NEO co-creators, Patrick Flanagan and Stephanie Sutton
Our Indiegogo ended October 5, 2015, with a fab $1.6 million raised, for the NEO Neurophone. We sold out the entire 3,333 NEOs Dr. Flanangan allotted us. Yay BuzzBroz.com and PhiSciences.com. What a dream of a DreamShield team we make!
Soon as he’s better from the injury that caused him to miss his own release party in June, the doctor is raring to work on NEO 2.0. He shocked me when he said he wants to investigate the possibility of a $99 Neurophone, much more basic than NEO. Pat did his best on making a $99 Neurophone but failed to achieve 2013-2014 as he could not find the right American maker at that price point. Still his striving to reach $99 gave us the $444 NEO, a great improvement in quality and features at a 45% price reduction over the NF3.
As of this posting there are only a handful of NEO 1.0’s remain at PhiSciences.com. I have no idea when the 2.0 will be here so I’d grab that last bit of the first batch of NEO bliss that was for 5,000 NEOs while you can while we all wish Patrick Flanangan a speedy recovery!
And you can see all the fun you missed in the new DVD on Amazon THE NEUROPHONE EXPERIENCE or watch on Vimeo online.
Pat’s been recovering in Mexico and Hawaii, his wife Stephanie faithfully at his side. Let’s hope to see him back in Sedona soon and back to work on NEO 2.0.
Even though it’s sold out until Patrick restocks the NEO please visit the smash hit Indiegogo to learn more.
Love imagining these visits still happening with Robin in spirit Mecca Sedona. Here’s a wild one I imagined over coffee at the Coffe Pot on route 89A.
“Sheetzy, I did it! I am in big mama blue whale waiting to be born again a as creature of the seven seas!”
There amidst all the overweight tourists Robin revealed his whale fetus self floating before me. I almost choked on my coffee and said telepathically, “Nice.”
“Nice? Nice is all you have to say? I’m a freaking baby blue whale, Sheetzo. No thanks to you. Hey, I kind look like that Genie I played in ALADIN!”
“I am sorry I could not abandon the Flangans, Robin. It’s how I am built. But I am happy for you. And I am getting now that it’s all connected. The pocket sized blue whale untrasonics of the NEO and your song with the blue whales.” I say to the smirking blue whale fetus. “How long until you’re born, Robin?”
“Do I look like a whale expert? Look it up on Google, please. Like to know how much longer I will be in mama whale’s belly.”
I type “gestation period for blue whales” in to my Iphone.
“Females typically give birth once every two to three years at the start of the winter after a gestation period of 10 to 12 months. The calf weighs about 2.5 tonnes (2.8 short tons) and is around 7 metres (23 ft) in length. Blue whale calves drink 380–570 litres (100–150 U.S. gallons) of milk a day.”
“Damn 2.5 tons I’ll be at birth! And I thought I was fat when I broke 200 pounds for a while!” belly laughs Robin.
“Looks like next summer late you will be a whale calf, Robin.” I say to myself softly.
I reach across the pancakes and pick up the mug. There on the side of the mug, two blue whaled stand in relief, like reverse hieroglyphs!
My vision of Robin vanishes with a pleased laugh at my shock as the middle aged vet waitress comes up to my table, “More coffee, sir?”
“No thanks. I’ve had more than enough, waitress.” I say in wonder.
“I noticed you poured a cup to cool off while you drank the other. Smart. OK, hon, you need anything else you let me know.” She smiles turning to go.
“Wait, there is one thing. Can I buy this coffee mug with the whales on it?” I say showing her the whales in the side of the mug.
“Huh. Never saw whales on our mugs before, We have desert stuff on them. Kokopellie, cactus’s, ya know. Never whales. Lemme check with the manager if you can buy it.”
A short time later the waitress returns, “OK, young man, you have a deal. One whale mug from the desert of Seodna for $20.”
“Sold!” I say and off I go with my new mug and head back to my home studio for the day’s work.
“The Universe is one big Joy-Gasam!” – Robin William from the Great Beyond (edited)
“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams, as I imagine him from the afterlife.
A familiar new inner voice pops into the chorus that is the inner universe I call my big fat head, “Nah! Change that quote to ‘from the great beyond!’ Sheetzy, for the blog poster.
“Why?” I ask, questioning Robin, at least the version of him I imagine him to be in the great beyond.
“Afterlife. WRONG! That’s human lingo,” adds Robin’s voice in my fingertips. “In reality, in the great beyond, well, there ain’t no f’ing past or future here, no judging, no heaven and sure as hell no hell. Time and all the shit that goes with it is an earth game, part of the contract the spirit guides make you sign when you incarnate on earth.”
I pause to think, “Have I finally gone totally nuts? How can I be hearing, Robin William’s explicit thoughts and language, his standup side, so clearly even though he passed away in August?” Remnants of my Irish grandmother’s telling me to hide my gifts, which I managed well until 2010, another blog.
Robin chimes back in, “Stop wondering and write!”
Robin is ranting on so fast my fingers can barely keep up in my weird self-invented shorthand! This will take forever to proof! Not my best skill set as I came on the biz scene in the 70s when we had this person called a secretary. PC terms even PC, hate that shit, had not blessedly come into vogue in those 70s three Martini lunch days when I rose in the Matrix of Chicago to become a millionaire. All this was before sexual harassment abuses by assholes with wandering hands ruined it for the rest of us that simply enjoyed a little playful flirting with our secretaries that might lead to more between two consenting adults.
These days, in the so-called more advanced 21st century where heart and fun is missing from biz, I am painfully on my own, typing poorly as Robin thinks faster than the speed of light, his voice echoing in my fertile empty skull. Now toss in I have glaucoma and am slowly losing vision and, well, you see why proofing is not my thing. I work every day as though it’s my last with sight. In the future, someone can fix all my typos! I gotta get things out there. No time to please the fastidious with perfect blogs or post on FB.
Robin’s voice takes me from my little pity party above, “There’s this little wart of a clause that stipulates the newly departed, and that’s all I am here, suicide has its own set of rules for reincarnation. No judging. Death is death, And we Newly-Deads must take a break from our eternal spirits pals. Here in the great beyond, in spirit form, as well as on earth in human form when you incarnate it a time of painful separation. Paradox alert! All so a soul, like muah’s, feels the love and pain of their earthly life one last horrific time, lasting up to max 100 years tops. Luckily, Sheetz-cheeks, here in the eternity of time and space 100 years adds up to what we call: The Moment of Cosmic Silence. No wonder the spirit guides hide that clause between hairy butt cheeks.”
“I relate. I’m renting a house from a coven of lawyers, makes life hell in Sedona.” I say grimly, glaring at the defective HVAC system I sealed off that pisses me off daily. That this family trust of lawyer won’t fix. “There’s hope though. I actually met a good guy lawyer on FB recently. A loving father watching over a kid hanging on one of my FB groups. So lawyers do actually have hearts in this and so too in the afterlife.”
