dreamshield-reflections-seeing-the-racism-hidden-in-the-premise-of-ancient-aliens/

DreamShield Reflections: Seeing the Racism hidden in the Premise of ANCIENT ALIENS

I’ve been a lifelong fan of ET stories. Not in the tinfoil-hat sense—but in the meditation sense. The symbolic sense. The consciousness sense. I’ve always felt that looking to the stars helps us look inward. So this realization caught me off guard.

Watching Ancient Aliens last night, something finally landed that I’d heard murmured for years but never fully felt: there’s a quiet assumption at the heart of the premise that deserves scrutiny.

That ancient, largely non-white civilizations must have had outside help to build their cities, temples, and architecture.

It’s rarely stated outright.
It’s implied—again and again.

When whites build cathedrals, it’s called genius.
When Indigenous people of color build monuments that defy modern expectations, it becomes mystery.

And mystery, when handled carelessly, turns into erasure.

High-quality reads if you want receipts:
SAPIENS on pseudoarchaeology’s racist roots,
Smithsonian’s critique of “Ancient Aliens” claims,
and a Science magazine report on why myths like Atlantis/ancient aliens spread—and why scholars push back.

The Prime Directive as moral compass

This is where my mind jumped immediately to the genius of Gene Roddenberry and his creation of the Prime Directive. Not as sci-fi lore, but as philosophy.

The Prime Directive says:
You don’t interfere just because you think you’re more advanced.

No saviors.
No cosmic missionaries.
No outsiders stealing credit for someone else’s evolution.

That single idea quietly dismantles colonial thinking—on Earth or in space. And it exposes where Ancient Aliens often slips: by outsourcing human brilliance instead of trusting it.

Reclaiming Puma Punku—without killing the wonder

Consider Puma Punku within the UNESCO-listed Tiwanaku complex.

The stonework is staggering. Precision cuts. Interlocking geometry. Engineering that still humbles us. The reflexive question becomes: How could they have done this?

The lazy answer is aliens.

The better answer is harder—and more humbling:
humans were capable of far more than we remember.

Here’s where I offer a fictional reframe—not as replacement history, but as myth in the old sense: a lens that preserves wonder without stripping agency.

Imagine a brief peak in human evolution—not a permanent state, but a moment—when consciousness itself was more coherent.

Not psychic in a comic-book way.
Psychic as in resonant.

A culture that understood stone not as dead matter, but as vibration. A people who worked in synchronized states of breath, rhythm, and intention—aligning mind, body, and environment.

In that state, stone didn’t need to be “lifted” the way we lift things now.
It needed to be persuaded.

Sound.
Rhythm.
Focused attention.

Levitation not as spectacle, but as side effect.

Puma Punku wasn’t built by visitors from the sky.
It was built by humans briefly remembering how deeply they belonged to the Earth.

Want a grounded “how did they move/fit stones?” counterweight alongside the wonder?
Live Science overview of Tiwanaku & Pumapunku
and National Geographic on Tiwanaku’s ritual world
give readers solid context without deflating the awe.

And our “modern” civilization, the largest so far of our species is not immune to falling on its own hubris. Falling out of love with itself. Imagine archeologists of the future saying we whites of this era were given our tech, our medical advancement by aliens. Doesn’t feel so hot does it?

The longer, harder truth

Zoom out far enough and a pattern emerges:

We rise.
We build.
We master something profound.
We weaponize it, mythologize it, or hoard it.
We collapse.
We forget.

Then survivors start again—staring at ruins, underestimating their ancestors, inventing stories to explain away what feels impossible.

Aliens become an easy answer when humility is harder.

But here’s where I land now—and this is the part that finally reconciles my love of cosmic mystery with responsibility.

Where inspiration really comes from

I still believe in divine inspiration.
I still believe the universe whispers.

Just not as construction crews landing to do our work for us.

Thought itself is energy. And energy doesn’t respect borders, planets, or time. It ripples—forever. The good and the bad alike. Across civilizations. Across star systems. Across eras.

Every so often, those ripples intersect.

And BAM—an idea lands.

A leap in technology.
A breakthrough in medicine.
A melody that feels like it always existed.
A film that arrives whole.
An architectural insight that skips centuries of trial and error.

If you’re curious how I think about “downloads” in the creative process (especially film), that thread runs through our work at
Overactive Imagination Pictures.

Not everyone receives those downloads.

Only the most tuned-in do.
Only the most coherent.
Only those whose ego is quiet enough to let something larger move through them.

That’s not racism.
That’s not hierarchy of race or culture.

That’s evolution of consciousness.

Different civilizations across the earth reached that coherence at different moments—long enough to build something astonishing. Long enough to leave behind evidence that later humans, more fragmented and less attuned, struggle to explain.

