The Biden transition is nothing short of a transition back to sanity. But it feels like the transition is taking forever because Trump, the king of the bad losers, is making this an ugly hard transition, one fraught with the danger of a civil war. It’s as if all Trump’s hate fostering and insanity of the past 4 years is being wrung out of the dirty dish towel of Trump’s reign. Hang in there.
I’d venture to say that Humankind has never experienced such intense stress, inflicted in particular on the American people, by the delusional leader of a nuclear power who is fully capable of trying to induce the rapture as a committee of one.
Since 2015 I’ve come to expect a unique brand of duplicitous lunacy from Trump and the GOP. But what I did not see coming this week were the 126 seditious House Republicans and 17 AG of other states signing onto a doomed to fail lawsuit filed by a Texas AG, an AG currently under indictment.
Fortunately, SCOTUS put Trump bogus legal claims to bed with not one but two DENIED rulings this past week. So what ‘s keeping all Trump’s delusions about a stolen election going? Greed. He’s found a way to bilk people for a legal defense fund. All while people are dying at the rate of a 9/11 a day of Covid. It’s not ordinary denial… it’s super-denial.
Here’s a story about super-denial on a much smaller personal scale. The names have been changed to protect the innocently delusional.
A 65th 25th BIRTHDAY PARTY
The hot autumn desert sun of 2010 beats down on the strange white domed structure know as the Integretron.
For most of 2010 I’ve taken a deep dive into the Los Angeles New Age community. This dive into the unknown came after beating my head against the Hollywood wall for a decade. A beating that has left me almost penniless and with no true Hollywood friends to show for it. So the open arms of the LA conscious community is welcome. Even if I am often wary of many in the conspiracy-loving community wanting my film skills in barter for healings and room and board.
This weekend I am filming a gathering of about twenty attractive minor celebrities of the LA conscious community, thrilled to be gaining fans and attention on the newfangled tool of social media. Our happy group makes our way up into the dome that sits near California’s Joshua Tree National Park for ceremony in the acoustically perfect interior of the Integretron.
After we all enjoy the great singing of a failed but talented wannabe Hollywood opera star, we’re all gathered by the campfire as the sun sets. I lean to the birthday guest of honor, a senior citizen, let’s call her Myrtle after one of my favorite aunts, and say, “Happy 65th birthday, Myrtle.”
“Don’t wish me that!” Myrtle quips.
“Because the mother ship is taking me up tonight to be rejuvenated. When you see me in the morning I’ll be a hot young 25!” quips Myrtle without a trace of doubt in her Texas twang.
Now, I’d gotten to know Myrtle well enough in LA to be frank with her, so I say dryly, “It’s cool you’re so sure you’re going to be reverse aged to 25, changing you from too old for me into too young to date, but maybe you want to leave yourself a little wiggle room so that if tomorrow morning you’re still 65 –“
Myrtle cuts me off with a dismissive wave and says to me as if instructing a child,”The ETs teach that to have even a shred of doubt sabotages manifestation.”
That night I did not sleep well in the Integretron. Not because I was even remotely imagining Myrtle would be abducted from our little group up to a spaceship to be reverse aged to 25, but because one of the guest’s snore was amplified to insane level in the perfect acoustic chamber.
Next morning over coffee and pancakes at a Ruby Tuesday’s diner on the way back to LA I managed to not remind the still 65-year-old Myrtle of my warning to leave herself some wiggle room. No worries. Myrtle had worked it all out for the group by announcing over pancakes, “Well, as you can see I am sadly still 65. That’s ‘casue the mothership captain told me the Galactic Council decided not change me back into a 25-year-old.”
“Why not?” I managed to ask with a straight face.
Myrtle grins like a kid caught with their hand caught in the cookie jar but manages to say, sounding unconvinced herself, “‘Cause no one on earth would believe who I really am without a matching new passport photo.”
“Aho,” the snorer from last night, who Myrtle loved like a son, says. BTW, “Aho” is New Age lingo for Amen. And that Aho was all the group cared to say on the matter. Myrtle smiled cockily at me and went back to enjoying her strawberry pancakes.
All these years later as I watch Trump spin his alternate reality that Joe Biden stole the election from play out on the world stage I am reminded of Myrtle and her ability to spin a new web of lies to keep her dream of being returned to the tender age of 25 up to date and active. 2020 and 10 years later and she’s now 75 and still dreaming of a youth rescue mission from the ETs.
Each time Trump loses a court victory, 56 losses in court and counting, like Myrtle he simply creates a new lie to support his waning chances. His willing group of supporters who are playing the game with him then spout those lies to anyone willing to listen.