“Sheetzy, again, where I am now is not the “afterlife’. Williams to Kenneth William Sheetz. That’s my name in the middle of your name Kenneth WilliamS heetz. Clue, my clueless friend overcoming a childhood of Catholic brainwashing and family surpression of your mental gifts. No afterlife. This is LIFE! Life in the great beyond. Ain’t nothing” after-life” about it! Robin Williams, as a sentient spirit of the universe, is eternal and operates outside of time and space. Kinda like we are all gods here. Robin’s not my even my name or gender here in eternity. I have no gender, I am ALL here as we ALL are,” says Robin, spreading his arms and flying right through the sun.
“Wow,” is all I can think to think to Robin seeing his name inside my name, “There’s no more to all this than meets the third-eye.”
Robin riffs on, my typing nightmare growing, “That little name clue blow your mind, my fellow WILLIAMS? Google William. Do it now please. I’ll hang on Alpha Centarui while you search the all seeing oracle of your time.”
Google come back with lots of stuff. I like this one best from Behind the Name.com about the meaning of the name William: From the Germanic name Willahelm, which was composed of the elements wil “will, desire” and helm “helmet, protection”. Saint William of Gellone was an 8th-century cousin of Charlemagne who became a monk.
“I know your old man who beat you regular as the Sunday papers, was a William,” says Robin standing beside me patting my shoulder. “But he played a part too as a man with WILLIAMS in his name. That part was teaching you to be funny. Shame his darkness got the better of him. He was manic depressive like me and you,” says Robin gently.
“Let’s no go there, Robin. My dad, well. It’s complex. I’ll meditate more on this WILLIAMS pattern and him and me and you. A Williams trinity later. Let’s get back to the great beyond. Where my dad’s been since 2011 after dying of bladder cancer before I could say good-bye. He’d beaten cancer many times before. My kids have not forgiven me for missing his farewell. After his death he did make me that red suit of ethereal armor, with high-tech helmet, so there’s the name pattern. Funny that armor was strong enough to help me close the Bermuda triangle but not strong enough to survive busting your soul out of area 51. Whoa,” I say, taking a gulp of coffee, “Back to the cosmic. I’ve met a lot of ETs who are asexual. Any sex thoughts from out there in the great beyond on gender?”
“Good Morning Battle of the Sexes!” says Robin with the passion his famed GOOD MORNING VIETNAM line. “Gender’s a groovy earth thing that makes life more ying and yang in the pooty tang. Here time’s not linear. It’s curly cue as grown-up Shirly Temple’s locks on the Good Star ship Lollipop. Talk about a party boat! Fucking is required at the door before getting beamed aboard naked. Yes, Sheetz-entine, linear is as boring as the hell of the first SFX tale, The Bible. Boring as that fat slob Limbaugh who I am sending a herd Tibetan goats to crap up with his lawn! Here, in the great beyond, we can incarnate at any point in history, on any world, even overlap our incarnations, be either sex and marry ourselves. Always a disaster, BTW, Sheetzrama!”
A dizzying deja’ vu, spins inside my head and I utter out loud, “Whoa,” here in my defective, but lovely, rental house, that reminds me that even the heaven of Sedona, like the great beyond, has dickheads.
“Yeah, you’ve fucked YOU way too many times, Sheetzy! Ha! Talk about creative masturbation!, ” laughs Robin.
“Jesus H. No wonder my relationships are so damn weird,” I say, feeling nauseated.
“Are you a good fuck as both sexes, Ken? Double the wardrobe decisions! If you don’t mind a personal question from the great beyond, you know, as both the man and woman in the sack?” chuckles Robin as I gag into waste can.
“Sometimes…?” I offer weakly, staggering over the washroom to swig some Pepto.
“Ha! Way more to life than we ever, ever see! I am no one to kid you for too much self-love. Relationships, sure as the hell that surely does not exist, are something I never did master either. For this reason in my a next life I must repeat that lesson. And come to think of it, I see what you are doing with your overlapping incarnation fuck fest. Beats hurting another soul. So rotten I signed up for suicide before I was born. Never again! Wow. I miss all my cutie pie wives and adorable kids and lovers and loves and fans, and on so, so terribly on, here in my Moment of Cosmic Silence.” says Robin and who goes silent.
I wait respectfully for Robin’s spirit to speak again as I check my Facebook and do some emails. Cosmic multitasking. Then I see Robin pondering, tears on his cheeks. He drifts out past our Milky Way, a distant swirl of billions of stars and trillions of worlds. Millions, like our own, with sentient life.
Robin’s amazing voice reverberates in my mind as he finally resumes, speaking a bit softer and more slowly than his normal mile a minute pace, in his mourning,”We spirits of intelligence are the light of the universe held in the loving bosom of the what scientists call dark matter. A boring description for the glue that holds all reality to-fucking-gether, buzz bro.”
“I take it you’ve met Ohom, my higher self from another dimension when you say buzz bro, Robin?”
“Not yet, in your sense of linear time. Waiting for your intro, sir, to the insectoid higher 16th dimensional you.” says Robin.
“This is more confusing BACK TO THE FUTURE, but go on,” I say in genuine frustration.
Robin speaks in the professorial tones of his character from DEAD POETS SOCIETY, John Keating,”In concentrated form, where strands of love light energy crisscross, sentient worlds like earth coalesce from mama universe’s cosmic vagina. (BTW, I wanted to write “womb” end of last sentence but Robin said, ‘No dice, Vagina’) The universe’s babies, from the endless lovemaking here, form trillions and trillions of planets that grow up to be Gaia’s sentient sisters of the universe!”
“Slow down a little Robin. I may be bright but I am a fucking lousy typist,” I say in my mind to Robin. He’s in his Peter Pan outfit he likes now, flying lazy circles earth’s moon now. It looks like fun, but I sense the deep loneliness Robin is feeling of space and his missing being flesh and blood.
“Sheetzy, mama universe and papa spirit get bizee over here. UH!” Says Robin making pelvic thrust for emphasis. “So lot’s and lot’s earth-like worlds, each with its own set of rules those crazy spirit lawyers dream up. All in search of that perfect blend of excitement in harmony with nature, they all exist out here. Earth, you see, she’s just a part of one experiment. Poor Gaia’s bordering on a cosmic nervous breakdown because her ingrate human kids are a fucking nightmare of parental abuse! A dash too much drama and sadness there on our old blue world. ‘Sup to all earthlings! Add a pinch of love to the recipe to save the dish, earth homies!” says Robin, soaring past a glittering eagle made of stardust.
“Speaking of sadness and drama, you brought it up, Robin, so I gotta ask –”
“Ah why, if we agree to all the shit we agree to before were born, did I accept all the crushing manic depression that killed poor me off?” Robin rambles grimly on to my inner nod, “Been on my mind too, what’s left of it. Don’t have all my memories here. Hey! You know the answer. You told me we over coffee , Sheetzy!”