So we reach for aliens and call them Gods, even robbing the indigenous of divine wisdom.

But maybe the universe is doing something simpler—and more elegant.

Maybe it seeds ideas where from other worlds psychically they’re needed, when they’re needed.

Self-preserving.
Self-correcting.
Self-expressing.

And humanity? We’re not spectators.

We’re receivers.

Sometimes we listen.
Sometimes we forget.
Sometimes we destroy what we once understood.

And then—because thought travels forever—we remember again.

That’s the story I’m choosing now.

Not Ancient Aliens.

Ancient humans. Ancient builders.
Cosmic ideas.
And a universe that keeps trying to wake us up.

“There is nothing more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.

This reflection is dedicated to Martin Luther King Jr. on Martin Luther King Jr. Day—whose insistence on truth, dignity, and intellectual honesty continues to challenge how we tell history, whom we credit, and whose genius we allow ourselves to see.

If you’re drawn to the “consciousness sense” of ET symbolism (without the colonial baggage), you might like exploring more reflections and guided, nervous-system-friendly meditations to cool you down at Coolest Meditation Ever.

Many people also explore ways to stay energetically coherent in an increasingly noisy technological world—whether through meditation practices or tools designed to support subtle energy balance.
One option some readers ask about is the BlueShield EMF Protection Evo Pyramid.

For cool tech to uplevel your health, visit our Self Care Is Self Love Store at CoolestTechEver.com.

 

Lincoln Memorial reclaimed by nature
Cosmic Semi

Re-connection In the DreamShield

Last night I had an extraordinary dream about my estranged daughter, Janelle — the second powerful dream of her I’ve had recently. This one left me overflowing with joy and a quiet, astonishing hope. It felt important to record it here, for myself and for readers who might be navigating similar family fractures or longing for reconciliation.

For context: Janelle was only ten when her mother and I went our separate ways. Becoming a weekend Disneyland Dad was the hardest transition of my life. I did my best, but the distance that forms in those situations — physical, emotional, spiritual — is real and it takes its toll.

Our final break came much later, when she was 31, during a difficult time for my family. My brother was hospitalized, and I became angry when Janelle didn’t want to visit him. In hindsight, my anger was misplaced. He had behaved horribly to her once, on her eighth birthday, and she owed him nothing. My reaction created a rift neither of us has bridged for fourteen years.

All that is the past. Last night’s dream felt like a glimpse of a possible future — one filled with warmth, forgiveness, and the spark of reconnection.


The Dream

I was hiking through a vast parking lot at dusk, the last light of the sun melting behind the horizon. Ahead of me sat a convertible semi-truck cab — top down — with a cosmic paint job swirling like a living galaxy.

From my low angle, I recognized someone in the back seat.

“Janelle?” I called softly.

She hesitated — torn — before her husband Jason asked, “Who’s asking?”

“Her father,” I replied.

Before he could say another word, Janelle answered, “It’s me. I’m coming down.”

She stepped from the truck with a wistful smile, years of distance and love braided together on her face. When she opened her arms, I stepped into an embrace I’ve waited fourteen years for.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I whispered.

“Me too,” she said — a sigh that carried healing.

“Any kids?” I asked.

“A son. Marty.” She pointed toward a seven-year-old playing with other children. He had an unusual hook-shaped nose with a yellow-green tip, but I didn’t comment — only thought maybe that was something I could help her fix someday.

He looked up at me curiously. “Who are you?”

“Your grandfather,” I said proudly.

“What’s a grandfather?” he asked.

“The father before your father,” I told him. “A grand one.”

Janelle chuckled — and just hearing her laugh again, even in a dream, was a gift.

When I woke, the clock glowed 3:30 AM — my old Antarctica alarm clock still ticking faithfully after all these years. Elizabeth was sound asleep. I held the dream to my heart for an hour before sharing it with her at dawn.


ChatGPT Dream Analysis

To gain some distance I asked ChatGPT to explore the deeper meaning of this dream. What follows is its interpretation, which resonated with me:


1. Dusk and the Parking Lot — A Liminal Space

Dusk is the threshold between clarity and mystery.
A parking lot is a place of pause, not permanence.

Together they signal:
You are in a transitional moment with Janelle.
A chapter where something new can begin.


2. The Cosmic Convertible Semi — A Vehicle of Destiny

A semi truck symbolizes strength, endurance, and long-haul journeys.
A convertible symbolizes openness.
The cosmic paint job symbolizes DreamShield energy — guidance, timing, alignment.

This suggests that your reconnection may not come from force, but from timing and openness guided by something larger than both of you.