Don’t buy the lies. Trump will be out of office, short of a civil war, come noon EST January 20th. Until then, if you’re a Trumper, take my advice and leave yourself some wiggle room. As for me. Well, I’ll be hoping for Myrtle’s mother ship to take me a few months into the future to escape this eternal transition back to the sanity of a kinder and gentler America under Biden and Kamala.
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!
When I was almost 5-years-old my parents sent me off for a Labor Day weekend with my favorite aunt Katie, who was only twenty-two. A striking brunette full of mirth, Katie had been in her teens when she had kids. So, in many ways, Katie felt as much like a big sister as an aunt.
Katie had a new boyfriend with kids too and we all piled into an old Chevy station wagon and drove from St. Francis, a quaint blue-collar neighborhood in Milwaukee, for Devil’s Lake. The way Katie lovingly dealt with her boisterous kids in the crowded station wagon, rather than beatings or harsh words my dad used to create order, was as new and wonderful to me as the alien worlds I would one day as an adult visit on the astral plane in meditation.
Some in the family thought less of the child-mother Katie than me. Grandma Agnes, in her thick Irish brogue, would often criticize Aunt Katie,”You’re raising these kids like a damn bunch of wild Hooligans!”
Yeah, I was happy to be in this fearless new tribe from the car ride on. It was the first time I was away from home. Aunt Katie gave me more hugs and kisses on that 5 hour car ride as I’d had in my whole 5 year life, aside from Grandma’s. As the Wisconsin countryside flew by the station wagon windows I even daydreamed about Aunt Katie adopting me and freeing me from my abusive father and ice-cold depressed mother.
Labor Day was passing as fast as the pine trees out the car windows, like the whole weekend had been that had seemed to pass like a single day in my stressful home. I was doing my best to hide how deeply sad I was that this was my last day with Aunt Katie and the happy kids and cousins before returning to my raging father and the frightened mother who let my father hurt me each and every day lest she share my fate.
Every painful day for the 21 years of my home life, it seemed my father’s only joy was hurting me. Lots of therapy would be needed to overcome this tortured life my soul had chosen to strengthen me for the planetary healing work I would do 40 years later. Yes, I accept my father was doing what my soul had chosen him for. Even if he seemed to a bit too good at his job of trying to break me. Indeed, if you are ever in a jam at the end of the world, a zombie apocalypse, financial collapse, I am the calm cool character you want in your corner. I fear nothing as an adult. So as you read take heart for the brave little Ken’s suffering in this story, He’s far more than he appears. He’s an angel that lit up a dark family and no victim at all.
Sometimes, when Dad was away and I kept my mom company, her little accomplice in a conspiracy to hate my father without his catching on, Mom would see my hands trembling like a Parkinson’s victim and she then always say, “Why are your hands shaking, Kenneth? You look sick and pale.” I really did not know then. Now I know the crushing stress of a crazy father was getting expressed by my body, though my mind was in total denial, both consciously and subconsciously. To my parents, sibs, and friends, except for my tremors, I acted and appeared a happy kid.
It’s part of the reason I am a recovering hypochondriac as an adult. One who now errors on the other side, ignoring health issues until they become life-threatening. Right now I am undergoing a nebulizer Abuterol lung therapy for a HVAC poisoning I let get the better of my health. I got in this 2014 health pickle by ignoring symptoms too long, hating being that sickly young kid staring out the station wagon windows.
Snuggling up to the easy-going Aunt Katie, my hands were steady, my stomach not in a knot. It was bliss for the five-year-old me. Finally Katie’s boyfriend, Rusty for his red hair, pulled the station wagon the Devil’s Lake parking lot and the kids all piled out and ran for the water. But I clung to Katie and helped carry what little things I could. Finally, after this clinging went on for sometime, Katie said, “Kenny, go swim your cousins. Um, Rusty and I have some grown-up things to talk about.”
I didn’t want to leave Aunt Katie but something in Rusty’s eye told me to go. The cousins welcomed me into the lake with splashes and giggles. As I played in the shallow waters of Devil’s Lake, named for steaming springs at certain times of the year, with my now forgotten cousins, I stole some looks at Katie. She was laughing and drinking a Pabst beer on the beach with her boyfriend Rusty. A boyfriend who tried to be friends with me, but because of my dad’s abuse I feared adult males at that time and Rusty gave up on me eventually.