“Yes!” I type to Robin, and you at once, how efficient, on my keyboard. “Soul stuff I learned in Italy when I asked my soul teacher Connie Miller, after meeting so many nice Italians, ‘How the hell did these sweet Italian people ever produce a Mussolini?’ Connie said, ‘The brighter the light the darker the shadow.'”
“Right on, soul sister Connie. Yeah, my mission in life was to bring a lot of light to the world through my comedy. And, before I was born, I knew that all the fucking darkness, balancing of my bright light, would kill me in the end. That, to be fair to the spirit guides, one was not hidden in the small print,” says Robin, shifting to his famed Shakespeare shtick, while passing through a super nova, laughing wildly. “Pirthee, All my days on earth, yay, verily, I fought my inner darkness longest as I couldeth, thus giving out a fair light that now outliveth my pale countenance forever more, ”
“Could one say your darkness also outlives you, Robin?” I say typing.
Robin stops on the fringe of the Nova that lights him up, pondering solemnly and says, “Ah, you do wound me to the quick, kind sir. The sorrow of my loved ones and fans is ultra-dark. Heavy. Oh so heavy! And, shit, I see some folks are following my lead. Suicide copycats.”
All the stars extinguish around Robin and his voice fades, as when you start to lose a radio signal, “Much darkness. But life is a never-ending dance of light and dark. Residue light will be generated from my residue darkness. Ying and yang. Sides of one coin. A point of view. No judging. Now, after my death, my films take on a whole new pathos. My comedy a tint of tragedy. I can hear some in the audience, ‘Oh that poor tortured soul… he makes me pee my pants he’s so funny! Ha! Ha!”
Amazed by the profound, yet funny, insight Robin just shared, I say with my keyboard, “Anything more to add Robin? Gotta get to work. I don’t get paid to blog. Proofing this one may take a week or two (which it has).
“Oh, do I bore you, Ken, sharing the meaning of the universe?” says Robin, making a joke of his hurt feelings.
“Heck no! Sorry to rush you, Robin. I value you your connection, even if it is imagined. It’s Tuesday after Labor Day here on earth. Short week. Lots to do because our PR person took another job on us yesterday. So I spent all day getting great a new PS master in place. Good recovery, New one seems awesome. She’s worked with many of my clients like Don Miguel Ruiz and Eric Pearl. But it busted my balls.”
Robin guffaws and says, “At least you still have cajones, senor Sheetz.”
“Always the comedian, Mr. Williams,” I chuckle sadly,
“Yeah, our connection. Laughs and tears. — Sheetyz, earthly movie and TVs producers love happy endings. That’s just like the real stars of the cosmos and all the other worlds. All love happy endings. So, earthies, keep loving each other up. Even when it gets a little weird around the water cooler! Fuck all the rules, humanity. Love is all that matters for each other and every critter on the space ball ride with you. Williams out!”
As I get up from my writing chair to make breakfast Robin adds, “Nanoo Nanoo, Sheetzy!”
Laughter is my reply, an audience of one for an interactive memory of greatest comic of all time’s spirit.
“I’ll chase him round the moons of Nibia and round the Antares maelstrom and round perdition’s flames before I give him up!” (Kahn inStar Trek II: The Wrath of Khan)
By Ken Sheetz
Happy first official day of the new Mayan Age, the golden age, 1/27/14. Since 12.21.12 we have been passing through a 400 day buffer time between ages, something I learned of from respected DreamShield member Gary Christmas, yesterday on Facebook.
We must remain patient despite the fact things will still look messed up on our world for sometime. You see, I was told in Antarctica for 6 days, starting 12.12.12 to help halt the pole shift and transmute all that negative energy into a shift of human consciousness through a series of meditations I was guided to perform there, that the shift into the Golden Age will still take 50 years to manifest fully. The ETs explain earth manifests at this planetary scale at the rate of a large tree growing from seed to maturity.
Today is the first sprout of that tree of transformation. There’s much work to do and our world’s stepping away from the brink of self-destruction is not assured unless we take action. Meditation is simply our way of getting guidance. We are on our own. Thems the rules, my fellow earthlings!
THE WISCONSIN PROJECT
I had powerful ET visit last night where I was told by Ohom, my ET spirit guide from the Orion star system, about something called The Wisconsin Project. Ohom told me that my prayers for help as a young boy, suffering child abuse at the hands of a drunken father and the neglect of a brokenhearted mother, were heard at the ET base in Antarctica and answered. There were nightly extractions where I was repaired and given abilities to cope with horrendous physical and mental abuse. I credit all this ET work with the fact anyone not knowing my past will tell you I must have come from a happy home to be so well-adjusted. Well, that was before I began sharing my visions and past sufferings as a child in order to enlighten and free minds.
And Ohom told me I was not the only Sheetz family member saved each night aboard spirit space ships from the League of Ghost Worlds, a collective of worlds that have gone extinct and are seeking to help humanity to not follow in their footsteps before we attain the ability to live outside the bounds of time and space as they do with grace and ease. You see all worlds go extinct eventually. It’s inevitable. The sad extinctions are the self-extinctions. A path we as a species are on right now and the ETs we have seen as angels, since ancient times, are here to help us divert from for our sake and for all the creatures on our blue marble in space.
So last night, after conferring deeply with Ohom, I went into meditation at 3:13 AM, to take my first trip of the Golden Age outside my body. I left my body in Sedona after saying prayers, just like I did as a child: The Hail Mary, The Our Father and The Act of Contrition. Though not a practicing Catholic today, these prayers remain magic to my child mind and work magic for me in meditation.
Once again the prayer words rang true, and I was soon rocketing out of my body in Sedona and high above the earth. I started heading down into the green aurora field lighting the skies above Antarctica. I touched down before a tall mountain with no foothills that abruptly met the flat as a pancake ice sheet . A dot of green light appeared at the top of the tall mountain that grew downward into a slit of intense lime green light.
Mashup by Ken Sheetz from Nasa Photos
I walked through the green light slit in the mountain and found myself inside a vast hangar, safe from the severe cold I was beginning to notice even in my indestructible astral body, complete with ethereal armor . Spaceships and pilots were everywhere, in a scene almost out of Star Wars. I realized this hangar was the real deal, a channeled message to George Lucas. No Tan Tans in sight though.
None of the aliens and humans took much notice of me. Finally I came to a spaceship that my father, a great mechanic while he was alive, to my shock was happily repairing. Overjoyed to see me, Dad dropped his tools clanking and scrambled up from underneath the spaceship, much like an X-wing fighter Ala Star Wars, to give me one of his famed bear hugs. But I accepted his hug without returning any love. My dad’s young face, he looked about 27 now, despite passing at age 82, looked pained at my rejection.
“Sorry for not letting you know Zylph is one of my higher selves, Ken,” my father said sincerely. Sincerity I never heard from him in life. Nonetheless, these sincere words were strange first words. I’ve not seen or spoken to my dead father in visions for a couple of years now. Not for lack of trying! Ohom had told me my Dad was far away on a mission I’ve yet to learn of. Stay tuned. Now here he was back in my life again, without a word.