3. Janelle’s Hesitation — And Her Choice

Her torn look reflects her real internal conflict — longing mixed with fear.

Jason’s protective “Who’s asking?” embodies past boundaries and old wounds.

But grace enters here:

Janelle overrides him.
She chooses connection.

I’m coming down” symbolizes stepping down from emotional distance into equal ground.


4. The Embrace — Pure Heart

Dream embraces bypass ego entirely. They are emotional truth.

Her sighing “Me too” is your psyche showing you the possibility — and desire — for reconciliation.


5. Marty — The Lineage Reawakening

His unusual nose is symbolic, not literal:

  • Yellow-green: healing, growth, renewal
  • Hook shape: something catching and pulling you into family again

Your instinct to “help fix it’’ reflects your desire to heal the generational storyline.

His innocence — “What’s a grandfather?” — gives you the chance to reclaim your role with humor and warmth.


6. Waking at 3:30 AM — The Hour of Intuition

This is when the subconscious speaks loudest.

Your Antarctic clock links this dream to the spiritual clarity you gained on 12.12.12 — the sense that the universe sometimes speaks in symbols, timing, and dreams.


The Deeper Meaning

According to the interpretation, this dream reflects:

  • your readiness for forgiveness
  • your longing to heal generational wounds
  • your hope for reconnection
  • Janelle’s place returning to the center of your inner world
  • the possibility — not fantasy — of real-world reunion

It is a dream not of memory, but of potential.

The message beneath it:

“Prepare your heart.
The story with Janelle is not over.”


From Personal Healing to National Healing

And I’m back. As I sat with this dream, I realized something deeper:
the reconnection I hope for with my daughter mirrors the reconnection hope of many of us our country.

We are a nation estranged from ourselves.
MAGA and liberal America have become like family members who no longer speak, who assume the worst, who carry old wounds in silence.

But if a father and daughter separated for fourteen years can find their way back to one another — even in the symbolic landscape of a dream — then maybe a country can too.

Dreams show what the heart still believes is possible.

And my heart believes reconciliation — personal and political — is still within reach.

May we all find our way back to each other.
One embrace at a time.

Especially for me and Janelle who is an amazing huger and who I badly want Elizabeth to meet.

New Ken Sheetz Series – Remembering Patrick Flanagan

I am thrilled to announce the launch of a very special series from our archives and hearts:
Remembering Patrick Flanagan — series honoring one of the most brilliant visionary minds the world has ever known.

Twelve years ago, I had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to film Patrick for what became our viral web series The Flanagan Experiments — 50 videos that explored his genius inventions, wild ideas, and boundless curiosity. This was before “biohacking” was a trend and before tech and spirit fully converged like they are today.

Now, after years of focus on our meditation films, political satire and bringing you CoolestTechEver.com, Elizabeth, my co-producer and love, and I are opening the vault — and our hearts — to bring you the behind-the-scenes stories, lost footage, and intimate reflections on what it was like to create this magical series with genius Patrick and his beloved Stephanie.

In the first two posts, I share the wild journey that got me to Chichén Itzá to film Patrick at the end of the Mayan calendar — guided by a vision, saved by a PayPal glitch, and clothed in nothing but determination (and a symposium T-shirt 😅).

You can read the first two posts it here:

👉 Sedona Bonding
👉 Journey Back from the End of the World

Each week I’ll release a new story, memory, or clip. I hope these spark your imagination, make you laugh, maybe even make you cry, and remind you of how much one brilliant soul can impact the world.

Patrick may be gone from this Earth…
…but his frequency is still very much with us. And I hope I am just one of many people who come forward with stories of their personal experiences in working with this one of kind genius.

Godless Christianity

There’s a new brand of so-called Christianity in America, one that bears no resemblance to the teachings of Christ. It thrives on cruelty, power, and greed—wrapped in the language of faith but devoid of its core: love. I call it Godless Christianity.

Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and their enablers have weaponized religion, twisting it into a blunt instrument for their culture war. They exploit Christianity not as a faith of compassion but as a tool for division and control. The result?

  • Mothers are dying because GOP lawmakers, emboldened by Trump’s anti-choice crusade, have stripped women of proper abortion and natal care.
  • 70 million people are going hungry because Musk-Trump-style governance prioritizes tax cuts for billionaires over U.S. foreign aid.
  • The elderly and disabled are at risk as Medicaid and Social Security—lifelines for millions—are gutted under GOP economic policies.
  • Allies are pushed away while authoritarians are embraced, shattering the global stability that true Christian ideals of peace and cooperation would seek to uphold.
  • Truth itself is under attack as lies become political strategy, propaganda replaces journalism, and our institutions cower in the face of rising fascism.

