forget her name. But the lady in the lake was pretty like you, but with golden hair and a seaweed dress,” I said like this was a normal as the sandwich I was loving.
This made Katie look even more afraid. “All this stays our secret. You can never, ever talk to your mom or dad about angels or you’ll get aunt Katie get in big, big trouble. Your daddy might even hit me.”
“No…,” I whispered in terror. It was bad enough that I and my brother Fred, who got, I suspect, even worse than my beating by getting sexual abuse, at the greasy mechanics hands of my sick father, were being hurt along with Mom and Grandma. “Not Katie. I never wanted to bring daddy’s hitting Aunt Katie.” I thought. What I was too young to know was this fear was already too late. As my grandfather had died with my dad was only eleven, he had been the “man” of the family for a long time and was giving out beatings since long before I was born to Katie. God knows what else.
“So cross you heart and hope to die the angels and the lady in the lake is our secret, Kenneth?” said Katie, tears of shame in her eyes.
I knew when she said Kenneth, something Katie never called me like my mother did when she was mad, this was serious and so I said, “Promise, aunt Katie, a secret, I promise.”
PROMISE TOO BIG TO KEEP
Sadly, this was a promise I was not able to keep. Not because I was broke my word and told. The near death experience had changed me. I was seeing spirits of dead people and pets and the rainbow of angels everywhere now and talking to them all the time. My parents knew something was very wrong ever since Katie had brought me home. I was a very different kid now.
Eventually Katie confessed her neglect herself to the family in our little living room in our modest St. Francis home. Tears still burn in my heart recalling my father towering over Katie, “You drunken, bitch! You almost killed my boy with your boozing! Now, he’s seeing freaking angels and ghosts? Ken’s a retard now! ” My father slapped Katie so hard across the cheek her head spun.
“Stop, Daddy! It was all my fault! I seen my cousins swim and thought I could too. I, and I promise to get better. Not to see stuff.” I said getting myself between Katie and my dad.
Mom spoke up, something she seldom did when my father was hurling me around like a broken toy. Dad would break my arm a few years later tossing me across my bedroom into bed as punishment.” Leave Katie alone, Bill. She’s sorry.”
My father’s rage swung like a spotlight of evil doom upon my mother now. He raised a hand to strike her for speaking up against him. These family dramas went off like a spark in to firecracker warehouse and went to places no one dreamed. My father’s rage burned in his eyes, a forest fire ready to kill us all, himself included.
A Korean War drill Sargent my father was far stronger than he knew. My worst memory is him kicking my mother in the stomach while my mother was pregnant with my brother Fred. Fred was age two now. Fred cried loudly as my father kicked over a heavy coffee table like a toothpick hat was separating him from my mother.
“Please, Daddy! I promise never to talk to the angels again!” I shouted and jumped in between Dad to shield Mom from his menacing fists.
“Protecting the ladies, huh?” said my father as he backhanded me so hard I saw angels again dancing before my eyes. Blood from my cut lip mingled with the heavy carved maroon carpet up against my nose.
“Bill!” shouted my wise Irish grandma Agnes as she nervously puffed on a cigarette. “Enough is enough, son. I swear to make sure and teach Ken all I learned about the evils of the fairy folk. This sometimes happens when a soul crosses over. But Kenny is back with us now. He’s not retarded, Bill. Your son just needs a wee bit of time and my help to forget the fairies and pixies he’s met.”
Somehow, at Grandma’s profound pledge to break me of seeing visions my father’s rage cooled like an active volcano between eruptions. The women calmed and even my kid brother Fred stopped bawling.
And due to family repression worked upon me of an epic nature, all done from Grandma Agnes’ misguided love, so I have no regrets as it allowed me to enjoy an amazing normy life before my awakening, it would take until this very day, a vision on 6.12.14, eve of a full moon in June of 2014 to remember it was Gaia under Devil’s Lake I fell in love with at first sight deep beneath Devil’s Lake. I keep seeing more and more of mama Gaia since Antarctica 12.12.12 where I share now for the first time she knighted me. I dedicated my life to helping her save the human species, her proudest creation, that day on the stoney shores of Antarctica.
When he’s not meditating and doing planetary healing work Ken is a Hollywood filmmaker with PBS credits on IMDB and the owner of a socially conscious social media company.
Nothing can stop me from loving my brother. – Brandy Norwood
Normally, I try to report things in my world kind of as they happen. However, in the case of my brother and his dark awakening, I’ve been slow. It’s been painful to share given he’s been the person I loved most in my life. He’s been with me through an abused childhood that we share as a powerful bond. Hard thing is my little brother, middle of three of us Sheetz boys, is not always easy to love.
I’ve pretty much led a boy scout of a life. Not always. I am no saint. I experimented in school with drugs and booze, trying to see if I could master what my dad never could. Lucky for me, I was rescued by the love of a college sweetheart, a powerful Taurus, who would become my wife.
Later in life, after my divorce, I’m now protected by the good habits learned while married to a good woman for 18 years and most of all my own clear grasp that clean and sober is the only way to live a happy life. My brother’s harsh life has served as a cautionary tale for me. Share it with someone you love who is drinking and drugging. If one person avoids my brother’s fate it will be worth it and is why ultimately I share “Dark Awakening.”
Unlike me, my brother never stopped self-medicating with substance abuse very long his whole life, from teen onward. While we are together and with family he behaves clean and sober, if always with a beer in hand with a smoke. The times in between are where his troubles lie.
On or about September 11, 2013, in that dark and disastrous 9/11 energy field, I see now as I write, I got a message from my nephew in the early AM that my brother was in the ICU after emergency surgery in a Kenosha Wisconsin hospital for a bleeding ulcer. I raced in my rental car, soon as I had my flights and hit the road to Wisconsin and my sick brother.
When my brother’s emergency hit I was on extended assignment for my film business BuzzBroz.com. There are no major flights into or out of Sedona. So I drove two anxiety filled hours to the Hertz rental car store at the Phoenix airport to make my connection to Chicago then a drive from Chicago up to Kenosha.
As the Arizona mountains and cactus flew past the rental car’s windows my sad thoughts went back to July 31, 1990 and the pit of despair my brother fell into that harmed my family-life in a profound way. It was my daughter’s 8th birthday party. We celebrated my little girl’s big day in our new mansion in Lake Forest, all of us having a wonderful time in the abundance life was showering on me as the sole family breadwinner.
The phone rang as my daughter cut her birthday cake. My wife answered, happily nibbling on the cake knife’s frosting. Soon her face went white with shock. She handed me the phone and said loud enough for everyone at the party to hear, “Ken, it’s your father. He says your brother has lost his marbles and is coming to the party to kill all of us!” A silence fell over my daughter’s birthday party.
I took the call, and my father, who was estranged from me at that time, repeated exactly what my wife said; my kid brother was coming to kill me and my entire family. The fear in my father’s guilt-choked voice sounded real. So I took action to protect my family from a brother who had gone insane, according to dad. My brother had not been himself for a solid year. Calling at all hours of the night. Bringing a hooker to dinner. So this dire warning fit.