My young dead father’s face showed he knew how much that deception had upset me, once I deduced Zylph’s higher-self connection to my father. Now, Zylph’s acerbic sense of humor made sense. My father in life was a dark comic who never found a stage, unless you count his bar escapades.
“Yeah, Dad, That was damn wrong on so many levels I don’t know where to start. Why? I had made my peace with you. No need to hide behind your higher Zylph self just because you skipped the galaxy for a few years. The whole thing makes me wary of all Zlyph shared with me about removing the old to make way for the new. It seriously messed with my head like when you’d torment me as a kid. Seems you are still prone to mind games even in the afterlife,” I said, angry steam coming from my breath in the cold hangar, where spaceships came and went through the green crevice in the hollow mountain’s face.
“We don’t change, much as you might think when we die, sonny boy. But I am trying. Trying damn hard. Don’t let my screw up make you doubt Zylph. He’s me, but from a couple billion years in the future and has a lot to share. Yes, Zylph has a powerful dark side like me, but it’s in way more in check two billion years from now. Harnessed for good. We all need the dark and light to run this universe. And Zylph loves you like I do, ” said my dead father, wiping the old familiar grease from his hands to avoid my glare.
Ohom, a 7 foot tall Orion who has been chief spirit guide to me since 2010, quietly joined us, seeking to break the cold tension, as thick as the ice sheet of Antarctica.
“Your father, though in spirit form now, remains divinely human. William seeks daily to better integrate his bipolar natures expressed in one body, Ken,” said Ohom in his usually calm and soothing voice.
“Ohom, I’ve trusted you completely since 2010, letting you use my body and speak through me in videos and every day life! I asked you if Zylph, a new ET spirit seeking to guide me, could be trusted. And you said, ‘Yes, Zylph has much to share about planetary mass media and life,'” I said almost in tears, my heart pained this great being had allowed my father’s deception. “Some of the rage of my father leached back into me through Zylph. I suspect it destroyed an important relationship I was exploring with a housemate I adored in Sedona.”
“Zylph is his own being in his own right, just as I am the high self of you, so it is with Zylph and your father. My answer stands true, Zlyph has much to share to help save your world. But I see now by the profound pain in your heart how much this conscious omission of mine has cost us all. Worst of all, the love of someone dear to you that you sought to win was lost as result of my mistaken actions. I should have told you of Zylph being a higher self of your father. I hope you will accept my deepest apology for concealing the whole truth from you, Ken, on behalf myself and The League of Ghost Words, ” said Ohom, his blue wings sagging a bit at his shame.
“I promise to never withhold the whole and complete truth from you again, my Ken-Self. You see, I wanted so much, too much, to have you see how far you father’s spirit will evolve into the great Zylph. So much so that my better judgement was affected. I, like your father, like me/you, am also not perfect,” said Ohom so sincerely and lovingly that my spirit brightened instantly.
“If you brought me here to this secret Antarctica base as an apology, Ohom and Dad… Well, pretty damn cool! Come here, you SOB!” I motioned to my father and gave him a bear hug back to let he and Ohom know all was forgiven.
“So you’ll listen to Zylph again?” my father cautiously asked, nervous he’d blown the connection with his well-intentioned if misguided deception for good.
“I need to think on that Gordian knot some more, Dad. But, probably. With knowing who Zylph is maybe I can put some filters in place against the contagion of your ancient rage,” I said, my worries of Zylph possessing me already fading. The pain in my heart over the deceptions melting, like the ice upon the spaceships my dad was repairing in the hanger’s relative warmth.
Ohom joined in the hug and the three of us, my dead father, now a quantum spaceship mechanic, me and the lovable 7 foot tall blue angel-like Orion, remained in embrace without words until I found myself wrapped snug in my cover in bed and back in my body in Sedona.
I thought, pulling up the covers in my cozy Sedona bed, about a dream I’d had a few nights ago about Zylph, who is from an Arabic-like world in the Antares star system 2 billion years from now. And how he and a team of other ET Arabs fearlessly rescued me from prison pit of despair over the loss of my housemate, their white robes flowing as red para sails burst forth to save me. And so I finally forgave Zylph, my father’s future higher self. In that blissful moment I went to peacefully to sleep. If sleep is what you can call what I do anymore.
Many more dreams of others people like me came in one of the most exhausting nights of my life. Dreams of many being saved from child abuse by the ETs of The League of Ghost Worlds and The Wisconsin Project came to me like old memories of childhood playgrounds on other planets. Comforted that I now have an ET father, looking out for me as penance for his sins in life in many forms, the most prominent being Zylph from Antares, I finally found dreamless rest nestled in the powerful red rocks of Sedona on this first early morning of the Golden Age.
PhiSciences.com’s Dr. Patrick Flanagan and his amazing wife Stephanie Sutton
Visit DreamShield.org to see my meditations in Antarctica and the work I am doing to record the amazing super scientist Patrick Flanagan, of PhiSciences.com who also speaks to Ohom and considers him a valuable spirit guide.
Last here is the link to an amazing new crowd funder in prelaunch where you can volunteer and be in the inner circle in bringing an amazing device called the Neurophone, proven in numerous university tests since 1957, to boost intelligence. I am a happy user of the device and it greatly has improved my meditation and writing!
It’s 2014. I’m meditating in my new home in Sedona, trying to make contact with my 1991 self.
I see myself at age 39, working late in my offices at 303 West Madison in downtown Chicago, on the 19th floor. The staff has gone home. I’m still grinding—working harder and longer than everyone else, as usual.
It’s January 4, 1991. Snow drifts past the big dual-pane office windows.
On my desk is an invitation to a late New Year’s Eve office party a competitor is throwing in the East Loop. I’m debating whether to go. Parties weren’t my thing in 1991—and they aren’t now. My brain hurts at parties. I’m a one-on-one person.
Across the street looms the under-construction skyscraper I’m the managing partner of: One North Franklin. I’m tense as hell. The curtain wall—the skin of the building—is badly behind schedule. If the project is late, I stand to lose $8 million in guarantees.
So 1991 me paces the office like a caged animal.
Back in 2014, I’m thrilled to discover this time-machine compartment of my brain—one that’s always been there, waiting for me to open the hatch and fire it up. I can easily read my 1991 mind:
Dammit. Is the GC still working? Should I chew his ass out now for screwing up my building—or wait until Monday?
It’s worth noting: I’d been having conversations like this with myself long before my spiritual awakening in 2010—before Italy, before the ET-angel encounters, before the meditation work that eventually took me to Antarctica. (If you want the wider arc of that journey, it lives over on DreamShieldPlanetaryMeditations.com.)
So answering myself now feels oddly natural.
“It won’t matter,” I say to my 1991 self. “Nothing you do is going to save this project. Go home to your wife and kids.”