This is not Christianity. This is power-hungry nationalism draped in a cheap, tattered religious cloak.

A Christianity Without Christ

Even if you’re not religious, you might have grown up, like me, admiring the radical kindness at the heart of Christ’s teachings. Feed the hungry. Heal the sick. Love thy neighbor. Welcome the stranger. But Musk, Trump, and their movement have discarded these values in favor of a new golden calf: unchecked wealth and cruelty-as-strength.

How did we get here?

Christianity was hijacked. When Trump’s MAGA preachers declared him “God’s chosen one,” they didn’t mean he embodied Christ’s love and humility. They meant he embodied raw, unapologetic power—a false idol in an Armani suit. And Elon Musk, who openly mocks the idea of compassion, has built a techno-libertarian dystopia where empathy is a weakness, and the only virtue is self-interest.

The Nazi Playbook—Revived

This is not a new trick. Hitler also hid behind the cross. He weaponized Christianity to justify atrocities, declaring himself the defender of “true” German faith while turning it into a tool of state power. His version of religion wasn’t about love or moral integrity—it was a smokescreen for hate, violence, and absolute control.

And Musk? Look at the receipts. He gave a Sieg Heil salute at Trump’s inauguration. That wasn’t an accident. That was a signal. A nod to a playbook we’ve seen before—one where religion is stripped of its morality and transformed into a political cudgel for fascism.

But this strategy can only work if we let it.

Stop Bending the Knee to Fascism

We’ve seen too many institutions—the GOP, the media, and major corporations—cave to the rise of fascism in America. They bend the knee for profit, out of fear, or in some misguided belief that they can “ride the storm out.”

  • The GOP has surrendered to authoritarianism, swapping policy for personality cultism.
  • The media amplifies fascist propaganda, treating it as just another “perspective” rather than exposing it as the existential threat it is.
  • Corporations fund the very people dismantling democracy, selling out their own future for short-term gain.

This is cowardice. It is complicity. And it must stop.

Returning to True God-Based Ideals

Whether we follow Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, or simply a moral code rooted in human decency, we have to reclaim the true values of faith.

  • Love over hate. Not the false “love” that hides behind political dog whistles, but the love that actually cares for people’s lives.
  • Compassion over cruelty. If a policy causes suffering, it’s not of God, no matter what a corrupt politician says.
  • Generosity over greed. The billionaires hoarding wealth and cutting aid are the Pharisees of our time. Call them out.
  • Humility over arrogance. No leader is above morality. No political movement is beyond question.
  • Truth over lies. A lie repeated a thousand times is still a lie. Stop letting fascists define reality.
  • Boycott all religious leaders putting politics on the pulpit.

America needs a spiritual renaissance, but not one built on fear and exclusion. It needs a return to the core ethical principles that unite people of all faiths (and even the faithless) in a shared commitment to justice, kindness, and truth.

If we let Musk and Trump redefine what it means to be Christian, then Christianity itself dies—replaced by something hollow, something heartless, something Godless.

And that, my friends, is a reality worth fighting against.

Support the fight to create a better future world for us with a Political Cool Down donation today!

Sheetz scifi satire to keep your spirits up at TrumpsFeverDream.com.

Enjoy my newest Coolest Meditation Ever video with Elizabeth England narration.

Reality Check: The Mental Collapse of Trump’s Biggest Fans

Reality is breaking MAGA. You can see it in the wild-eyed desperation of New Age Trump-Musk disciples, clinging to conspiracy theories like life rafts in a storm of their own making because they hate vaccines. Forget the democracy debate for a second—two parties pretending to hate each other while serving the same oligarchs was never real democracy anyway. But what we did have was a stable illusion, a functioning fantasy where elections were at least entertaining and life didn’t change much regardless of who won.

Then Trump came along. The first lifelong criminal to take the Oval Office. A man whose entire existence has been a pyramid scheme, a fraud, a grift. And Musk? A billionaire leech who saw an opening to feed off the chaos and took it. Together, they’ve broken something fundamental in people—the ability to see reality without flinching.

And now, the coping mechanisms are getting insane.

On SMM Elizabeth my wife Elizabeth — who runs our website CoolestTechEver.com that caters to the New Age community we met while filming Dr. Patrick Flanagan — has been seeing New Age individual s who used to preach enlightenment—cracking under the weight of their own bad choices. Instead of admitting they fell for the Russian Trump scam, they’re spinning wild tales about spirit guides getting hijacked and “faker” entities leading them astray. Because, of course, it couldn’t be that they themselves made a terrible choice. No, it has to be dark forces at work! Interdimensional trickery! The spiritual equivalent of “the dog ate my homework.”

