Well, as you know, if you are a fan of my peculiar blog, Robin Williams spirit seemed, I must always be the doubter to some degree, so seemed to be visiting me often after his death. Incredible and whacky as that sounds, Robin drifted away from heavy contact to be conceived as a blue whale. He will be born this August.
“Takes a long time for a mama whale to make a baby blue! ” Robin explained to me over coffee, one day. “I’m making my comeback as whale to sing a new song of joy and love for the world!”
My nutty life since my 2010 awakening in Italy had gotten a lot nuttier. I worried to Robin, telepathically as the waitress noticed me placing mug of hot coffee in front of an empty chair only I could sense Robin sitting in, “To some skeptics it’s gonna seem like I am capitalizing on your death.”
Robin’s spiritual answer? “Fuck ’em! This is really happening, Ken. No one can prove it either way. Share this whale of tale. For some it’s gonna make ’em happy I’m still around. For one’s who don’t believe, it won’t mean whale doo doo. Ha!”
So with all the love in the world here the fuck goes again. Another “Robin and Why Not Me?” visitation story, first in a while. Not surprisingly Robin’s visitation are my most popular blog posts so far, more popular than my meditations in Antarctica to save the world that will one day both be gathered up into a book called “All The Way South.”
Seeking some solace I am not drifting into a sea on insanity I sought out the great sonic healer Tom Kenyon at the Conscious Life Expo last week. Sorry no pic, my assistant Gen was shy to join us.
Can’t wait for the day that amazing young woman gets over that shyness and does that part of the work what I hired her. I’m patient. She’s only been with me 5 months. No worries. She’ll get there. Yep. Ten years of meeting celebs in Hollywood has taught me that as long as you are respectful celebs love to be approached. It is, after all, the extrovert’s mission is to have fans.
I complimented Tom that he had done an amazing series of whale songs for his part in the Dr. Masaru Emoto tribute. Emoto is a FB friend I miss dearly. Not that we ever conversed much. I just loved him in my news feed. Tom was happy I enjoyed his Emotto, the water master, whale song tribute. Tom was such bad-ass in he took no intro and just silently exited the stage, after blowing all our minds.
I told Tom I am having visits from Robin as a whale fetus, and his story of the new whale song Robin will sing with his pod to shift the planet to joy and bliss. Tom, a serious man, smiled and nodded and said, “Yes, that sounds like something Robin would do.”
I shook Tom’s hand and said, “Well, thanks for taking me seriously.”
Tom added, “Definitely.” and excused himself to join his son.
I am back in Sedona, after visiting hundreds of friends in LA and deeply back into into my hermit persona that’s so different than how I am anywhere else in the world, Antarctica included. I first learned our persona and horoscopes are heavily influenced by geographic location from a powerful Canadian astrologer during my stint as the social media and sometimes event director at the Great Spirits Ranch in Malibu.
The Astrologer told me in LA is was weak on money attraction for me but back in my base of Chicago I was an epic money man. All true. Time to get a Sedona reading to see why solo life here is a factor.
It’s been a productive, if very lonely life, here in Sedona. I’ve tried two housemates for company in this isolated city with no pedestrian life to speak of, both ended abruptly and painfully. I lost a hiking buddy who works in the spirit tourism trade over his disliking my stance against chemtrails on FB. Chemtrails not real? Get real. Don’t get me wrong I won’t blow up a friendship over chemtrails. He did, attributing believing in chemtrails to being akin to fear of Gays. Huh! Walking papers sent.
One healer woman I met here is so lost and stuck here she barely leaves her home. I fight that urge with hikes, a Pilates class twice a week, eating out at Sedona’s highly limited restaurants. Quality here falls off fast after Cottonwood’s Bocce and Sedona’s Chocolate Tree. Most fare here in the red rock is GMO to the max here. A paradox you combat here by eating healthy organic for at home a lot. Thus back to isolation.