Katie made out with the breast-groping Rusty with a sexy abandon I never saw between my mom and dad, who always seemed more like enemies in a truce between battles rather than lovers. I was, I admit, more than a little jealous of her red-headed boyfriend Rusty, who sported a handlebar mustache.
Some of my cousins and the other kids who were old enough to swim wanted me to go out in the deeper water with them. I watched in amazement how they windmilled their arms and kicked the water and swam like fish.
DARK SWIM LESSONS
My only swimming lessons up to then had been from Dad in our little backyard pool. He’d dunk me underwater and the only way he’d let me up to breathe was a deadly game of breath holding; I had to then see how many fingers Daddy dearest was holding out beneath the water’s surface and stick my arm out of the pool, while my little head was held tight under by his massive welder’s hand that wrapped around my skull like an octopus. Then I’d anxiously wave my arm to Dad, showing how many fingers he was showing me underwater. Only then was I allowed up from the pool to gasp for breath. Then he’d jam me back under for more “swim lessons”.
Once my mom finally said tentatively, “Bill, you’re not teaching anything but to see underwater. What the hell good is this without teaching him to swim? All you are teaching Kenneth is to hate you.” That got mom a beating. She was less helpful after that in questioning my dad’s parenting skills.
To win Katie’s attention back, I imitated what her kids did to swim with the kicking and arm strokes and lo and behold I was swimming! Of course, with only my father’s mean swim lessons, the first wave took me under before Aunt Katie could see how cool I was. Swimming went from joy to terror. I’d only swam far enough to reach the deep water and I sank like a rock. However, my father’s dark swim lesson did allow me a great underwater view of the bottom of the lake I was sinking for. In some crazy way my father’s lessons on holding my breath were my only hope. I kept holding my breath on the bottom of the lake. I could see the splashing feet and arms of my cousins above, oblivious to my sinking disappearance. I tried an underwater shout and swallowed some water.
I felt a strange tingle in my fingers and toes. I knew from my water torture from dad that lying still meant being able to stay under longer and live. Soon, despite and my aqua-man tricks learned under great pain, my consciousness was fading. I pushed off the lake bottom, but it was a sandy muck and I sank again, more out of air. Fear started to leave me as I began to see amazing shapes and colors, like tiny angels and animals in rainbow hues dancing in the sunlight on the lake’s surface above me.
I was fully aware I was dying but no longer afraid. I even calmly thought, “Well, at least I won’t have to suffer Dad’s beatings anymore.”
I had already run away from home a few months earlier. Only a kindergartener, I made it just a few blocks away before Dad recaptured me along with my little bit of food wrapped in a handkerchief on a stick like I had seen done in a 50s TV show about hobos. Dad broke that hobo stick of mine over his knee, like he tried to break my spirit, like the South Koreans he trained for combat as a US Army drill sargeant. “You little fag gook!” he would call me when enraged, forgetting I was a white kid, his kid. Somehow, even his training by the US army could never break my spirit like his recruits. And it frustrated him to no end to his dying day of bladder cancer in 2011.
Death lost all it’s sting. Dad zero to my many victories. I was ready to die, happy in that knowledge that I’d won as life left me deep beneath Devil’s Lake .
The light of the watery world grew dimmer and dimmer when a beautiful woman appeared over me, lighting up the water. Her bronze hair shimmered with an inner golden glow as she floated majestically above me, smiling. As I smiled back she said telepathically, “Ken, do not give up. Help is coming. Hold on, young one.”
I was filled with more love than I can describe at this beautiful face smiling down on me. More love than I had for aunt Katie or Grandma,”Who are you,?” I said in my 5 year-old mind back to her, as though taking telepathically was a normal as Grandma’s amazing apple pies.
The beauty smiled. Her glowing gown of green seaweed swirled as a wave passed overhead. I felt cozy now on the sandy bottom of the lake as a shocked fish darted past. I peacefully began to close my eyes.
The lady of the lake shouted in my mind, “Gaia! I am Gaia! And you must live, little one.”
“Gaia? That’s a pretty name, pretty lady. Thanks but my father is so mean I don’t mind dying.” I said in shame at betraying my father’s dark secret. He beat us all in the family, from mom to me. Beatings were the cost of living in his home where he controlled all through fear and abuse.
“Your poor sick father William knows no better. He truly does love you and the rest of the family,” Gaia said gently taking my little oxygen deprived blue hand and kissing it. Warmth spread from Gaia’s lips through my little water chilled body when a man’s hand reached right through Gaia and pulled me through her body. All went black…
Gaia became the earth. I saw her from space long before the astronauts. I saw galaxies and many of Gaia’s sister worlds. “Come home, little Kenny.” Gaia’s distant voice called to me.