1991 Ken stops dead mid-pace.
“Where did that voice come from?”
He hurries to the door and peers into the empty hallway.
“I’m in your head,” I say.
“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”
“Your wife is right about the working too hard part,” I reply. “But you’re not going nuts.”
A phone call from a client snaps the connection. An hour later, I’m back—this time riding along in his emerald-green Jaguar as he drives home to Lake Forest.
“I’m back,” I say—nearly causing him to swerve off the Kennedy Expressway.
“Who are you—and how are you inside my head?”
“Who do I sound like?”
“Dad?” he asks, uneasy.
“Way off. I’m you—Ken Sheetz, 23 years in the future.”
He laughs nervously. “Time-traveling from the future? Prove it. Tell me something no one else could possibly know.”
I don’t hesitate.
“You and Gloria had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”
He goes quiet.
“Jesus. You are me. Or I’m losing my mind.”
“I can prove it another way. Tomorrow—January 5, 1991—the Redskins beat the Eagles 20–6. The final score comes from a third-quarter field goal. Randall Cunningham throws for exactly 205 yards.”
“What’s Google?” he asks.
“A company that will become the source of almost all human knowledge.”
He shakes his head. “If that game happens exactly like you say, I’ll believe you.”
“It’s as real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer.”
“What—am I going to crash tonight?”
“Worse. You’re heading for a complete financial meltdown. In a year, you’ll be returning that Jaguar on foot.”
The unraveling comes fast. Commercial loan failures. Banks seizing properties. By 1994, nearly every Loop building goes back to lenders. One North Franklin becomes the poster child. Barclays Bank loses $80 million—and makes an example of you.
“You’ll survive,” I tell him. “But not as the man you are now.”
By 1992, I’m broke. By 1995, I’m making films. By 2002, I’m in Hollywood. The money sucks—but I’m happier than I’ve ever been. (That pivot—and everything after it—connects to the broader body of work at OveractiveImaginationPictures.com.)
Gloria leaves when the money disappears. The divorce is brutal. The kids are hurt badly. One nearly doesn’t survive their teenage years.
“This isn’t a warning,” I finally tell him. “It’s a gift.”
I urge therapy. Anger work. Gentleness. Putting family first. Leaving the skyscraper deal early. Taking cash—any cash. Starting a small corporate film company. Naming it BuzzBroz.
I tell him the truth I never wanted to face:
The wealth was a trap.
The rage was inherited.
The collapse was the opening.
He tries to fight it. Of course he does. 1991 Ken is ruthless—Chicago real estate tough. A man built out of pressure, swagger, fear, and a need to prove something to a drill-sergeant father who never offered the kind of love you can actually stand on.
And then 1991 Ken—my 1991 Ken—does something surprising: he gets creative.
“What if I change the past,” he says, “and a new future splits off? No paradox. You’re just one version of my 2014 possible selves.”
“That’s actually quite possible,” I say. “A 21st-century theory called multiverses.”
As he pulls into the driveway of my Lake Forest mansion, I push one last time—faster, like the signal is fading.
“Be kinder to Gloria. Get out of the deal before spring. Take whatever you can get. Cash in the bank is king. Don’t wait for pride to do your accounting.”
“And therapy,” I add. “I mean real therapy. I didn’t do it until after the divorce, when I almost killed myself from suicidal depression.”
“Christ,” he says. “This gets grim.”
“Yes,” I say. “But you’re made of indestructible stuff. The question is whether your wife and kids have to pay the price for your anger.”
There are entire libraries on what trauma does to families—and how anger gets handed down like a cursed heirloom. If you want a grounded, mainstream overview of how therapy helps people rewire emotional patterns, the American Psychological Association’s psychotherapy resources are a solid place to start.
He threatens to bet big on the Redskins. He threatens to invent time travel and beat my ass. We laugh—tearfully—because even at my most intense, the heart was still there.
Then he opens the front door.
Gloria and our two kids—Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9—run to greet him with hugs and kisses.
And in that instant, both versions of me know:
It’s not too late.
I end the meditation in tears.
This really happened(s). This is not fiction.
I save(d) a family. My own.
And I still had time for my daily meditation hike in Sedona. If you’re into meditation as a practical tool—not as a personality—some of my calmer work lives at CoolestMeditationEver.com, and my civic sanity project lives at PoliticalCoolDown.com.
“O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!”
– William Shakespeare, “Midsummer Nights Dream”
I lay tucked in bed in my cozy room at the Desert Rose B&B, up for the day and doing my daily morning meditation. I have no idea I am about to have the biggest vision since the launch of DreamShield in 2010 when I saw 7 foot tall blue skinned ET angels.
I feel called off world and I astral project myself from the resort in Sedona and quickly rocket into space. In no time at all I am past the moon. I will myself to greater speed. Faster than I have ever traveled before in meditation or dreams, I break all laws of physics. I zip past galaxies faster than any human has ever traveled, an impossible one billion times the speed of light.
I come to stop and hover outside the universe(s). It’s a gorgeous vast tangle of galaxies, resembling the human brain’s trillions of neurons, majestically spread before me to infinity.
Now the galaxies shift into a pattern of symbols. A mega “download”. — A somewhat annoying New Age slang term for compressed wisdom transmitted from the spirit world of the ETs. One day we’ll have a better word than the robotic sounding download for these amazing transmissions of so much loving knowledge that takes up so little human drive space in our brains.
What I witness in this epic download is a mixture of Reiki symbols and new alien symbols never seen before by human eyes. I make a mental note to use hypnosis to recall them at a later date. Recording them using the pen and paper on my nightstand would end the vision before I could copy down more than a few of the 77 dazzling symbols made of trillions of galaxies floating before me.
All for later to recall this and share it. Or perhaps not at all as this may be a simple relay job for me. Much of my vision work is like that. Another reason not to disturb the vision by jotting down the amazing symbols formed of all the galaxies. I see now, like our Gaia, galaxies are living creatures. The galaxies have flown into these patterns, like a flock of birds, for me to see this message that will transform me and our world in ways we cannot even imagine. For now, laying peacefully in my bed, at my Sedona base of operations for DreamShield meditations and the incredible day job of filming THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS, this cosmic majesty is more than enough.
TRAIN IN THE RAIN
I reflect on the night before, where I took the stars of the new hit web series with over 25 million views, Patrick Flanagan and his wife Stephanie, as my guests on the Verde Valley train ride. It rains the whole train trip, from heavy to light. I tell the amazing couple I am sorry for the rain blocking out the stars and moon. But as long-time residents of the desert, both are happy for the rain.
While the rain and rocks of the Verde river fly the windows, Patrick is lost in his virtual lab. An inner sanctuary where he perfects his inventions before bringing them out to share in this world. Stephanie and he have a passionate relationship I have been lucky to catch on film. Neither pulls any punches debating the Shift and their roles in it. And a little wine and champagne sets off another of their brush fire talks.