Frequent trips out of town are all that keeps me sane and connected to humanity, aside from the web where I work each day doing socially conscious social media.
I try to be social here in Sedona but it does not work out like it does for me everywhere else. I have about 500 real-life powerful friends on my personal email list. I make friends very easily. But not in Sedona. I was at small Sedona wine party Thursday. I was being social, but it felt forced. One woman sat all alone staring into space. We chatted a while and then she drifited away. Weird. I met an attractive divorcee, who had organized the party for promoting industrial hemp. Seemed promising, but her eyes glazed over when we got to the topic of chemtrails. Such denial our poison skies here. Once the party bunch reached a movie theater showing the film the party was about, cool movie about industrial hemp, I chose to sit alone. Felt so right.
My assistant Gen had a nice friend in town but the idea of being out with them on Valentine’s Day filled me with a dread. I declined and worked all day. I find here in Sedona I am withdrawing further and further from the world of people.
So you can imagine that the spirit visit with Robin felt warm and welcome this Valentine’s Day. Funny. It’s as though I am more connected to spirit people than living people here. Quite puzzling yet wonderful.
At any rate here, was my exchange with Robin today, posted to Facebook in real time. I do that live with Robin, who wants me to learn to imitate his voice for channeling and I am resistive of as it’s a bit manic, much as I love his amazing syle, for me.
ROBIN’S VALENTINE’S MESSAGE
Robin: Valentine’s is always my favorite holiday!
Ken: Why is that, Robin?
Robin: Well, I could make a wisecrack about how easy of a day Valentine’s is to get laid. Ha! But being a whale fetus has taken some of the edge off squishy me. So instead I’ll go spiritual on your ass, Sheetzy and say it’s because of all the love. Yeah, I know it was a god damn Hallmark Holiday for starts. But, man, breathe deep. Breathe the love, baby. The Hallmark corporates did something groovy by mistake. Score one for the light side of the force!
Ken: Yeah, been tuning in on the Valentine’s love from the living Neuro transmitter that is Sedona red rocks and crytals all day. Nice.
Robin: I wanna say to all the lonely hearts out there, like you, Kenny my man, that me and Mama Whale and all us whale cats are with you. Listen to us sing! I’ve already been teaching mama my groovy new frequency of love and joy from inside her big beautiful whale tum tum. We and the dolphins dudes and dudettes are gathering for a new song for Mama Earth! Yo!
Ken: I hear you, bro.
Robin: Actually, I’m a girly whale this incarnation, Sheeterino!
Ken: Well then I am with you, “sista” whale. I have a girl cousin named Robin so you don’t even need a name change.
Robin: Change, baby! Talk about it. I didn’t just have a sex change. I had a whole species change! Whoa! Awesomely epic! can’t wait for my first solo swim in August. Watch out Seven Seas!
Ken: Cool to hear from you so strong again. You were out of touch, just popping in for little giggles.
Robin: Hey, Kenster. It’s a lot of work building a whale fetus and teaching a new song for the earth. Cut me some slack. Hahahaha!
Ken: I am one uptight mo fo. Hahaha!
Robin: Well, speaking of hard work whale building. Mama’s telling me to stop transmitting. Happy VD. The good kind! Williams out!
Ken: Ciao, Robin. Talk again soon. Thanks for the pep talk. Love to you and the pod.
Well, Robin’s whale of a spirit is more conversation than I had with any living soul today, Valentine’s Day. Perhaps that’s part of why I am a hermit in Sedona. My only friends are all work or services related. Lots to ponder on this early morning after a solo Valentine’s Day of hard work preparing for a meeting with my main client.
Aw. Before we speak of Robin and an amazing techno-meditation device I’ve been blessed to discover that may have saved his life as it’s saved mine, meet the future. My puppy Sophia, now 7 years-old, just turning 50 in human years, is living with an adorable LA family I found to adopt her. She was hard to give up. Don’t get me started on Obama’s failed jobless recovery. But it did get me traveling.