After my call, the police sent quad cars to patrol near our home. My daughter’s party turned into a nightmare of fear my brother would appear any second with guns, knives or God know what.
My brother in-law grabbed a baseball bat from the garage and threatened to crack open my brother’s skull if he tried to mess with any of us. Worried how fast my baby’s birthday party was escalating to a killing-free-for-all, I asked my angry brother-in-law try to break my brother’s leg instead, please. That way we could pin him down for the police to deal with and not sink to his level. My brother-in-law, a dentist my mother-in-law constantly compared me to as my better, reluctantly agreed.
Meantime, my baby girl, my pride and joy’s sweet little faced turned from joy to fear and sorrow. “How could my brother do this shit to his sweet niece?” I wondered, infuriated.
The phone rang again and we all almost jumped out of our skin. I answered this time and the police reported that they had intercepted my brother at a Waukegan bar about half an hour north of Lake Forest. They said he was carrying no weapons except a legal sized jackknife and so no charges could be brought. My brother had told the cops he never made the horrible death threat my father claimed. My brother’s claim was that our father was angry over my brother taking his car without his permission and messing with us all. This was far more acceptable to my heart even though I did not completely believe my crazed brother. It was one crazy person, my dad’s word, against another his crazy son’s word.
The cops also said my brother was drunk and he needed a ride home back to Wisconsin to get my father’s car back. My wife stuck with me, afraid my brother might hurt me, and we left our son and daughter with my wife’s parents, who shot me again looks of disgust. This in-law duo had their own dark family issues I lovingly dealt with in the past. Now that it was their turn to return the favor I felt no love at all from them.
I hated to drag my wife from the party and wish I hadn’t. What a dumb thing to ask of her I see now. My brother was my mess to clean up. Ah, there’s the old enabling still in play. More accurately seen from 2014 my brother’s mess was HIS to clean up.
But this was 1990. Long before the tons of healing work I’ve done to recover from the many of the same child abuse issues, minus drugs and booze, plaguing my brother. I’d not yet had a stitch of therapy. Though my great success as a millionaire at only 38 years-old made me appear solid, I was in fact a mess on the inside. On this fateful birthday I was freaked out and not thinking clear. My brother and father when they teamed up like this, despite my great successes as Chicago’s #1 real estate broker according to many and some fans in the press, had a way of making me a helpless child again.
When I met my brother at the Waukegan bar where the cops had intercepted him, it was the first time in 2 years I’d seen him. The drinking and drugging and six months in prison had decimated his good looks. My love for him usually so strong, now a smoking crater in my heart, as this phantom of my brother staggered into my arms. He reeked of beer and cigarettes as he told his twisted side of the death threat story of our twisted father’s.
I am no fool. I only half believed my mess of a brother. I had seen how crazy he got on these binges many sad times. He may very well have said what he said to simply mess with our father, I rationalized, not imagining my brother could ever harm me or my family. Still I was disgusted at the mess he’d made of my daughter’s birthday party. Despite the disgust I felt at the awful way my poor brother acted, the past shared feelings of an abused childhood, the tears, my love for him got the better of me. So I offered to help him get home with our abusive dad’s car. At that moment in a way, I can see now I made a poor choice of my brother over my own new family. I simply couldn’t help myself and my wife was sad I was getting sucked into this mess.
I drove my dad’s beater car while my frightened wife followed in my racing green Jaguar. I’ll never forget the fear and confusion in her deep brown eyes flecked with gold as I watched her in my dad’s beater car’s review mirror, my ruined brother at my side taking solace in my rescue. I feel it’s where she lost her love for me. We’d end up divorced in 1992, but this was the fork in the road.
I shook off the thoughts of the birthday party from hell as I entered the northern suburbs of Phoenix, checking my review mirror to shift lanes to the Phoenix airport exit, on yet another rescue mission of my fragile, crazy brother.
This was my first time using that confusing and poorly laid out Phoenix airport. I realized in my haste that I accidentally chose to the bus for wrong terminal. The airport terminal bus driver, a man of eastern decent was making too busy making jokes, jokes none of which we white bread passengers found funny, to notice me trying to catch his attention. It was like he had a captive audience for his bad comedy routine and he was not present for his real job. Stupidly, I took his bad joke making thinking his humor made him kind. So I explained to the bus driver, “I got on the wrong bus for catching an American Airlines flight, sir. I am on a medical emergency to see a brother who might be dying of a bleeding ulcer, losing all the blood in his body and needing 11 bags of blood. I need to get to the right terminal, please.”
The bus driver’s reaction to my family emergency? He pulled to bus over to chat up a security guard buddy on the curb at the next stop, thus delaying me further. After his security guard pal reminded the joker Hertz driver that he had a nervous passenger waiting, the driver only offered to drive me to another terminal waiting area to catch another bus not the right terminal, mind you, just one along his route back to the parking lot.
Shocked at his glib shabby treatment, I again explained again how critical my brother’s condition was. I pleaded, “Call your supervisor. Just a short extra ride to the America Air terminal could mean me being able to say good-bye to a dying brother.”
Looking smug, relishing in my pain, the Hertz driver said with almost a giggle, “Not to worry, sir. The transfer bus is right behind me. See? You will catch your plane easily.”
Based on that promise I exited the Hertz bus in the 100 plus temp. But, you guessed it, the Hertz driver was a trickster and the bus behind him raced right past me. I waited a painful unnecessary 20 minutes for the transfer bus, trying to keep calm as I had visions of my brother dying without me at his side.
Drenched in sweat and badly dehydrating in the dry Phoenix air, I arrived at the American ticket counter to get my boarding pass. I explained to the young female AA agent about my medical emergency. The agent simply gave me my boarding pass and warned it was tight and they may close off the flight before I got to the gate, in which case I’d be wait listed to a later flight. “Please call the gate and tell them to hold the flight for me,” I asked.
“Sorry, sir. We can’t do that.” said the AA ticket agent, at least with some heart. No time to argue, off I ran for the gate.
To their credit the TSA people rushed me through upon hearing my brother’s plight. Shocker to see TSA behave more kindly than Hertz and AA personnel. I ran through the terminal for the gate, dodging passengers and baggage. As fate would have it, my gate was at the end of the big terminal.
Panting and totally covered sweat, I nonetheless arrived at the gate 15 minutes before scheduled departure. The AA gate agent, a heavy-set blonde woman with ice-cold black eyes, said, “Sorry sir, we have closed the flight.”
I pointed dramatically saying, “There’s the plane. It’s still at the gate!” I looked at my watch. “There’s still 15 minutes until you are scheduled to depart. Call the pilot. He can re-extend the gangplank for me. I have a brother near death, bleeding ulcers, I need to be on this flight, please, ma’am.”
This was not my day. And so the AA gate agent coldly said, “Sorry, sir. I will not call the pilot for you. Against policy.”
Outraged she wouldn’t even make a try, I asked for her name. At that point the gate agent silently did a comedic about-face worthy of Peter Sellers and escaped into the gangplank without giving me the dignity of obtaining her name.