As always, I am amazed these two can argue so heatedly like this and be hugging and kissing five minutes later. It’s something I would enjoy to a smaller degree in my next relationship. They purge and a process oceans of male and female energies like nothing I have ever witnessed.
A big part of the train ride is spent coaching Stephanie on dealing with the criticisms of friends and strangers about her part in THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS. These superb videos have been her first direct public exposure before the camera. I teach her that many people have hidden agendas and petty jealousies when they make comments. Extreme caution must be taken when listening to feedback. Truly honest and tasteful feedback people are a rare commodity.
Frankly, when Patrick told me he wanted to share the spotlight his wife Stephanie, who had never been on camera before, I was against it. But I listen to genius, one of my exceptions, and so I filmed Steph. I was blown away with her deep knowledge of the ancient Mayan calendar and how its’ still very much alive. I’ve learned from her the Mayan calendar didn’t really end on 12.21.12 like we all thought. Kind of embarrassing for a guy basing his whole life preparing for that date for three years. Click here to see Stephanie’s brilliant interview on the new Vimeo channel I am building for Patrick.
Patrick wants to stay in the first-class indoor car to keep working on his new invention. He literally creates electrical diagrams in his mind first before placing pencil to paper. Stephanie ‘s disappointed her husband is lost in thought and I escort her out of the train car into the rain. We have the outdoor viewing car mostly to ourselves, except for a worried old tour guide from the east coast who frets about us slipping on the wet deck. Stephanie and I grab a spot out of the direct rain under the awnings, normally meant for shade from the hot Arizona sun.
Here in the freshest damp air I’ve ever breathed, I teach Stephanie a bit about the Hollywood School of Hard Knocks skills on how to listen, sift what may be useful from viewer comments and move on. This hard-won skill took me years to develop. So I advise Steph to be patient with herself as she grows a thicker skin for her vital work as a new web celeb.
As the train winds through the rain-soaked desert, the smell of wet sage fills my lungs. It’s then I realize helping Stephanie overcome this negativity and other negativity that bombards her sensitive soul, is one of the reasons I’ve been brought here to Sedona.
DreamShield is uniquely positive in its mission. Wildly positive in the face of epic negativity. All will be well in the end no matter how bad things may look is its simple yet potent message of hope. I see in Stephanie’s face a lifting of the veil of the negative forces keeping her down. My heart soars as we sip our champagnes while the rain-soaked train steams past ancient Hopi ruins carved in the rock mountains.
The rain lets up and I coax Patrick to take a break, from inventing god only knows what, to venture out of the luxury train car onto the open air platforms where all the majesty of the desert surrounds us. Light rain pelts me and I now get why the dynamic couple are happy about the rain. Patrick rejoins his wife of eighteen years with hugs and kisses. No residue of their little argument remains.
Patrick, who has been in the public eye since the 1960s when LIFE MAGAZINE featured him as one of the top ten scientists to watch in the world, reinforces what I am teaching Stephanie about ignoring and filtering harsh comments of strangers and loved ones. I realize this new stress of being exposed on the web is Stephanie’s the source of physical pain in her leg that she complained of as our train pulled out of Clarkdale.
With her permission and Pat’s support, I give Steph a train ride Reiki treatment. I picture a globe of water energy soothing her cramped leg and send all tension down into the train tracks to be crushed. Soon as I finish the healing, Stephanie hops from the bench and starts dancing on the train car deck as PEACE TRAIN plays on the PA. I say to Patrick, “Wow. My best Reiki healing ever.” I only do these healings for friends, even though I constantly get heat from my Reiki teacher Dorothy Donahue in LA to hang up a shingle.
Patrick looks worried Stephanie is hopping around on the hurt leg so soon on the slippery wet train deck. I simply shrug in amazement.
As the train ride nears its end, we pass through an old slag heap from when this scenic train line used to carry copper, not sight-seers. The train track cuts through the heart of the slag heap. And the old train conductor explains, with his thick east coast accent, that the slag is has just been bought by a mining company to sift gold, silver and other raw minerals from it. Bought for 1.5 million dollars. Not bad for an old slag heap from 1911 when this train line was first built.
I hold forth my hand at the slag heap as the trains passes through the carved channel. I will the slag heap to send a healing surge into all aboard this train, pulled by an eagle painted engine car. A sign for yours truly who has an eagle pattern as a natural tattoo in his head from seeing angels in Italy. I see the sparkles of gold float into all of us. Another download.
WINNING A GOLDEN GLOBE
Back to the next morning meditation where I travel beyond the universe: The moist desert air from the train ride with Pat and Steph has done me good. I woke rested from my best sleep so far in Sedona. Usually, the dry desert air and my sinuses issue are a serious problem I battle here in Sedona all night long. Guess I am adapted to a lifetime the humid climates of Lake Michigan and the Pacific.
I record the epic sight of the universe(s) condensed to code with a mental snapshot to review later in hypnosis. I turn from the strange new symbols formed from galaxies to find myself standing at the front entrance of a small shop. I look up at the sign and it says “Golden Age Curiosities”.
A shop bell chimes as I enter the magical little store. The golden light of the shop is something you can feel as well as see.
A young goddess with sandy red hair looks up from her golden cash register. “Welcome to our little shop at the end of the universes. What reality can I help with you, Mr Sheetz?” she says gesturing to golden shelves filled with various realities held suspended in crystal globes.
“Cool,” I say, “I’m looking for something peaceful for Earth but not boring.”
“We don’t do boring, ” says the goddess shopkeeper, taking me by the arm. She guides me a few paces from her counter to browse new realities contained in beautiful globes lining her store’s golden shelves.
“May I suggest our Grecian Reboot model?” the goddess says with a dazzling smile. “Perfect thing for worlds like yours that need major overhaul.”
I am a power shopper in real life and I know when I’ve found the right thing, so I say, “Sold! What’s your name, miss?”
The graceful goddess lifts the Grecian Reboot globe from the shelf as she says, “Helena.”
“Wow. As in Helena of Troy?” I wonder.
“Just Helena,” she giggles, casually boxing my purchase of new reality for earth. Just another day’s work for this goddess.
Pardon my brief detour from recounting the meditation vision of Helena’s store. But as I write this I blog I just researched on Google, our modern Oracle, and I see why Helena giggles at me here in the re-telling of the epic vision. #1 it’s Helen of Troy. #2 Helena is a daughter of Zeus. Some references cite Helena, not as daughter but as a consort to Zeus. Yahoo says Helena was not a goddess of any particular thing. Not anymore.
I also just found the Shakespeare quote top of the blog, all found post-vision and note how amazing it is that it’s from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” here during midsummer in Sedona! All these clues are meant to show me and you, dear reader, to take these vision as real on another plane of reality. This globe of change is real that sweet Helena has gifted us.
I peer into the Grecian Reboot globe and see the Parthenon of Greece, restored to full glory, operating in energetic lockstep with a mock Parthenon in Nashville. A fit to all my recent visions of a Greece that never fell. A lost timeline of a Golden Age that never ended that we are rejoining .