Still, much as I love the traveling life. I miss Sophia. It makes me sad to think, Sophia who ages seven times the rate of a human, will one day soon catch up to me in years, pass me by and pass on. I plan to visit her again soon, before she’s too old to cuddle with me.
Sophia and I bonded instantly. Love at first sight at a pet store in LA where I was filming a commercial in 2007. Sophia became the star of my most popular short film starring Ed Asner, ZACK’S MACHINE.
WISDOM FROM “BACK FROM THE DEAD DANNION”
In my 2012 interview of him, best seller author and consultant to film and TV, Dannion Brinkley asked me the question I ask you now:
What’s the one medical condition that leads to more deaths on this world than any other condition? I guessed heart attacks when Dannion, who has been struck by lightning twice and been dead three times, asked me.
Post your guess below. I will give prize of one free bottle of Dr. Flanagan’s famed Megahydrate, that hydrates you from the inside out. Which one of you wins? Simple, the one I like best. Post your answer now before continuing to read.
Back? Ok. The correct answer according to Dannion is birth. Yes, birth, the hillbilly swami, says is the leading cause of death. Take a look in your mind’s eye: Everyone and everything on this world, this world itself in fact, is born to die.
Age. That’s my morning meditation today. Or more specifically time. Why do we choose atomic decay, or aging, as the universal constraint of our reality?
Why do we agree to live such short lives, less than the blink of an eye to the cosmos? And why in so many different bodies and life forms? Indeed, some forms of insect live an entire life in matter of hours.
Tell you a secret I only learned yesterday in my amazing meditation at the Stupa in Sedona, that I filmed for DreamShield, not all sentient life in the universe lives in linear time like we all do on earth. Some worlds, like the moon of Nektar I can reach in meditation, live outside time and space.
Why do we earthlings, from puppies to princes, choose to in live linear time, to be young, to breed, to raise our young and then to die? Pretty profound blog for something that started from a puppy picture, yes?
OK, Take four deep breaths and strap on your Neurophone with me as you read this post. Let’s ponder the big question of aging, incarnation and time. Wait! Don’t have a Neurophone? Don’t even know what the heck a Neurophone is?
THE NEUROPHONE. WHY I LOVE IT AND ITS INVENTOR
First invented in 1958 by Patrick Flanagan, when he was only 13-years-old, the Neurophone, explained in detail at NewNeurophone.com where a historic crowd funder launches on September 3, 2014, is a profound techno-meditation device. It works by sending gentle ultrasonic waves through your brain through sci fi looking transducers you wear on your forehead. This subtle ultrasonic effect increases blood flow by a whopping 300%, balances left and right brain functions while it activates your ancient ears.
But wait! Long as I am sounding like an infomercial. Wearing a Neurophone for just a few months for an hour a day might increase your meditation power to the level of a yogi in a cave, according to the inventor. And, most amazingly, in most cases, says Dr. Flanagan, it will boost your boost IQ. I confirm that. I am smarter for using it for over a year now myself. Typos still being my weak point that take me forever to weed out. But the content is way, way up in depth of thought. Someday the software will be there to correct my typing flaws.
Any who, before we go further, Patrick Flanagan, the brilliant inventor of the Neurophone, who Deepak Chopra calls a gift to humanity, is a client. The most amazing client I’ve ever had. And considering Oprah is a client for whom I built Harpo Studios for, that’s no small statement on my part. So keep in mind I am somewhat biased about the Neurophone. A paycheck has a way of doing that.
But I have confession. Something I’ve not yet told Patrick. Here is it. Without this amazing client in my life, without needing to try the Neurophone to promote it, I would never have tried techno-meditation. You see, I felt, I should be enough. I meditate on my own power! In other words, ego held me back.