Meanwhile, Musk plays both sides like a casino dealer. One hand, he’s pretending to be the tech visionary free speech warrior. The other, he’s cozying up to dictators, silencing dissent, and building a playground for neo-fascists. And somehow, somehow, the same people who once claimed to “question authority” and “see through illusions” are now eating up his every lie.

And Trump? Bottomless corruption. Let’s just list the latest hits:

  • Abandoning Ally Ukraine
  • Stealing GAZA frpm Palestinians for Trump resorts
  • Threatening to invade Canada (Canada? Really? What, did Trudeau hurt his feelings?)
  • Claiming he’ll pull the U.S. out of the EU (which we were never a member of, but hey, details are for losers)
  • Promoting his own meme coin
  • Collecting bribes via lawsuits
  • Offering the Ultimate Grift: the $5 Million Gold Card

Ah yes, the Gold Card, Trump’s latest scam—a glorified frequent felon membership that gets you absolutely nothing except bragging rights in a dying cult. Five million dollars to pretend you’re in the inner circle of a man who wouldn’t cross the street to spit on you if you were on fire.

It’s all one giant, soul-sucking con, and the mental toll is real. People who voted for this madness, who bought into the Musk-Trump mythology, are now losing their damn minds trying to justify it. The truth is too much: that they voted for genocide in Gaza so Musk’s cronies can turn it into a hotel strip. That they voted for rapists to have more rights than their victims. That they backed a mob boss who sees them as nothing more than marks.

But here’s the thing about living in denial: it’s exhausting. The lies compound. The mental contortions twist tighter. And at some point, reality comes crashing down.

And that’s where hope still exists.

If you voted for Trump, you can still take the off-ramp. Do it now. Admit you were hearing what you wanted to hear, that you wanted to believe in the tough-guy act, the outsider narrative, the “America First” lie. Admit you’ve been a fool—but that you’ve seen the error of your ways.

You’ll be amazed at how welcome you’ll be back on the side of sanity.

And if we unite? If enough of us wake up and stand together?

We can stop Trump. But it will take more than votes. It will take the biggest protests and acts of civil disobedience this country has ever seen. The kind of resistance that shakes the ground beneath the feet of tyrants.

Because if we don’t, the collapse we’re witnessing will only get worse. And no amount of meditations or positive thinking is going to save us. We all make mistakes. If Trump was yours get over it and get over it. You made a mistake. I regret falling for Reagan’s lies almost daily. We all make mistake. Right now we need to get over Trump and unite to fight a literal Musk led Nazi coup! Get off your phone or PC and march… while you still can.

This week’s Mar-a-Lago Prison Chapter 10 – Flunking the Electoral College is live! Join our peaceful protest using satire.

One Week After the End of America

The farcical title of this blog might sound alarmist, but let’s be real—Trump’s latest political stunt is an apocalypse of his own making, not ours. “The End of America” isn’t happening because Trump is back in the spotlight with his fantasy of a gilded, authoritarian empire. It’s happening in the minds of those who fell for his hollow promises and unrelenting lies. And let’s not kid ourselves: this isn’t about a man returning to power. It’s about fear, division, and a desperate attempt to rewrite the rules of democracy.

But here’s the catch: it’s only half the country.

The other half of America? Still standing. Still fighting. Still anchored in truth, empathy, and hope. And let me tell you, hope is a stubborn thing. It doesn’t crumble as easily as a Twitter lie or dissolve under the weight of fake promises. Hope is the quiet force that builds, even when chaos is at its loudest.

What Trump 2.0 Actually Represents

If Trump’s second act has taught us anything in this first week of his so-called “return,” it’s that he’s not leading a movement. He’s clinging to an illusion. His lies about election fraud, immigrants, and “woke mobs” are the desperate moves of a man terrified of irrelevance. Sure, the MAGA crowd is cheering, but deep down, they’re being cheated, too. He’s playing their fears like a fiddle, and the orchestra? Russian bots and media outlets hungry for clicks.

But here’s what Trump 2.0 doesn’t want you to see: his power is a fragile, rickety house of cards. And our collective action, our resilience, is the gust of wind that can bring it all down.

Hope Lives in the Resistance

One week in, and already the cracks are showing. Protests are swelling. Journalists are digging deeper. Leaders from across the aisle—yes, even Republicans with spines!—are starting to speak up. The courts, despite their flaws, are standing firm against some of his wildest schemes. And the people? Oh, we’re wide awake now. We’re not falling for the “Make America Great Again” con job a second time.

In fact, hope shines brightest in the little acts of defiance that happen every day:

  • Teachers refusing to whitewash history.
  • Journalists exposing his corruption with receipts.
  • Voters organizing in record numbers, gearing up for every election like it’s the Super Bowl of democracy.
  • Families coming together to have uncomfortable but necessary conversations at dinner tables.