“Will this really do the trick for my messed up world, Helena?”
“We guarantee all our new realities, Mr. Sheetz.” Helena says with a smile that fills my heart with golden light.
The dazzling vision of Helena’s shop fades. I lay contented in bed at the resort in meditation a while longer, awaiting more wonders. Then I realize I am being greedy. How the heck do you top a meditation about a golden globe given to you by the goddess Helena at the end of the universe for rebooting your home planet?
Eat your heart out, Hollywood. No wonder I don’t bother with TV or movies much anymore. Why with the wonders that lie within… free and easy to access? Just a little good breathing, some concentration and, zoom, your off the stars!
I chuckle at my old Matrix greed that lingers and hop from bed a freer man. Time for a bike ride in the desert and then coffee to blog about this while all is fresh in my mind.
Here’s my video about rain in the desert from 2005.
“A dream ain’t over ’til I say so.” – Ken Sheetz AKA Agent Smith
I dream this morning that I am in a training camp for psychic warriors of the Shift. I swim in the left lane bedside three other students in a roped off area of the Pacific Ocean near Hawaii. Logs block the path of our swim lanes. All four of we swimmers of spirit easily manage to turn the logs to open our lanes with our minds. We all keep swimming steadily forward through the intricate oceanic obstacle course. Dolphins cheer us on doing stunts and squeak calls.
See more of my vision art at DreamShield.org
A submarine surfaces, blocking my swim lane. “Part of the test?” I wonder to the other swimmers.
“I don’t think so.” says a young woman about my age. I’m seventeen in this dream. The age I train and become life guard in Milwaukee, where I save 17 kids in real life.
The sub turret guns spin for us. I realize the enemy is out to kill we young psychic warriors before we can complete our training. I hold forth a hand from the ocean and will the sub to lift from the sea. “It’s huge. Bigger than I can lift!” I shout to the other three students.
“You can do it, Ken! Raise it from the sea and crush it like a clam shell,” shouts the young beauty with hair as red as the rocks of Sedona.
I strain with all my might but I am only able to lift the bow of the sub from the sea. “Too big!” I shout, happy now at least the sub’s guns can’t target us. But I am not sure how long I can keep us safe from the malevolent nuclear sub.
SLEEPLESS IN SEDONA
I awake from the dream in Sedona in a light sweat. I realize it’s not a dream. It’s a repressed memory coming to the surface. I close my eyes and I see Morpheus smile at me. “Welcome back to Sedona, Agent Smith,” the gap toothed Morpheus congratulates me.
THE FALANAGAN EXPERIMENTS stars Stephanie Sutton and super scientist Patrick Flanagan
Morpheus is referring to a dinner I had yesterday in Sedona, after a lovely tour, where I was photographer for Patrick Flanagan and his wife Stephanie Sutton,of PhiSciences, whose newlywed niece was visiting with her Italian husband and best man from Italy. I explain over salad I used to be so deep in the Matrix before leaving Chicago real estate to be a Hollywood filmmaker, that the character I most related to from the film trilogy, THE MATRIX, was Agent Smith. Stephanie and Patrick are both shocked I was such a super asshole in my real estate mogul days in the 80s and 90s. We all get a big laugh of joy about my transformation to an enlightened filmmaker.
My escape from the Matrix accelerated to light speed after witnessing ET angelic like beings build the DreamShield for human ascension and protection in Italy in May of 2010. The Dreamshield is a profound instrument made of a combination of Gaia’s energies and our collective consciousness as her children, then ignited by ETs. This elevated earth from a slave planet to a protected world under Galactic Treaty commencing 1.1.11.
My adult kids are still freaked out by the amazing story of the DreamShield and have not spoken to me in over two years since I shared seeing 7 foot tall blue ET angels in Italy. Stephanie explains my wonderful son and daughter are deep in the Matrix and their reaction of brain shut-down is typical. Steph gives me hope that none of my kids’ distancing is really personal.
I am honored to be one of many custodians of the DreamShield, under its many names and guises. No ego. No high priests allowed. After the exhausting meditation event of 12.12.12. in Antarctica, still #1 on Google search for “coolest meditation ever”, 2013 has been a year of profound healing for me in Sedona with Patrick and Stephanie.
What more wonders await me and the DreamShield, which I recently learned is the same name Navajo shamans give to their shield on which the project their visions to share with the tribe. Sounds a lot like what I’ve done for the past 18 years; a Hollywood filmmaker sharing my visions on movie, TV and computer screens with my tribe, you.
Meeting my Inner Morpheus
WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED DREAM
My inner Morpheus is a very real, like all imaginary characters we come to love. He’s a paradoxical guide born of one of my favorite movies. “Use what you learned from the Shaman in LA, finish the dream of the sub,” Morpheus advises me.
I concentrate on returning to the dream, only now I am the master I am today at 60, not a 17-year-old in training. With ease and grace I levitate the sub from the ocean into the air. “Gotta save the crew before I wreck the sub,” I say to the young swimmer who is now a mature beauty.
“Nice,” she says as I life the sub over to the beach and twist it onto its side. “Everyone off the ship who wants to live.”
Sailors leap and fall into the sandy beach from the sub. I will the floating sub to shake a few times and the last sailors run off into the jungle realizing they are no match for these four masters.
I toss the sub into the sky. I fly from the ocean after it. The sub’s hull burns red-hot from the air friction. Then, exiting earth’s atmosphere, the sub cools. I see a debris field being brought for earth by rogue aliens breaking the Galactic Treaty that made earth a protected world on December 31, 2010. These stubborn forces of the dark energy have not given up.
At dinner yesterday Stephanie Sutton spoke of a dark cloud of debris from that would create three days of darkness and death upon our world. I realize in this meditation my mission is to wipe out that illegal spaceship towing the debris for our world. The creepy ship’s sensor’s pick me and the sub up. They feel safe behind the debris field. A mistake.
I form a force field about the nuclear sub and hurl it like a missile through the debris field of tiny asteroids. I am too fast. The hostile alien ship explodes and its tractor beam with it. With a blast of super breath I send the debris sailing for the sun.
Mission accomplished I return to my body in Sedona and fall back to sleep.
LONG NIGHT’S WORK FOR AGENT SMITH
Agent Sheetz/Smith
I awake from the DreamShield meditation inside a dream. I sit up in bed surrounded by fellow prisoners. I am Agent Smith, but I retain all my memories of this life as Ken Sheetz. I calmly check myself over. I am in a black prison outfit and I know this is “The Matrix” prison for our minds.
The prison is vast and high-tech. Rather than bars, our cells are all clear plexiglass. I walk to the balcony and watch as guards herd the zombie like prisoners to breakfast.
I step off the 3 story high balcony and fall for the prison floor like a rock. I feel no fear. I know my power. I am here to free minds. Just before I reach the prison floor my momentum stops on a dime.