The doctor gifted me with an NF3 Neurophone on in March of 2013. Confession details: I did not start wearing for half a year. It would take a failed love affair with a selfish beauty that was depressing me to finally get me to use it in earnest almost a full year later. Yeah, it was the blues that brought me to being a Neurophone fan. You see, I’d heard it can help people who suffer from depression.
Depression kills. It recently killed Robin Williams. Many in my family have died of depression through self-medication, namely drinking and drugging.
The Neurophone has worked very well for my battle with depression I have fought all my life without drugs, mainly choosing work as my natural high that keeps me going. In fact I am sad right now over a losing housemate here in Sedona. Living all alone here in a small town where the people all seem either ancient or too young and I work from home is tough. Normally, after such as loss of an amazing housemate I’d be in bed, not able to face the day, but here I am, happy to be normal sad, not suicidal sad, at my computer, sharing my first techno-meditation with you, a term I dreamed up for describing Dr. Flanagan’s Neurophone.
Don’t have a Neurophone yet? Has the $800 price tag scared you away from investing in the marvelous modern marvel that got Dr. Falangan featured in LIFE magazine, this profound tool for improving your brain?
Good news! Through a lot of determinate and hard work, as he wants more of the world to have one, all you need to do is until 9.3.14 and you can pre-order a 2015 Neurophone for only $399. That’s fabulous 50% price and upgrades like a new rechargeable lithium battery and healing sound frequencies to boot.
Don’t be chicken like me and wait until the grim reaper of suicide is at your door. I truly believe the Neurophone might saved Robin Williams, based on my success using one, and might be able be able to save you .
Everything Dr. Flanagan invents is gentle and good and meant to accelerate the gifts you already have and will soon only cost $399, less than a smart phone which makes you dumber. Will the Neurophone’s gentle ultrasonic waves work for you like it’s worked for lifting my depression? I hope so. No guarantees. Let me know if it did!
Back to our meditation. Keep breathing, oxygenate your brain, Neuophone or not.
Ah, yes, age. Why do we do we choose to age unlike other worlds that choose immortality? The answer: Boredom. To certain spirits, the ones who like to incarnate here, the world where we live one life, holding to one form of life is boring. Look at our entrainment, getting shorter all the time. One minute movies are the norm on the we now. BTW, the Neurophone, the inventor tells me, stimulates the brain, thus reducing boredom.
In any case, I am no scientist and the inventor of the Neurophone, the amazing Patrick Flanagan, makes it clear the Neurophone is not a medical device. I only know on a very painful and personal level it helps beat the blues.
Are spirits who love to be born, to reboot to live life over and over again, to die, study what we learned in the spirit realm before reincarnating as what and who we chose, be it puppy or prince? I’d like to think so, but fact is no on really knows. Love the mystery! Here’s how the Neurophone makes me feel as I express in this video. About as far from depression as it gets!
“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams from the afterlife
December 2011, I am blessed to spend the Winter Solstice with Don Miguel Ruiz, author of the epic best seller THE FOUR AGREEMENTS to learn Toltec wisdom in the powerful setting of the pyramids of Mexico’s Teotihuacan.
Don Miguel teaches me, among many amazing things that help my DreamShield work, that in reality all of us live in a ghost world. For example: Look up at the sun and you are looking at a ghost image from 8 minutes ago. That’s how long sunlight takes to travel to earth.
Now let’s say you are sitting across the table from a fiend in a restaurant. It still takes the light milliseconds to reach you. So Welcome to the ghost world the Toltec wizard Don Miguel, where all the people we see are in the past, and ever a construct of our minds.
In the profound spirit of Don Miguel’s Toltec lessons, I humbly offer my latest spirit encounter with Robin Williams.
But before we start Robin would like a word with you.
Thanks, Ken, you amazing gorgeous human being helping save the planet working for peanuts in the spirit work, as an unknown, but not for long voice. I hope the fame heading your way never sends you back to that place and time when as a real estate mogul/dick and all you cared about was the cha ching. You deserve a spirit Oscar, broheem!