Hope Is a Choice

It’s easy to feel defeated right now. I won’t sugarcoat it—Trump 2.0 is exhausting. He’s like a bad sequel no one asked for, dragging us back into the drama when all we want is to move on. But here’s the thing about hope: it’s not passive. It’s active. It’s a choice we make every day, to believe in the possibility of something better.

Hope doesn’t mean sticking our heads in the sand or ignoring the challenges ahead. It means recognizing our power to change the narrative. It means fighting for truth, lifting each other up, and building bridges where Trump is burning them.

What Comes Next

One week in, and we’ve already seen that Trump’s America is not inevitable. The other half of the country is alive, kicking, and determined to rebuild. Our democracy is wounded, sure, but it’s far from dead. We’ve weathered storms before—some far darker than this—and we’ve come out stronger. And there are some things to be optimistic about as to how they will erode his slim base.

  1. Egg prices are going up under his dumb as dirt tariffs.
  2. Latinos for Trump are seeing he’s an ingrate.
  3. He’s already golfed 27 of his time in office.

So let’s not call Trump’s win by the GOP throwing out 7 million votes “The End of America.” Let’s call it what it really is: the beginning of a new fight. A fight for truth. A fight for justice. A fight for the soul of this nation, where we finally decide, once and for all, that no man, no lie, and no empire of deceit is greater than the collective power of people who refuse to give up.

Hope isn’t just alive—it’s thriving. And as long as we keep choosing it, no amount of Trumpism can ever truly win.

America isn’t ending. It’s just beginning to wake up and the brave acting Republicans are in fact frightened little boys.

We’ve created two places to keep you in the good fight.

TrumpsFeverDream.com – a political sci-fi satire where the Biden of another universe locks up Trump.

PoliticalCoolDown.com – home to a dozen meditations to cool you down and give you cosmic perspective.

12 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF MY TRIPPY ANTARCTICA TRIP

It’s 12 years since I was in Antarctica. I wrote this to celebrate.

Welcome, brave traveler, to the dreamscape of Antarctica—a world of endless white, shimmering ice, and secrets long buried beneath the frost. Close your eyes, take a deep breath in, and let the cold, crisp air of imagination fill your lungs. Exhale slowly, releasing the warmth of everyday worries, and feel yourself descend into the vast, glacial stillness. The ice beneath your feet is ancient, older than nations, older than history. With each step forward, you’re walking deeper into the unknown.

You’re not alone. Nope, not just you and the penguins anymore. Something—no, someone—is watching. No need to be afraid. It’s a presence both curious and kind. Like that feeling you get when you’re sure a cat’s staring at you from across the room. You’re being seen but not judged.

Look ahead. Do you see that faint glow through the foggy air? It’s not sunlight. It’s a soft, cerulean blue, pulsing like a distant heartbeat. Draw closer, step by step, each crunch of the ice beneath you like a drumbeat marking a grand reveal.

As you approach, the fog clears, and there it is—a magnificent entrance carved into the side of a glittering ice wall. The shape is unmistakably deliberate. Smooth edges. Symmetry. No way nature did this on her own. Your heart thumps, half-excited, half-disbelieving. Could it be? An actual ET base?! You’re not the type to jump to conclusions, but c’mon, this is pretty hard to deny.

Stepping inside, the air shifts. Warmer. Softer. Like walking into a cathedral where the silence is its own kind of music. The blue glow intensifies, illuminating sleek, smooth walls that almost seem to hum as you walk by. You’re suddenly aware of just how tall the ceilings are. Your eyes drift upward, and that’s when you see them.

Whoa.

Eight feet tall. Blue skin that shimmers like the northern lights. They’re elegant, with elongated features that seem wise, ancient, and—dare I say it—kind of fashionable. One of them tilts their head in curiosity. You’re struck by the sheer coolness of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re thinking, “I’m gonna have a heck of a story to tell when I wake up.” One of them raises a hand, long fingers stretching out toward you. It’s not a ‘take me to your leader’ vibe. It’s more like, “Welcome home, friend. We’ve been waiting.”

You step forward, slowly raising your own hand. As your fingertips meet, it’s like touching a current of pure peace. Warmth. Familiarity. It’s as if they know you, like this meeting was always supposed to happen. They don’t speak with words, but you understand them.

“We’ve seen you before, traveler of dreams,” they’re saying, though not with mouths. It’s all feeling. “Long ago in a place you called Italy. You saw us then as you see us now. And now you’ve come to us once more.”