No agent to speak to or comfort me in an hour of family need, I walked to the window in despair and took this still photo of the plane. I also took a video as the plane just sat there for 15 minutes as I watched helplessly. I posted it to YouTube under the title “Heartless Hertz and American Airlines” It had 35,000 views before YouTube removed the video with no explanation. But I can guess the reason. These two giants are big sponsors on YouTube. My heartbreaking video where I was emotional about missing the flight was going viral. Sadly, it was a direct upload and is lost now forever.
I sat in shambles at the airport when my cell phone began to ring in my backpack. Thinking it might be more about the medical emergency I hastily dumped the entire backpack contents onto the floor and grabbed my phone.
Sure enough it was my brother’s son, my favorite and only nephew. He reported his father’s condition looked rocky but stable for the moment. The docs were saying my bother was not out of the woods yet as the two bleeding ulcers were huge. My nephew explained he’d made arrangements for me to take care of his dad’s apartment and would give me keys at the hospital.
I almost started to cry as I explained to my 28-year-old nephew, who was the host of my 1996 election show that would air on PBS, when he was only 11, his first paying job in life, that I had missed my flight due to not one but two heartless corporations. I would be lucky to be in Kenosha by 1AM and I told Joe to do what he felt right. But that if I made it on the next flight out, 5PM that AA had me on a wait list for, note wait list, no guarantees despite all that was going on, that I would grab a hotel for the night and get my brother’s keys the next day.
I made the 5 PM flight and was in Chicago and out of the Hertz store with wheels for the drive to Kenosha by 11:30 PM. I decided to go straight to the hospital and booked a room on my mobile app from Priceline. I made it to the hospital at 12:30 AM. Fortunately, my body was still on west coast time and I was not tired, having napped on the 3 hour flight without the once nice meals. Not even pretzels anymore!
When I entered the ICU I was struck by how badly bloated my brother looked. He was on full life support in an induced coma. They say that people in a coma can hear you and so I said, “Get well, little bro. Your big brother is here.”
Those of you who follow my work know I do planetary scale Reiki healing work called DreamShield. Now, I had a very personal Reiki healing to do. As I worked the Rieki I’d learned in LA I saw an angel join their energy to his. I was told my brother would recover fully and not to worry.
Texts and messages of support on FB balanced out the negative effects to Hertz and American Airlines. It was 2 AM when I collapsed into my bed at the hotel on the Kenosha harbor. The view of Lake Michigan was gorgeous for the ten seconds it took me to fall asleep.
The next day when I returned to the hospital my brother was off life support. Though he was still deep in drug induced coma my spirits brightened. My brother had dodged another bullet and was going to live. A personable young Indian doctor told me how the two large ulcers had been cauterized and that he was doing well, but that this was not the optimal surgery. Removing the affected intestines was the preferred surgery. But he explained that my brother had lost so much blood when he was brought in that they chose the least stressful surgery. Then his sweet face turned more serious and he said, “You brother is highly addicted to alcohol and is having such severe withdrawal systems he must be kept in this coma or he will burst his surgery. And if he drinks again the ulcers will kill him next time. This is his last ride on the recovery merry-go-round”
I nodded somberly, recalling how fast my brother had fallen after his summer awakening. “Drinking and awakening don’t mix,”I thought to myself. I could not picture my brother without a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. How he would ever never take a drink again was a mystery. I had donated 100 videos to a recovery radio station run by a human angel named Bradley Quick and learned some things about recovery. In 2011 I had been invited to Nashville to do a DreamShield meditation to end addiction in the world. But could I do for my brother, getting him to quit drinking and drugging, what I’d never been able along with Mom to get our dad to do.
I had a lot of time to ponder these painful thoughts as I watched over my brother. I thought sadly how he had been planning to see me in Sedona for my birthday on September 21st, just two weeks from when all this was happening. My brother began awakening from the old world over the summer of 2013. At first it was exciting to hear him say how amazing it was for him. The new powers and energies he was feeling.
However, the stress of awakening on him became been enormous for his fragile nature of an abused childhood he had never dealt with, unlike me an explorer of many forms of therapy, from EMDR, to Anger Management, to psychotherapy, and finally spirit work . Without any of this grounding his awakening turned dark and set him self-medicating with God knows what. The more I talked to my brother on the phone, as we planned his trip to Sedona for my birthday, the more imbalanced he sounded, and the more anger crept into our talks. I called our mother to tell her of my worries that my brother was falling back into addictions that had ended him in jail in 1990. Next call I confronted my brother, who has an epic dark side when he’s drinking and drugging, that I could tell he was off the wagon and he hung up on me. When he missed our weekly calls twice and was not returning my calls, I worried more.
I recalled the brother who was so unpredictable as a kid, loving to me one moment as my closest pal, then laughing at me behind Dad’s leg as I was beaten to within inches of my life. My guess is my brother suffers from un-diagnosed bi-polar disorder like I believe our father did. It was a common bond with my Dad that I happily never shared.
To top off my brother’s dual nature is the fact he is a Gemini. Often I hear stories of terrible things my brother has been doing and, like my mom, because of his amazing sweet side and sadness, I tended to repress them in the past. Now, I was no longer fooling myself and I could feel something awful was going to happen to my brother, perhaps jail again as in 1990. Perhaps something worse with this new energy of the awakening distorted within.
So when my nephew called about the ulcers and the near death I was not surprised. I did not hesitate on coming. My guides said he needed my healing gifts if he was to live. Now, instead, of a birthday visit to Sedona, here I was on what would become a 1o day visit to help him heal from ulcers predicated by a stressful life under an abusive father, who passed in 2011 while I was in transit on a meditation to Nashville to combat addiction in Nashville. My brother and I had made peace with our father after a heart transplant literally changed him into a better person and gave him an extra 10 years of life.
But the wounds of a childhood of constant 24/7 abuse for 18 years of PST that he’d never faced and lost in booze in drugs were, I could see reading my brother’s comatose face as he moaned and groaned like a ghost, literally ripping him apart. I spoke words of encouragement to my unconscious brother to let go of the past, hoping in his dream like state my words my get past his barriers for dealing with his dark childhood.
My nephew joined the coma-watch after his work day ended. As we sat among the beeping monitors we talked about his father’s painful past. How this rage must be drained if he ever recovered. How meditation and lots of therapy had been my solution and would work for him. My nephew thinks I am little crazy, like my two absentee kids, with all my visions and meditations I do for healing the planet, like the big one that took me all the way to Antarctica for 12.12.12. Now, I could see hope and respect on his handsome young face.
My brother loved his beer but it gave him a headaches. Combined with Excedrin he took to relive those headache the doctor, who said Excedrin should be an illegal drug, explained it had burned two holes in my brother’s stomach. Once again, I saw the pattern of heartless corporations again at work, bleeding ulcers, brought to you by the makers of Excedrin and Miller Light Beer.
A doctor was working for a giant medical corporation called Aurora Healthcare. However, I read the energy of the ER staff. All angelic and caring luckily. My brother was in as good of hands as one can expect today. The virus of corporations hiring heartless workers had not spread here in this ER in Kenosha near the shores of Lake Michigan where my brother and I played each day as kids on the beach to escape our crazy home life.