The dearly departed spirit of Robin Williams here. Real as a case and ever returning like a case of spirit herpes. BTW, Ken has doubts I am nothing more than a ghost pattern in his memory, bit of undigested veggie chili fries made by his smoking hot friend Genevieve, as he learned from Don Miguel Ruiz. Donnny boy, I’m on the other side now and here to tell you the ancient Toltecs smoltecs only have it half right. It’s beautiful over here, family, friends and fans. That’s FFFs for short. Which I’ll FFFing keep this.
Ignore Ken’s senior moment doubts. Ignore doubting Toltec wizards who miss the point: thought travels faster than the speed of light. Ignore anyone dick who tells you the human spirit dies at death. And while you are at it, feel free as hell to ignore those who make living out of warping spirit with these made up branded-religions, dreamed up by ancient marketing experts like so much bottled water. Spirit flows, has no rules. Knows no boundaries of what to eat, what to wear, what to think, bubba. From priests to rabbis, none of these jerkwads in the end know jack shit. None of you lovely people do.
Now some skeptics out there are saying right now as they read my spirit words channeling through Ken, who is not the greatest typist BTW, ” LO if you, kind ghost, be you in fact the great spirit of the Robin Williams, who loveth to curse like a sailor, and no PG Popeye of sailor, in his standup, pray tell us some things only the sweet Robin would know, while editing out the F.U.s!”
No can do, Nanoo. You see, that part of me, the meat brain that held my memory is gone. Even my heart is gone, all I am is spirit now. Which is kind of like saying, “All I am is the universe.” So there is no database left for me to play parlor tricks that you sad sacks would not believe in anyways.”
To the doubters and naysayers, ever those who loved me in life who be pissed about all this ghosting shit I feel compelled to, with this ghost whisper Sheetzy, who will invariably say the poor lad is profiteering off my grisly end. I have two words to that, which I somehow remember from the great beyond, and they ain’t nanoo nanoo.
Now, get off your duffs and share the link-magic of how I am still with ya’all! Subscribe to Sheetzy blog and buckle up for Peter Pan’s Battle of Area 51, just the beginning of my work with Ken and many others on the earth. I’m omnipresent now, bithces!
– Cosmic hugs, Robin
PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51
By Ken Sheetz and Robin’s Ghost
In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts. I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully. I love my little used Jeep, my first car owned in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991 and lots of spot leasing that makes me a Gold Club Hertz man, I recall as I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.
I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before. Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.
The Orion Ohom informed me along the way, “Careful, Ken. High danger alert. Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria. To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.”
“How cheery,” I answer Ohom as I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence. I tiptoe past a sleeping guard. I’m in.
I crest a rocky desert hill. Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid. It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy. Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?” I shout. “You in there, buddy?”
“Psst, keep your damn voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then screams getting sucked back in.
I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor. This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings. I’d give you a link but stick with me. No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.
As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged. Overwhelmed by deep sorrow. Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears. The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone as an nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood. I become confused. Lost. Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.
I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus, GMOs and more and more. My father’s indestructible red armor begins to spark and short out. I trip and fall face first to the desert floor. Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear. I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.
I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy? You OK, bud? Ooh. Sorry to drag you on your face. You look like you went a few round with Popeye, bro. Ca-ca-ca! What a rotten way to start a Monday.”
I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my nose, tender to the touch and say, “Guess that force field is meant to keep out the living. You like fine and dandy.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot in this corporate fairy Iand I am dead for a moment there!” kids Robin trying to hide his sadness.
This virtual world is a well organized commercial paradise inside the spirit HARP. Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia. No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems. “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection and advertising,” I groan as an advertising blimp for McDonald’s new Quadrupole Bypass Burger floats by overhead in a cotton candy sky.
The voice of Ohom says for Robin and I to hear, “All this virtual reality is broadcast to the galaxy by Murdock Rupert. True source of his wealth.”