Your jaw drops. They know about Italy?! You’re tempted to blurt out, “Yeah, yeah, I’m that guy! You’re talking about me, right?” But before you can say anything, they’re already laughing—not with sound, but with waves of joy rippling through you.

“We’ve been with you on your journey,” they say. “From the ice, from the stars, from every place where imagination dares to dream.” Their words—well, thoughts—flood your mind with memories of your Antarctic adventure. You’re reminded of that still, quiet moment on the ice, surrounded by nothing but penguins and endless white. You’d felt it then, didn’t you? That extra something watching from beyond the veil.

Yeah, you’re nodding now. You knew it all along. More than penguins. Always more than penguins.

They’re inviting you now. Deeper into the base. As you follow, you notice small, glowing orbs hovering around you like curious fireflies. Each one flickers with a faint blue glow, zipping back and forth, playing with your hair like mischievous little sprites. It’s oddly charming. You’re half-expecting one of them to shout, “Tag! You’re it!”

They lead you into a grand chamber filled with technology so advanced it looks more like art than machinery. Smooth, fluid designs with no hard edges. Everything looks like it’s grown, not built. One of the taller beings gestures toward a central pedestal. A soft, pulsing glow rises from it. You’re drawn toward it like it’s calling your name.

You’re invited to place your hands on it. And why not? You’ve come this far. Your palms meet the surface, and suddenly—

Flash!

Memories flood you. Every moment of doubt. Every time you questioned your path. All those moments dissolve in a wave of laughter—not from them, but from you. It’s like you’re looking at your own story from a higher vantage point, and suddenly it’s clear. All of it. The detours. The “coincidences.” The paths you thought were dead ends. Turns out, it was all leading you here.

One of the blue beings smiles knowingly. “12 years, traveler. You’ve done well. Celebrate it. It’s no small thing to walk this path.”

You’re laughing now, tears of joy running down your face. “Twelve years, huh? Yeah, I guess I’ve earned this.” You’re suddenly flooded with gratitude—not just for them but for you. For every choice you made, even the ones that felt like mistakes. You’re finally seeing it for what it was: growth.

They’re clapping now, or at least their version of clapping. The orbs twirl around you, faster and faster, and suddenly it’s a full-blown celebration. Music (or something like it) reverberates through the room. The blue beings smile with pride. “Dance, traveler. You’ve earned it.”

And so you do. You dance like nobody’s watching. Except they’re totally watching, and they’re cheering you on. It’s a victory lap through 12 wild, weird, wonderful years. You’re moving with joy and freedom like a penguin on ice with zero cares in the world.

The glow intensifies, filling your vision with light. You’re back now, still feeling that rhythm in your chest. The ground beneath you is firm once again, but you’re changed. The air feels crisper. The world feels wider. As you open your eyes, you’re smiling like someone who’s just been let in on the universe’s best-kept secret.

Twelve years. And just like that, you’re ready for the next adventure.

Welcome back, brave traveler. You’ve seen more than penguins today. And you’ll never see yourself the same way again.

Celebrating the Biggest Migration in Human History

My wife and partner in all things, Elizabeth England,couldn’t be happier that I’m off X because it has become so overwhelmingly negative that it made me into a grouch way too often. Honestly, making the leap to Bluesky might have saved my marriage. Now, I’m thrilled to be part of the largest migration in human history, building something better with millions of others on Bluesky.

2024 will go down in history as the year humanity collectively said, “Enough is enough!” Millions of people packed up our digital lives and joined the greatest migration in human history—not across continents, but across platforms. The mass exodus from X (let’s face it, the X is for toxic) to the vibrant, inclusive world of Bluesky is a testament to the power of community and the human desire for a better way to connect.

For years, X (formerly Twitter) was a digital town square—a place for witty banter, breaking news, and the occasional heated debate. But then came the X era, and with it, a suffocating cloud of chaos. Misinformation spread like wildfire, hate speech flourished under the guise of “free speech. For many, the tipping point was the unchecked disinformation that began to feel less like negligence and more like a deliberate strategy.

Enter Bluesky. With its clean design, decentralized ethos, and commitment to fostering a healthier online environment, it became the beacon of hope for the digitally disenfranchised. Unlike X, where algorithms reward outrage and bots amplify division, Bluesky prioritizes authenticity, collaboration, and user control. It’s a breath of fresh air for anyone tired of the toxic fumes X has been spewing into the digital atmosphere.

The migration to Bluesky isn’t just about rejecting X; it’s about embracing a new vision for social media. Bluesky represents a return to what we loved about online communities in the first place: meaningful connections, thoughtful dialogue, and a space where creativity can thrive.

And the numbers? Staggering. In just a few months, Bluesky has grown from a whisper of hope to a booming metropolis of voices. Artists, writers, activists, and everyday people are carving out their new corners of the internet, rebuilding what Musk tried to destroy.