My nephew said good night and I continued on watching over my coma-brother. Though he was off life support now, he was restless all day. Shortly after his son left my brother became highly agitated in his coma. I closed my Mac, where I was doing my best to continue doing my work for PhiSciences and the hit web series I’d created with Patrick Flanagan. The great scientist had been looking forward to meeting my brother in Sedona. I slowly walked over the ICU bed, where nearly a dozen IV bottles filled him with drugs to keep my brother under and healing the delicate surgery on his ulcers as if in a nightmare where you have that feeling some monster lurks in the dark. My brother was supper stressed looking, gagging suddenly.
Worried, I walked out to the nursing station and told the nurse that something was wrong with my brother. The sweet little nurse a stocky young woman, no taller than 5 feet, humored me and reluctantly came into Fred’s ICU. “Look up there, Mr. Sheetz, ” she said to me like she was talking to a ninny, “That’s a camera. We see all that’s going on. Relax.”
Relax I could not and said, “Look at his breathing. He choking on his tongue. See how he’s straining to breathe? Can’t be good for the cauterization surgery.” I get amazingly calm in tough spots. A survival skill I had to develop when my father lost his marbles every few days. It was a bad sign I was so calm. Big trouble had to be on the way. My body knows these things before my brain.
My brother gagged on his tongue again as if on cue for the young nurse. The veins on his neck showed how difficult a time he was having getting air.
“Look at the oxygen levels, Mr. Sheetz. Your brother blood oxygen is 90%. That’s very good for someone in his condition of losing so much blood a few days ago.” the young nurse said.
“My brother is an amazing swimmer. He is simply breathing deep when he can in the coma and battling the tongue. Maybe you should have left him on full life support.” I said, surprised how clearly I could see this with no medical training while this nurse was in some kind of denial. I did not give a crap about her feelings. My brother’s life was at stake and his agitation was growing worse.
“OK. We will look into it, Mr. Sheetz.” the nurse said finally seeing how the situation looked worse by second. He was sweating now and pale as a ghost.
I stroked his forehead and said, “Take it easy, bro. They’re getting the doctor now. You gotta relax, buddy, or the surgery won’t hold.”
Just then the nurse and I noticed at the same time a tiny dot of blood on the sheet covering Fred, between his legs. The nurse pulled back the sheet… black clotted blood filled the entire bed area from lower torso to his toes!
“On my god!” I shouted. The words pouring out of me like a single word “OHMYGOD!”
“You have to leave the room, Mr. Sheetz!” said the nurse.
I agreed but watched on from the hall as every life support alarm on my brother blared now.
I couldn’t look. My brother was dying. I felt it so profoundly. I walked up the hall and called his son. “The surgery ruptured. Your father is in grave danger.”
“I just got home. Are you sure, Uncle Ken?” said my nephew, in shock having gone through near death with his father 2 days ago for the same ulcers.
As if on cue the PA blared. “Medical emergency room 116. Crash cart team room 116!”
“I’m on my way!” said my nephew, knowing his father’s ICU room number.
“Speed, Joe. If a cop pulls you over, make them escort you. He may not last much longer!”
As I ended the call I began seeing flashes of the good times my bother and I had shared as kids. How he reached his hand across the nightstand to comfort me as our drunken father stumbled through the house after waking us all with his rantings to God. How my brother ran for our father’s help when I fell through the ice in the forest behind our St. Francis backyard.
Then I realized the POVs of these memories were not mine but my brother’s. I spun and saw the glowing spirit of my little brother, age 8. “Get back in your body!” I commanded my brother’s confused little spirit. Weeping, I thrust out my hand. “Here! Take my hand. Let me lead you back.” The dazed spirit of my little brother took my hand and I walked it him up the long hallways and back to the ICU where his 59 year-old body lay near death.
A doctor walked up to me as I watched his little boy self’s spirit slip back into my brother’s body as he convulsed in racking seizures. The doctor looked like a cousin of Kevin Spacey and has the same no-nonsense manner. We eyed each other up in a nanosecond and knew we liked each other. “I’m Dr. Needle — yeah, don’t laugh — the surgeon on this case. You’re the patient’s brother?” To my handshake and nod Dr. Needle added. “Looks grim. Your brother’s odds of living are slim at best. Prepare yourself for him to go into cardiac arrest any second now from. He’s lost almost all the blood in his body. The cauterization I did Tuesday has all ruptured. He’s bled into his intestines and evacuated it out his anus in one gush. Do you give consent to revive him if he flatlines?”
“I give consent for you to do anything and everything to save my brother. I can’t think of a doctor with a better name to be his surgeon than Dr. Needle. You radiate competence. You’ll save my brother. I have 100% faith in you.” I said. I am a huge fan of book called BLINK. BLINK tells of how we form complete assessments of character in the time it takes to blink. It’s in second guessing ourselves that we go wrong.
Dr. Needle smiled at may calm nature and asked, “Would you like to be in the room while we try to stabilize him?”
“Yes.” I said without hesitation despite the horrors I knew I’d be in for.
“OK, wait here. I’ll give you the signal when you can come in.
Soon, Dr. Needle waved me into my brother’s, now crowded, ICU room. I’ve seen ER shows on TV. Now I realized what bad “acting” all that was. Here were a group of nurses, doctors and orderlies, some literally praying with folded hands and closed eyes, for my brother to survive.
At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet. – Plato
By Ken Sheetz
The world ends at midnight today, July 25, 2013. At least according the Mayans per expert Stephanie Sutton, wife of scientist Patrick Flanagan who I am filming here in Sedona for THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS.
This makes today a once in a many lifetimes day to wax nostalgic and share past lives this past 5,125 years. Which was your favorite past life? Please post your favorite past life below!
Ah. I am happy just thinking back over so many amazing past lives I connect to in meditation.
One as Samuel Warner where I founded Warner Broz. (typo intentional) and saw the birth of Hollywood. A life cut short when I died at 40 of a sinus infection. I battle sinus infections in this life too, one almost took my life 5 years ago. My bum nose is my kryptonite.
I’ve had an incredible life as a Native America shaman named Laughing Skies. I lived here on the Sedona area in the 1800s . My people were all slain by the white man as I did a vision quest gathering dreams on my dream shield.
I’ve learned just this week, as the old world winds down, that dream shields unlike dream catchers were not used to block dreams but used by shamans, like I was, as projection screens to share visions with the tribe.
I truly had no idea how aptly I named the Big Bang of my visions in Italy of ET building a dream shield about the earth for our aid in evolution. And so I could not resist Facebooking my producer friend Barnet Bain, who made the amazing WHAT DREAMS MAY COME, starring Robin Williams.
You see, when I first began DreamShield in 2010, I talked to Barnet about it as I thought I might be losing my marbles. Barnet encouraged me to share my visions, but he passed on getting aboard with DreamShield.org as he did not like the name. Barnet said DreamShield seemed fearful, this warding off of dreams. As good pals in film, he on the silver screen with epic films and me modestly on PBS and YouTube with much smaller budgets, we both get a chuckle that a dream shield is actually for sharing dreams in groups and a precursor to our modern-day dream shield of sharing dreams with crowds on the movie screens of all shapes and sizes from the movie theaters to cell phones. All of them dream shield’s of we modern-day film shamans.