“Whoa! Whose talking to us, Sheetzy? Little green men?” says Robin at hearing Ohom strange voice.
“Long story,” I say as Robin helps me to my feet.
“Humor me. I’m dead and we have all of eternity, Kenny boy,” says Robin.
“Please don’t call me that. I have brother who just got out of Florida jail for two months for drinking and drugging who calls me Kenny boy,” I say sadly.
“Ah, yes, Fred. You’ve told me about his famed Near Beer Recovery program, doomed to fail. Sheetzy OK with you, my fellow sensitive friend?” I nod and Robin continues, “So the voice?”
“Hey, Robin, huge fan of your work, man,” says the disembodied voice of Ohom, echoing over the perfectly manicured lawn where a nasty looking android cop turns his head 360 degrees searching for us.
“Yeah, that one drawing attention of the police bots to us!” says Robin pulling me into crouch to hide behind a huge Ronald McDonald statue.
Ohom whispers now, “Sorry. I am Ken’s higher ET self, of the Orion star system. His guide to help him save you and himself. This place will be most difficult to escape as there will be many distractions. Could take several eons to get out.”
“Nanoo nanoo, ET brother from another mother earth. So why aren’t you in here helping us?” says Robin, not quite knowing where to look as he speaks to the air.
“Grey stolen alien tech powers the Spirit HARP. Keeps my race of Nekatrians and all other ETs out. But I can see and hear and help you through Ken’s handsome blue eyes,” whispers Ohom.
“I can tell you more about Ohom later, Robin, Let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” I urge Robin.
“OK. But you’re weirder than I am, Sheety and that’s saying something!” jokes Robin as we exit some hedges near the force field.
Hours later, after many strange distracting adventures in half built house of both our childhoods that almost make us forget to escape this fake branded corporate nightmare, Robin and I hunt in earnest for some kind of exit. Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk. The sunset is dazzling. I whistle at the beauty all around us.
“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard. You been in here now with me for six weeks, ” Robin says.
“Yup! This place is like America, filled with distractions. Look at that poor bastard over there!” says Robin.
A guy who looks a lot like my brother Fred runs on a giant gerbil wheel chasing a hot stripper holding a six pack of beer.
“Is that, my brother?” I say.
“Never met Fred. How the hell should I know?
The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.
“Yeah, let’s keep moving. Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.
“Sorry about you dad’s super suit. Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.
“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.
“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.
“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.
“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville. Oh, wait… Forgot to cut my earthly tether. Yikes. I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.
“My fault. Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground. “Happy to see you again, man! Watched you in HOOK with my night. Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.” I say doing my best acting brave to hide my loneliness that in the real world of Sedona
Williams jokes, speaking in that hilarious mile a minute rapid fire way of his,”Whoa, Sheetyz. I am an Oscar winner. Plus I can minds read now to boot. Hmm, I see you’re only “acting” all brave and all supy-superman-like. You got some serious Kryptonite poisoning over this spirit daughter of yours moving out of your digs.”
“Got me,” I say, embarrassed at my childhood abandonment issues are still crippling my life after all the spirit healing I’ve been doing.
“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.
“For what?” I say
“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.
“I did not faint. Women faint. I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.
“Whoa. Relax, man. This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost hope and change agenda. We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise. Coffee sucks here, BTW. Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup! I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.
As I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time. Change to yourself age 8. I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”
“Uh, not really, uh, time. Busting you out of here now before — ”
“Go ahead. Try, Ken. Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye. Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.
I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.
“Spiritual impotency alert! AGH! AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.
“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.
“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench. “My lap is safer than Santa’s, Come on. Up!”
I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me. With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life. A spirit daughter is rare. Appreciate her without smothering her. Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”
I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick. “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.
“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not. He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken. Genevieve’s not your mommy who left you many times as a child because she was afraid of your meanie Captain Hook of a dad, Genevieve is not your grandma who got kicked out by your mean papa and most certainly Genevieve is not your dear auntie who died from loving beer more than you.”