A shocked guard raises a weapon. “Agent Smith? Stand down!”
With a slight curl of my palm the guard’s Uzi flies from his grip to mine. Mercilessly, unlike the me in mediation that spared the sub crew, I toss his body like a toothpick across the vast hall. He falls screaming to his death.
Agent Smith has no mercy. Guard after guard meet their Matrix makers as I stride through the vast prison floor, a one man chaos field of death and destruction.
Mr. Sheetz I presume?
An advanced SWAT guard to my left gets a drop on me and fires. Too slow. I hold out a hand and his bullets turn to harmless gold water. I fire my Uzi and it sprays high-powered water that knock him out.
At last I reach the clear foot thick walls of the prison. An army of prisoners are behind me, anxious for freedom. I will the vast clear vault door to slide open when a Redline subway train chatters up to the prison platform, full of new prisoners for brainwashing.
Train guards spot the prison riot and take up firing positions. A guard yanks a female hostage from the train. I stop opening the prison door as he tosses the young woman into the prison through the small opening I have made. I see the young lady is my daughter.
“Janelle?” I say as she runs to my arms.
“Yes, Dad. You have to stop. You’re hurting a lot of people.”
As I hold my daughter she is shifting in age, a teen, 30, a baby.
“Sweetie, that’s the Matrix talking. I am freeing people not hurting.” I say feeling the wind going out of my psychic sails.
“Look at all the dead guards,” says my age shifting daughter, her forms of her whole life flashing in rapid succession.
I see mothers with young kids on picnic blankets who look at me like a killer. My daughter’s tears make me cry too.
THE DREAM AIN’T OVER UNTIL I SAY SO
I awake in deep frustration. The Matrix is a bitch to escape, even for Agent Smith. But I head for breakfast feeling hopeful I at least found my daughter.
I will continue this dream later as I was taught in 2011 by a powerful Hollywood shaman. It’s the best thing I’ve ever learned about managing bad dreams. Dreams ain’t over until we say. I will free my daughter and the world from the Matrix just the way I wiped out a hostile alien ship last night.
I love protecting my world and the fact few believe I do. Heck, I don’t need a secret identity to be a super hero! Genius these ETs who guide my missions. Please, enjoy this as simple fiction writing if you wish. It’s cool camouflage for me if you think that all this is. Pay no attention this “Agent Smith” gone good behind the curtain.
I have so many more cosmic adventures ahead! The ETs say I must live another 48 years guarding the earth for the Shift to take hold. Earth manifests new reality planet wide at the speed of the growing tree, about 50 years I was told in 2012. Today I just found the time to research what kind of trees mature at that rate. Answer according to Google, our modern oracle? Pine tress. I have adored pines all my life. I have even written a 2002 screenplay called THE LAST PINE about Xmas from the POV of pine trees. And the symbol for the pineal glade and sacred symbol is the pine tree. Confirmation!
I am being literally rebuilt in Sedona to last at least another 50 years by Patrick Flanagan’s life enhancing PhIScience‘s longevity products. None of this was planned by me or Patrick. It’s divine synchronicity at full power. And Patrick’s reward is that the ETs of DreamShield are downloading him nightly with new discoveries that I am told will lead to human immortality. How cool it that?
Maintaining the DreamShield is sacred. I am on the case like an Agent Smith of the light, keeping it cool to free your mind.
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!
This morning I had a profound vision in Sedona, on the road to Antarctica, of one of 24 time zone meditations I will conduct on 12.12.12 with your support.
I have little ego about all this. It’s brilliant work I am simply channeling by the spirit guides.
WAR TO PEACE VISION
The vision I saw today was shift of man’s predilection to War to overriding Peace.I stood on the ice of Antarctica on 12.12.12 and raised my hands which tingled with massive energy. Weapons, from hand guns to atomic missiles, smashed from the ice the medicine wheel I had laid out in the snow. The sound of sorrow of the collective human soul became a raging vortex of all the weapons of the earth spinning high about the arctic landscape. A hurricane of death.I saw my tiny human form, my crystal skull glowing through my 60 year-old pale skin, skin, strike the snow with my walking stick, like some modern Gandalf. “SHIFT!” my voice echoed through the crystals of icebergs nearby. A chill, not from the cold, but the magnetism of South Pole, sent a shiver down my spine.
Doves of dazzling white sprung to flight from the snow. — One dove of peace for each weapon of death. The doves began to glow with an intensity greater than the sun. The angelic doves grabbed hold of the weapons with impossibly sharp talons and drew out negative energy from the weapons. Around and around the doves worked their magic until the weapons turned white-hot, molten.The melting weapons and doves forged themselves into single molten blob. The silver blog sank, steaming into the mile thick ice sheet of Antarctica. I peered over the precipice into the deep shaft and beheld a silver spaceship lifting off!
No UFO, this was a human made spaceship. I heard angelic singing as the ship roared past. Humanity’s war energy had shifted from war to peace to reach the stars.
Will this really happen when I reach Antarctica? My spirit guides won’t say. So we’ll only know when I get there.
Life is what happens when we make other plans – John Lennon
By Ken Sheetz
I am so glad I listened to my spirit guides and turned around from my trip to Sedona, on route to Antarctica, to visit Bradley Quick in the hospital when I heard the news of his cancer.
Bradley passed like his name, Quick. His end was not a long drawn out affair but one of grace and humor where he broke all visit records at St. Joseph’s hospital.
Considering that hospital is in Burbank, the entertainment capital of the world that says a lot about the man Bradley Quick.
His family was pleasantly surprised by his amazing popularity and the love people have for him as they paid their last respects, still hoping he’d pull off a miracle and get well.Bradley work of his charity for http://thecoolchangefoundation.org/, which I hope carries on his amazing work in curing people of addiction through the media with broadcasts daily as a beacon of hope, is cool indeed.I was his roomie in barter for social media for 18 very cool months.
Bradley sang every day. Not well but joyously. Like all human relationships we had our ups and downs. Early in our Odd couple lifestyle I even punched Bradley in the face once over a territory fight over spitting in my sink one day. Bradley had Hep C and I was furious he’d spit in the one spot I reserved for washing my dishes!But I pulled the punch because Bradley would not put up his fists when I asked him to duke it out. He staggered back after my punch and still would not fight, despite being in better shape and ten years my junior.
We got past it and it became one of our favorite stories of my transformation under his daily life coaching.We got way past our original territory battles and I made over 150 videos with over 1 million views on YouTube and built Bradley’s popular LiveStream channel http://www.livestream.com/coolchange. But without question I got the better end of the barter with Mr. B. Thanks for teaching me how to be cool, Bradley Quick. I will dedicate a meditation for you on 12.12.12 in Antarctica and I know you’ll be at my side with the penguins for the completion of the planetary shift mission you set me on for http://dreamshield.org/With love on the road to Antarctica, Ken Sheetz
Media, Meditations & Musings 