Laughing Skies spirit visits me often as a guide to me in this life on how to heal the white man to be more like the Native Americans, more at one with the mother earth and father sky. A shocking fact considering the white man killed all his people and family. I vividly remember when I was Laughing Skies tossing all my dead tribe, wife, son, daughter and mother, on a funeral pyre and then diving into the flames to join them.
But of all the past lives I have so far gotten in touch with, my favorite is when I was the warrior-mayor of ancient Athens. Time travel with me to ancient Greece when Athens flourished as the flower of mankind.
TURKOS AND THE MERMAID’S QUEST – A True Past-Life Story
One, cool for August, summer day I ride from Athens for the beach atop my horse Pegasus, named for the steed of Greek legend. My real-life Pegasus, white also but without wings, and I have won many battles together. We ride as warrior brothers.
I tether Pegasus to a cypress tree and make my way down to the port of Piraeus to inspect new fortifications.
Afterwards I stroll the white beach, loyal Pegasus, following behind at a respectful distance as I ponder matters of state. Rain threatens. The sea air is fresh. A seagull cries out overhead and I say to Pegasus, whose ears perk with understanding, “I thank Zeus for all this beauty! We are blessed, Pegasus!”
As the youngest general ever of Greece, who saved the city of Athens from raiders, my skills with sword and shied are second to none. I am named warrior-mayor before the age of thirty. I am a fierce berserk er style warrior, who will never taste defeat in combat or contest.
I love the beach to keep my fighting skills sharp and go through sword lunges that have ended the lives of many an enemy of Athens.
A dazzling Oriental mermaid leaps from the sea and perches herself on an outcropping of rocks. Pegasus rears and whinnies in terror. I laugh grabbing his reins, “Ha! Brave Pegasus who has ridden into Hades with me, you fear mermaids!”
The mermaid laughs as I finally calm Pegasus, “Hail, great warrior-mayor Turkos! I Hato, Mermaid Queen of the East, swam far to seek you out.”
I bow and say, “And for what purpose do you seek of me, fair Mermaid Queen of the East?
“You are called by the god Poseidon to a quest, great Turkos.”
“A quest. What does the mighty Poseidon ask of me?” I say.
“Your excellence with sword and shield. Great Poseidon asks you slay an evil dragon plaguing the coastal cities of the Orient!”
My answer comes swift and sure. “I am honored by Poseidon’s request to aid you in your hour of need, beautiful mermaid queen,” I say offering a sword salute from my to my heart to Hato’s and add, “However, my wife Penelope, my three young children and Athens would be left defenseless against the dragons of the north. So I must refuse.
“You dare decline Poseidon, a wrathful god?” says Hato in shock, her tail flapping nervously on the rocks.
“Yes, Mermaid Queen. I respectfully decline and ask Poseidon seek another to slay the evil dragon attacking the Orient. My quest is here in Athens, protecting those I love.”
Hato ponders for a long time, shocked at my refusal to come to her aid. Obviously, this is the first time anyone has ever said no to the gorgeous siren.
Whinnies from Pegasus break the hypnosis of the waves and Hato says, “I offer you my protection against Poseidon’s wrath. For he is sure to be sorely vexed with you.”
I am touched Hato is more worried for me than disappointed at my decline to the quest. I bow to her and say, “Thank you, Hato, queen of the mermaids. I am sure your beauty will protect us all in Athens from Poseidon’s rage at my selfishness.”
‘”Selfishness? No, fair warrior! Sweet Athens and your family are blessed by your love and talents. I honor your decision made from a pure heart of love,” says Hato. She bows graciously with a loving smile that pierces my soul. Hato dives back into the azure Mediterranean waters.
I live out my long life as Turkos the warrior-mayor of Athens with honor and love. I never regret declining Hato the merimaid queen’s call to action as I will save many citizens and loved ones before hanging up my sword and shield. But I always felt bad I could not be in two places at once and help Hato the mermaid queen.
One day, as a very old man in his 80s, my battles far behind me, most of my family gone of old age, I sit in mediation on the beach. Hato leaps from the sea onto the very same rock some 50 years earlier. Though I am old and gray, Hato is as young and dazzling as ever.
“Hato! Thank you for all your protection from Poseidan’s wrath all these years!”
“Hail, Turkos. Your life has been long and honorable,” says Hato.
“What brings you back to my shores? My Pegasus is gone and I am old, certainly not another quest?” I exclaim.
“You are passing to the next world soon, great Turkos. I want to free you of doubt in your choice as a young man.” says Hato as she transforms her fins into legs and walks to me and sits down at my side in the white sand.
“Ah, yes. Seldom has a day passed with my wondering if you found a replacement to slay the dragon.”
Hato places her hand on my forehead. Her touch is as cool as the sea. “You made the right decision. I found another warrior to slay the dragon plaguing my seas. The world is filled with warriors.”
“I am so glad you and your people were saved, Hato,” I say, tears of gratitude welling.
“Be at peace, Tukos, and listen. For though I found a warrior to take your place with sword and shield, I’ve never found a man who loved his own kind so deeply as to risk the wrath of a god.”
My eyes close and I pass happily into death to the gentle sound of the ocean waves and the cool feel of Hato the mermaid queen’s hand on my fevered brow.
TEACHER’S PET OF THE DAMANHUR
When I share some of this story with the amazing Shama Viola, much of it has come to me more fully in meditations over the past year, the light worker from Damanhur of Italy smiles at first.
I am with a group of seven other students, in Shama’s past life workshop. We are in a teepee at Great Spirits ranch in Malibu. It’s summer 2012 and the fan is not keeping the teepee cool. I am covered in a sheen of sweat when my turn comes to tell the class the past life of Turkos.
I am always teacher’s pet as a bright, if rambunctious student, and I await Shama’s praise of me as the ace past life traveler right out of the box.
Shama instead scolds me,”No, Ken! No! Turkos is a wonderful past life, Ken, but not the past life our Damanhur oracles in our underground temples have chosen for you to study today!”
“But it’s a great life. I was so happy!” I say in shock at Shama’s scolding.
“Look deeper. You have led thousands of lives. Tune to the life we have chosen for you to study,” says Shama.
Shama moves onto all the other students and I am the only one who has not tuned into the right past life!
Besides feeling like class dunce instead of my usual ace role, I am frustrated beyond measure and think, ” I want to know more of Turkos and his amazing life. Now I have to find another life? Why? Turkos is the first past life I ever know about. Ha! And Shama is displeased as though I can just can dial-up another past live like an Iphone? The nerve of these Damanhurs! ”
My ego is deeply inflamed and I remain stuck on the Turkos life the entire first day of the Damanhur workshop. I fall behind all the other students, some of whom have come from as far away as the east coast. Finally, on day two, breaking a sweat in meditation I find the past life Shama wants me to study.