“She’s not?” my eight-year-old self asks innocently.
“Uh uh. She’s simply Genevieve Munoz. A sweet young lady exploring her own life who happened to cross paths with yours. A special friend, a temporary housemate, who used to be your grandma Anna in a past life. Well, I guess that’s not so simple,” says Robin gently lifting me for a swirl and standing little me up on the path. “Wanna play a game I call HELLO AND GOODBYE, little Kenny?” Robin offers, looking irresistibly mischievous.
“Ok…” I say reluctantly, not liking the sound of the GoodBye part of this game.
“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.
“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.
“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head. Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes. My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering. Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.
Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!” Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me. I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.
“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.
“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.
Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin. He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl. I spin around. “Oh no…” I whisper. My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.
“Hey, you little shit. Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words. He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.
I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan. “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin. But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.
“Don’t leave me with my Daddy! He will hurt me! He’s mean! Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.
Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.
“No! Peter Pan please. Fly me away to Neverland with you. My papa is mean. He’ll kill us both!” I beg.
“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you. Your pops is an abusing jerk. I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work. Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.
“NO! NO! My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me. I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close. I puke again on the manicured lawn. The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.
Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You! You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your. You sir are bad dad!”
“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights? Whatcha gonna do about it? Ken’s a rotten kid. The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.
“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?” As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.
My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”
But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”
“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly. My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.
“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind! Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.
“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.
“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,” kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.
I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.
My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest. “Huh? Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned. He looks at me as if wanting help. But I was a helpless child again. Watching two people I love fight. My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.
“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed. I am going to gut you like a fish! I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you. Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”
“Hello, little Kenny? A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.
“Can’t. Can’t help you, Peter Pan. I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.
“Hello, Little Kenny! Then ain’t it time you grow up? Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.
Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide! Williams shouldn’t be here. Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man. This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.
“I loved Robin’s movies. He died of depression. No different from someone dying of car crash. This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.
The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”
Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me. Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth. Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.
I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history. I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”
My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur. Every woman leaves you. And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces? Me! Ha! You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you? You make me sick, boy.”
“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook. Thanks for all you’ve done. I’m grateful, Dad. You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro. But I felt your love, your loyalty. Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.” I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.
“Growed up? Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50? That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy. You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes. They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance. Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.
“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love. I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.
“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two. But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head. I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.
Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo! Sheetz is all grown up. Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”
I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig. Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts. Today, I am proud.”
My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth. And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace. For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.
Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture. A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot. I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver. Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle
“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide. So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now. My father nods “yes” respectfully.
Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”
“What do you say, Pops? My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.
“I like it here, Son. Fought in Korea to create all this perfection. Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world. A blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.
“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me. I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore. Lost myself in the booze and drugs. I miss my wife and kids. My fans. Help your son. It’s time we started over. And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.
My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer. Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations. One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.
“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly. He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.
“For my birth daughter Janelle and spirit daughter Genevieve, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.
“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.
Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us. His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light. Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa! For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”
Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”
“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.
Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy. We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel. Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”
“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!
A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base. My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP. The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.
“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out. “Uh, sorry. Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”
“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form. Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.
“What make you say that? Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.
“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids. And more importantly, our inner kids. That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.
“No arguments here, Robin. Well, I guess this is goodbye. Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.
“Agh! Not yet. I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy. So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight. We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.
A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.
“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name is the same as the woman Ohom, my spirit guide has told me is my prefect mate but who has yet to accept my invite to Sedona. Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, Elizabeth. I wish you’d wrap up life in LA and come to Sedona.”
Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan. “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion. I said it knowing since Ohom is right about everything that she and I will meet again and share many adventures.”
“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.
I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it. Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello. I’m cool now.”
Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51. Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”
“But I have work to do today. Tax reports need –”
“Time is not linear, Ken. So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.
I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.