I’m celebrating this migration with this new video not just as a rejection of what went wrong but as a bold step toward what can be. Bluesky proves that people want more than just a platform; they want a community that reflects their values, supports their aspirations, and uplifts their voices.

I’m so thrilled to be on Bluesky that I made this video to celebrate the biggest migration in human history.

Walking away from tens of millions of impressions and thousands of fans on X was a hard thing to do. But we ex-Xers all seem to be finding each other on Bluesky and the happiness we all feel is uplifting as it gets. I’m also on Threads now but I am enjoying Bluesky more. Here’s to the biggest migration in human history—proof that when enough people believe in something better, they can build it together. Whether you’ve already made the leap or are still considering it, the message ishttp://@ https://bsky.app/profile/kensheetz.bsky.social clear: the sky’s the limit, and it’s looking very blue.

Follow me there! @ https://bsky.app/profile/kensheetz.bsky.social

The Return of Orginal Megahydate!

In 2012 I performed a series 24 meditations called “The Coolest Meditation Ever: Antarctica 12.12.12.” All starting at 12.12 PM on the shores of the 7th continent, all performed on that powerful date of 12s. I would not have made it to Antarctica without the support of my biggest donor to my crowd funder, Dr. Patrick Flanagan, a bastion of the conscious community and a scientist featured in LIFE MAGAZINE.

Upon my return to LA, with a stop to film Patrick at an end of the Mayan calendar event in Chichen Itza, Mexico, Patrick and I would collaborate to make a series of 50 videos about his amazing inventions. Broadcast on YouTube the series became and instant hit and garnered 25 million views from his many fans across the planet.

And in the process of filming him and producing the videos Pat and I became great friends and collaborators again in 2014 on my creating a crowd funder for his brain boosting Neurophone, raising $1.6 million. The doctor’s unexpected passing in 2019 has been hard on all of us who love him, especially his amazing wife and partner Stephanie Sutton. For over 4 years now she has, with the help of her amazing staff, kept Dr. Flanagan’s legend alive through the company he founded in 1987, PhiSciences.

And so its with no small pleasure I share PhiSciences announcement to bring back the Original Megahydrate in April, just as Patrick formulated it. Here’s the video I made of Patrick in 2013 explaining the secrets behind the hydration supplement Megahydrate that some have called “the only you need.”

SUPPORT OUR WORK TIMES THREE AND YOUR WELLNESS

Here’s the link to get you Original Megahydate at a special price of 15% off at our sister site, made exactly made as Patrick at the intended it and as he speaks of in the video. Your purchases support our meditations for a better tomorrow and our curating the Coolest Tech Ever as well as Pat’s beloved Stephanie’s carrying on his legacy of PhiSciences! How often do you get to support three great causes for one 15% off price?

Full Disclosure

Enjoy a taste of the new introduction I am creating with the help of my love and my new co-producer Elizabeth England.  I am not sure it’s going to work better than my current version; where you meet Ohom, my inter-dimensional guide from the world Nektar in meditation 11.

I am looking for your thoughts about meeting Ohom in the opening intro to THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12.12.

Vision of Planetary Eco-Meditation

EXT. OUTERSPACE – ETERNAL NIGHT

We pass through a cosmic cloud. KEN Hi, I’m Ken Sheetz, host and filmmaker of THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12. 12. Strange sound/image.

KEN

In earlier versions of this film I worried sharing that my main collaborator on this project — a telepathic space traveler named Ohom, O_H_O_M — might scare some viewers off.

OHOM

Or perhaps you worry a businessman who’s built skyscrapers and Oprah’s Harpo studios who talks to brings from other dimensions might be perceived as a… what is the human term?

KEN

Crackpot?

OHOM

I was thinking more like “visionary”.

KEN

First time Ohom ever bugged me was in a yoga hall in Italy in 2010.

OHOM

Shocked though he was by my 7 foot tall blue skinned insectoid visage —

KEN

Actually, Ohom you disguised yourself as a blue angel.

OHOM

No, Ken.  Your mind was simply not ready to accept my highly evolved  insect race. So your mind chose a comfortable image for me from your childhood memories as a Catholic.

KEN

Yeah, that might have popped my cork seeing you look like a cross between a dragonfly and a 7 foot tall blue skinned human.

OHOM

The Hopi, Egyptians, Indians and accepted us in many blue skinned forms.

KEN

Well, it would take me talking to my friend Barnet Bain, who produced WHAT DREAMS MAY COME and other greats like scientist Patrick Flanagan before I would accept talking to you is a gift not a curse.

END A TASTE OF NEW INTRO.