I am shocked I was a woman. My name was Maya, a powerful female shaman who lived in the rain forests of Brazil on the banks of a great river. After a lifetime of healing thousands, Maya transforms into an eagle feather as she passes from this world. Now Shama is happy and I quickly catch up to the other students as Maya’s life pours into me.
It’s a profound experience I highly recommend. Shama’s Damanhur Past life workshop travels about the world and is not to be missed.
But I still shudder thinking of the dress Shama made me wear in role-playing as Maya! 220 pound me, 6′ tall me and a 6’4″ tall buddy named Marvin, whose past life was a slave girl from Egypt. Not a pretty sight we two men in drag on a spirit dude ranch in Malibu.
Wonderful as Shama and the Damanhur are in getting me in touch with Maya and the healing powers Maya passed onto me for ongoing work dor freeing people from the Matrix via my social mind over media work at BuzzBroz.com, I still wish we had been able to also work on my life as the mayor of Greece. A man who knew how to love so well. A skill I struggle with in this life, as I am great at giving love, but feeble at receiving love.
Stay tuned to the blog as I travel in the fall the Italy and visit the eco-city of Damanhur itself in search of the answers. My next life the Damanhur want me to study is that of a 19th century Russian physicist. Fortunately, you get clues of who you were after your first class. So Turkos I know is not my next life. My five most important past lives to this one have all been determined. I hope one of them is the brave lover Turkos.
THE NEW GOLDEN AGE DAWN JULY 26th 2013. TOMORROW!
It’s also my hope and dream that tomorrow, the first official day of new Golden Age, that I, and the many like me who cannot accept love easily, will be able to fully open our hearts like Turkos. I am filled with excitement and hope here in the red rocks of Sedona toiling with Patrick Flanagan of PhiSciences, a master of past life study, to bring you videos that will change the world.
Enjoy this video I made of Patrick sharing his life as Nikola Tesla. This remarkable story that will be the opening of the movie I am writing about Patrick’s amazing life.
If you want to conquer fear, do not sit home and think about it. Go out and get busy. – Dale Carnegie
By Ken Sheetz
There were at least 10 times on this trip when I thought I was stuck on the road to Antarctica. The ego is a scared little bunny. It shouted in my head, “You fool. Depending on crowd funding for such and expensive trip! You are going to die a homeless man in a foreign country!”
I didn’t get mad at my ego — egos being no more than organic device to keep us safe and alive when it comes down to it — but it got very noisy in Buenos Aires when I barely had taxi money after an unexpected $160 travel visa. Again ego became deafening with fear soaked worry in another tight spot where I made the best of it working all night on the web in an Argentina pizza parlor not able to afford a hotel.
The trip was so tight I was constantly meditating to overcome ego fears #1, “You’re going to humiliated calling family for help. You’ll never live down not reaching Antarctica by 12.12.12 in the LA and Sedona spirit communities.”
But each time my ego mechanisms flared into protective action it was meditation that put me back in touch with my ET angel guides would calmly reassure me, “When the opposing energies, putting up huge psychic resistance to the change 12.12.12 will help bring about, think you beaten… you will triumph.”
After one meditation when I was stressing over a $2,000 hotel bill for two weeks in Buenos Aires when I was expending more than I was taking in. This time I was given a spirit guide named Hans. Hans, a Nazi who in life had fled to Argentina after being part of a failed plot to assassinate Hitler, told me to hold my head high and be positive in the face of fear.
You can hear me channel Hans in this video. This is one of the first times I have shared channeling of a ghost.
After 2 months on the road filled with 15 hour days of crowd funding,I had finally reached the southern most city in the world, Ushuaia Argentina… on a one-way ticket. I had beaten all the ego fears and raised $5,000, and a little more in value in barter, totaling $12,000 on the very first crowd funding for a meditation.
A meditation scheme that had angered some for it’s bold intent to shift the negative energy of the long predicted Mayan pole shift of to instead foster a cool change in human consciousness. One irrational guy on FB accused me of trying to start a cult centered around myself. I laughed it off: “A cult of one?” This was a solo meditation after all!
For months I had ignored the call and hung out on the cool Malibu ranch I was doing social media for all through 2012. The distance, the cold, the cost seemed impossible so I kept trying to do the polar meditation work remotely. But the guides would tell me repeatedly I must physically be near the energy field on 12.12.12 of the South Pole in Antarctica. Somehow, also the crowd voting with their contributions was part of the energetic and I was not allowed to just call on some of my wealthy pals to fund this trip.
I remained resistant to spirit running my life. Stubborn to have my ego in control on my life. Finally, to get me heading south for Antarctica my guides literally pushed me from a comfy lux assignment in Malibu at Great Spirits Ranch with everything from sinus infections, where I literally became allergic to the ranch, to being punched in the face and threatened with guns by a film shoot visiting the ranch.
So I began the research for travel to Antarctica. To my shock I found nearly 40,000 tourists visit Antarctica each of our winters, which is their summer, December 21st to March 21st, on expedition cruises. Pricing was a small fortune, about $11,000 a person on average. So adding air cost and hotels I was looking at a $20,000 needed! My total savings in September when the call from the spirit guides became deafening was a negative $350 in my over-drafted checking account.
Ignoring the spirits telling me crowd funding was a key factor in this mission I started calling my film backers from Chicago, but I could not get any interest despite having made now three excellent docs. Why? Because despite how cool they are they have not even broken even on cost. A wildly successful of a real estate broker and builder in Chicago, I have been a creative success but not seen any big money success in film. So investors never materialized. I could have saved myself pain and trouble listening to spirit.
Finally, I surrendered and followed my guides advice and built the IndieGoGo and listened to spirit that I needed some final lessons and attunement in Sedona. Within 5 minutes I had a 3 weeks barter of videos for room lined up with SpiritQuest in Sedona, the number one private retreat company in spirit mecca Sedona. However, SpiritQuest turned out to be so fascinating to film and another project behind on editing left me little time to do Antarctica crowd funding. And it showed. We had raised on $250 in two weeks for Antarctica 12.12.12.
One November day Nick Edwards of Power of Pyramids called and asked if I would be wiling to film in Chichen Itza anywhere from 12.21 to 12.24. Nick asked me to put aside 12.12.12 Antarctica to be sure to make the filming in Mexico but I flatly refused not wanting more sinus and gun trouble from my guides, who obviously do not kid around in keeping me on track.
Now I had enough to buy a one-way ticket from Sedona to Rio but I hesitated. I’ve never traveled to South America. Would I need shots? Visas? Crazy to travel without money for the hotels and not to all the way to the port of Ushuaia or to have a boat tickets. My ego told me this was nuts, “You’ll be left stranded in South America and die of a tropical disease!” Ego is such a pussy it’s funny. Then a guide, female voice whispered, literally whispered in my ear as I was having breakfast and dilly dallying in Sedona, “Tarry not on the road to Antarctica.”
After weeks of Sedona tune up and healing from the daily cynicism of my Malibu client and a bad experience with former spirit partner who was only interested in free social media, I was ready to listen to my guides (who are even now telling me to keep sharing the mission though I am back in LA on fumes). I was ready to listen to spirit not ego. So I hopped on the internet instantly and bought the one-way tickets to Rio. I left Sedona with a lovely send off party by angel channel Terra Senorra.
I stopped though Vegas to fly to Rio, taking a Greyhound bus to my mother’s retirement condo a few days before Thanksgiving. As I was showing mom the video about the trip to Antarctica my second-hand Apple MacBook pro computer went dead. I checked the plug and it was shoot. I did not have the $80 for a new one and Mom lent me the cash. I tried to decline saying I’d have crowd money by the time I reached Rio but Mom insisted. Mom is psychic and so I listened and my got the new cord with the help of my cantankerous stepfather.
Later, my grumpy stepfather freaked out driving me to the International airport, ready to drop me in the middle of nowhere. But I calmly guided him to the departure gate as my mother shot him looks of disgust. I kept waiting for my brother Fred, a steady supporter of my work, to make a little donation for the road but oddly he was not forthcoming. Geminis!
And so with $40 in my wallet that my mother had smuggled me, I was off to Rio on a one-way ticket with no money yet for the boat ticket to Antarctica.
But I would not end up in Rio. The angels had other plans for me. I did not have a visa for Brazil which you need in advance from an embassy as it turns out. And Copa Airlines was kind enough after hearing my objective was Antarctica to skip me ahead to Buenos Aires where you still need a visa but can buy it at the airport. That all seemed wonderful. I’d just go on the wifi at the airport and raised a little crowd money to pay the visa. But when I got to the airport in Buenos Aires I was stuck in customs where there is no wifi and given only 3 hours to pay the fee or be deported back to LA!
T0 be continued on How 12.12.12. Almost Did Not Happen Part 2!
Angels do not condone violence as a solution, nor do I. Not to say I won’t pop a guy one, with fair warming, if he pushes me too far. I may see angels but I sure ain’t one. Angels simply work in ways that are 5th dimensional and so they show me things in symbolic 3 dimensional ways I can understand and report to you. Or for all I know they’ve added something to the water in LA. I have no idea why I am seeing all this as an ongoing vision for 18 months solid now. And what you see on my blogs is only about 20% of what I see. I could literally write about all this 24/7 and never catch up.
A few nights ago I meditated and asked the DreamShield to show me what the angels were up to in the quest for gentle 2012. I was whisked from LA to Chicago, where hundreds of earth angels, dressed like 1930’s mobsters, were shooting up my kinda town!
Earth angels zipped through the skies and skyscrapers of the loop, blasting away mercilessly at evil spirits corrupting our legal system and government. Legions of lawyer and judge demon spirits were blown away with the angel Tommy guns blasting bullets of lethal light. I laughed for joy at this unexpected angel work in my adopted home town!
On LaSalle Street I watched in wonder as none other that the great Humphery Bogart led a raid on the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.
I shouted to Bogey, “The Fed was a client of mine. The people I worked with seemed like regular Joes.”
“Who the heck are you?” Bogey said spinning on me.
“Ken Sheetz, a spirit reporter for the work of a gentle 2012.” I said as I held up my humble Flip camera.
“I’m huntin’ demons sucking the life outta Gaia, not regular Joes or dames! Got it?!” said Bogey shouting in my face, not a smart thing to do with my childhood of having a Drill Sargent dad, but I liked what Bogey was up to and let it slide.
“How about a gun for me then?”
“Swell. Jimmy give the junior reporter a heater!” Bogey said with relieved chuckle.
None other than the great James Cagey slapped a Tommy gun in my hands. “Welcome to the gang, kiddo. Be sure you get my good side, my left, in any photos or I’ll brain you.”
“Ok boys, time to cut the Fed’s credit line!” Bogey shouted.
“Kill any demon that moves and the ones that don’t.” added Cagney as the angel gangsters all cheered.
Guns blazing, Bogey led our charge into the Federal Reserve lobby. Demon guards drew ray gun pistols that were no match for the angels hail of light bullets. Even your faithful reporter lost all journalistic objectivity and got in demon kills. And before you know it the battle was done, the lobby clear.
“Nothing here but a stinking money museum!” Bogey fumed.
“How’s about this? ” said Cagney pointing to an armored elevator door locked tight with an electronic keypad.
“Try 11 -11-11 as the combo,” I offered.
Cagney rolled his eyes. “No pathway to Gaia’s gonna be some lame combo any sap could stumble on.”
“Do like he says!” Bogey snapped.
Cagney complied punching in all the numbers, “See? No dice.”
“Add four more 11s for 11:11 PM. No, wait, four more 11s for AM too.”
Cagney punched in the numbers. “Crap. So many ones I lost track! Your honor Mr.Elevens.”
I counted on my fingers saying, ” 11.11.11 and 11:11 AM and PM. That’s 7 -11s, fourteen ones.” and punched in the numbers. Not an easy task as I thought as the pattern on the keypad kept shifting and the #1 hopped to another spot every couple of seconds. But as I punched in the 14th one, the heavy armored elevator door opened.
What we saw was not good however. No elevator, just darkness and showers of sparks where the elevator cab should have been.
“Wise guys cut the cords. Gotta make a jump for it.” Bogey said looking down the miles deep shaft filled with dangerous sparking wires.
“Well, boys, in for a dime… ” shouted Cagey as he jumped past Bogey into the shaft.
The rest of the angel gang followed.
“Sheetz, stay behind and watch our backside.” said Bogey jumping into the fray and not giving me time to argue.
I peered down the scary elevator shaft, filming the brave angels battle slithering snakes of dark energy. Something stunk. I was aware of an evil presence. I spun and looked smack into the face with a giant golden snake. Its pitiless eyes looked right through me with the heartless effectiveness of a credit report.
“Stand aside, mortal. Thisss is not your fight.” the golden snake spoke!
I raised my Tommy gun. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The snake leaped for me, fangs dripping with venom. My Tommy gun blazing, the snake and I fell together down the elevator shaft. ‘
I found myself in my boardroom at my Chicago real estate company. My partner and I were laughing as my construction manager sweated bullets. It was 1990, one year before my fall from the easy credit I had ridden to the top of Chicago’s commercial real estate world. We all laughed as the prospective “tenant” and took off her clothes in the middle of our employee’s presentation.
Bats flew at me as the snake hissed, “How can a man with so little respect for women that he’d bring a stripper to come into his company’s offices be a champion of Gaia?”
The snake was right. I had no comeback and it infuriated me. I drew my sword and switched on my red ethereal armor for battle as we fell for the center of the earth.
“Rage is your answer and your undoing!” said the snake as it bit right through my armor. Armor had never failed me and now in over a year of these visions. Poison raced through my veins. The speeding tumble of wires and the laughing gold snake faded.
It was 1991, I was in my family room hollering like a crazy man at my wife. Still, she bravely refused to sign the second mortgage papers I shoved in her face, papers that would have given me $250,000 to keep my failing real estate company alive.
The golden snake and I hit beam as it bit into my leg, fangs piercing me the bone. As we plumeted for the depths, locked in mortal combat, I saw a fevered parade of all the women I’d somehow hurt in my life, a fiance’, lovers, friends, co-workers, my daughter, my mother, even my Irish grandmother.
The snake was right! How could a chauvanist-jerk like me help the angels free Gaia’s heart from the vampire energy of the Fed tapping her dry?
“I’ve pumped enough poison into you to kill ten men! Why do you still persissst?” the golden snake hissed, shaking me in its jaws like a limp rag doll.
By the freshness that flowed in the dank elevator shaft I knew angels were near. Bogey flew past as he took aim at the great serpent. “Because Sheetz is already dead and now, snake, so are you!” The angels opened fire and the snake vaporized in a hail of angelic fire.
Cagney caught me in his arms, “Gotcha, kid!”
“What did, Bogart, mean I am already dead?” I asked, feeling better already.
“Get some sleep now. We got miles left to go. Christ you’re heavy!” Cageny complained as I drifted off.
I sat alone on Oak Street beach of Lake Michigan. It was winter 1992. Snowflakes swirled as I stared at the waves. I’d lost everything, my skyscraper, my cars, my company, my wife and kids. I walked into the icy water and kept walking until I was deep beneath the lake and I drowned.
I blinked awake in a great cavern, Bogart, Cagney and the angels all about me. “But if I died in 1992 how am I still alive in 2011?,” I said raising my throbbing head.
“Are you alive?” chuckled Bogart.
“Seems like I am,” I said checking my pulse.
“Look, kid, this ain’t no time for a lecture on mutli-verses. Alls that’s important you showin’ up to record what the angels do and give the people hope. Now shoot your camera over there.”
Bogey pointed to Cagney who was placing dynamite atop the energy tap the fed had to the core Gaia. The tap flowed with her precious blue-white energy to Federal Reserve and World Bank siphons all across the earth.
Now an army of snakes rose from the ashes of the old and surrounded Cagney.
“Get outta there, Jimmy. We can try this another day!” shouted Bogey.
“Got my left side, Sheetzy?”
I flashed Cagney the thumbs up as I had him my Flip camera’s view finder.
“Made it, Ma! Top of the world!” Cagney shoved down the plunger.
The cavern filled with explosions and fire that made hell seem like a picnic. I couldn’t see him, in the smoke and fire, but I heard Bogey shout,”Gaia is free!
I rose to full consciousness from my meditation, knowing in some crazy way that what I see the angels doing on another plane of reality helps our world, but wondering if I am in fact a ghost.
Your love donations atDreamShield.org at the PayPal link on the page help me report work on the angel visions which, hopefully with your help, I will one day gather into a book.
Greetings, Earth brothers and sisters! Ken Sheetz has given me permission to speak to you, dear reader, directly, about 11.11.11 and humanity’s ascension to a gentle 2012.
This is Ken’s higher self, Ohom. I am from, what you call, the Orion’s Belt star system. My species looks much like yours except we are 7 feet tall and blue skinned and have wings. We have lovingly watched over your species for eons. Some have called us angels.
The good news for humanity is that at joyous events like DreamShield 11.11.11 The Ascension Convention, hosted by Ken and Laura De Leon, well over 5 million people meditated as one at 11:11 AM and PM across the face of the earth, setting the intention of ascension in motion. Rejoice, for humankind has taken the first baby steps on a journey to the stars as a species capable of caring for your world and therefore full admittance to Galactic Society.
I warn you, however, despite your newfound 11.11.11 success, that ego plots against the heart like a dying movie villain trying to take all with him if he cannot win. Stay true on the path of heart lest you lose your way like the 1960s when so many light children became ensnared by material pleasures and were consumed by ego.
The time has come to put thought into action. Do something peaceful yet powerful to shake off the greedy selfish ways of a world run by Ego and enter the Golden Age of Heart.
On behalf of all sentient members of Galactic Society, we congratulate you on climbing the 11 ladder on 11.11.11. Your ascension is at last begun and begun well. Know that we are at your side to guide and protect whenever you call upon us.
Ken Sheetz back on the computer. I thought I was done blogging but another message is coming through from an earth angel pal of mine you’ve all met before, the fiery Angus McPherson. Angus leads the Galactic Enforcer Clan, here to help Earth prepare the way for the Shift, despite a temper that sometimes gets the best of him. He’s a scary to some on the outside, good for his job, but he’s a sweetheart who in the end always gives mercy to those deserving it rather than his swift sword.
In spring of this year, 2011, I witness Angus aid Archangel Michael and a host of his warrior clan touch down in Rome and do battle dark forces that have been corrupting the Catholic Church. I saw many demons slain to give the church a chance for a clean start. The victory was swift and sure. Even now thinking back on this stunning vision, which I’ve told only a few people about until now, gives me chills. Angus asks now I pass over the computer keyboard to him…
Aye, one look at the day’s news of evictions of the Occupy protestors sweeping the world shows me that my work as a galactic enforcer is far from over!
My hope is that it be of some comfort to you to know that I’ve been in hard at work the eviction business myself for close to a year now. Truth be known, skirmishes been afoot ever since my delivering the Galactic Council’s eviction notice under the treaty of Pangea.
Fairly given on December 31, 2010 at 11:59 Earth PST, this eviction notice is for all hostile ET forces to comply with the non-interference provisions or to depart this world via “Love Boats” we have provided no later than December 21, 2012.
Take heart lads and lasses, although the dark forces that have dominated your world for eons, pitting you one against another for pure sport, taking your gold off world to their own and leaving you with on holographic forgeries, and countless other atrocities that make my blood boil, are demonstrating with their spiteful ways that they will fight to the very end! Come 12.21.12, the dark ones cannot prevail against your determination and sheer numbers, not to mention the aid of Galactic Society for your ascension as full members. The dark ones efforts to starve you out, to mock you, the harm you are all being recorded by the beings of light and come 2012 there will be penalties long overdue for these stubborn usurpers.
Aye, my eviction continues as do their evictions of Occupy which serve as a mockery for the kindness we have extended . Hold firm and be of good cheer. They can’t stand love in the face of how they seek to throw you into fear. You victory is assured as I, and the rest of my clan, round the all up. We do this from Love until the final chance for them to vacate earth come 12.21.12. After such time there may be no love boats.
Change is coming and we salute you for your bravery and desire for a world where all shall live in joy and abundance.
Your faithful servant,
On 11.09.11 I had a vision of Angus and his eviction work. Seeking a major hostile ET clean up in advance of the many 11.11.11 events happening around the world a battle took place in the sewers deep beneath Wall Street. All hostile ETs surrendered rather than be slain by Angus and his enforcer clan.
But no “Love Boats” were in earth orbit at that time for evacuations. But such is Angus’ unlimited power, I once saw him tosses away an entire enemy fleet with a wave of his arm, that Angus flew out over the Atlantic and raised the Titanic from its slumber and landed it at Battery Park to take the hostile ET forces off world.
So it’s no wonder after all that he’s angry about the evictions in Zucotti Park! Stay tuned. I have feeling Angus is up to something big in the quest for a gentle 2012.