I flew for Gaia’s sweet call back from the galaxies, down to earth and through the clouds. My spirit hovering above, in the dimming Labor Day sky, I saw my little 5-year-old body slung over a tan man’s shoulder. He ran like a Greek god for the shore through the shallow water. The young lifeguard tossed me on the sandy beach where my shocked aunt was yelling at my oldest cousin, “Kenny’s only five! You were supposed to watch over him in the water!”
The gathered crowd to watch, locked in fear of losing one so young as me. I was telepathic to all their sweet concern and it brought me further down from the sky. This was 1957 and they didn’t do mouth to mouth CPR back then. The lifeguard pushed down on my abdomen so hard I felt I would explode the way my father tortured me by sitting on my chest until I screamed and often passed out.
“No. I will not go back to that life!” I said and my spirit turned and flew for the sun.
Gaia appeared in a cloud, blocking my flight and said this time not telepathically but out loud, “Live, little one. Please, live.” Her words and voice were so sweet that I flew straight for the beach without a word and dove back into my body. Water gushed from my mouth and as I choked my first breath. I was back in my 5-year-old body.
I sat up on the beach and the gathering clapped and hugged each other. My cousins danced for joy. I was picked up in the loving embrace of my beautiful aunt Katie. Black haired and blue-eyed like my dad, Katie showered me with kisses instead of punches like her sick brother. “Oh my god you scared us, Ken!” Then Katie added in shame, “Please don’t tell you father and mother about this. They’ll have my hide for almost letting you drown.”
Not knowing what a “hide” meant, I nodded agreement just the same, happy not to arouse my father’s wrath at this kind woman I loved. This I see now was my first enabling of an addict’s negligence. Poor beautiful Aunt Katie would die just after her 40th birthday, her good looks robbed by alcohol and drug addiction. The fate of many in my family lineage. Katie’s loss so young, she should still be here, is one I’ve never fully recovered from. Fighting family addictions that kill people I love is why in 2011 I donated 150 videos, a $50,000 value, in barter for a $500 a month room for a small room in a grungy North Hollywood home, office to Bradley Quick’s beloved Cool Change Foundation. Bradley would be the gateway to my opening to my spirit gifts. It was the best barter I ever made despite the bad deal money-wise it was for me.
Katie was only a 20-something when I nearly drowned that fateful Labor Day and my first meeting with Gaia. Katie and Gaia seemed the same being as Katie wrapped me in beach towels and warmed me with the best hugs of my life. My relieved cousins went back to swim in Devil’s Lake as Katie warmed me fully back to life.
“Here, Kenny boy, get some food in you,” Aunt Katie offered me fresh peanut and jelly sandwich. I gladly took a bite. Food never tasted better before or since, despite a little bit of beach sand that had gotten into it in all the commotion.
“I saw angels,” I said innocently to Katie as I enjoyed the sandwich. The world was more alive than I’d ever tasted or saw before or since. I can still close my eyes and see the sparkle of the sun Devil’s Lake reflected in Katie’s wide blue eyes.
“Angels?” said Katie looking very frightened in a way that frightened me.
“Yeah, Aunt Katie. Little rainbow-colored ones and a big one named…. Uh, named, um I forget her name. But the lady in the lake was pretty like you, but with golden hair and a seaweed dress,” I said like this was a normal as the sandwich I was loving.
This made Katie look even more afraid. “All this stays our secret. You can never, ever talk to your mom or dad about angels or you’ll get aunt Katie get in big, big trouble. Your daddy might even hit me.”
“No…,” I whispered in terror. It was bad enough that I and my brother Fred, who got, I suspect, even worse than my beating by getting sexual abuse, at the greasy mechanics hands of my sick father, were being hurt along with Mom and Grandma. “Not Katie. I never wanted to bring daddy’s hitting Aunt Katie.” I thought. What I was too young to know was this fear was already too late. As my grandfather had died with my dad was only eleven, he had been the “man” of the family for a long time and was giving out beatings since long before I was born to Katie. God knows what else.
“So cross you heart and hope to die the angels and the lady in the lake is our secret, Kenneth?” said Katie, tears of shame in her eyes.
I knew when she said Kenneth, something Katie never called me like my mother did when she was mad, this was serious and so I said, “Promise, aunt Katie, a secret, I promise.”
PROMISE TOO BIG TO KEEP
Sadly, this was a promise I was not able to keep. Not because I was broke my word and told. The near death experience had changed me. I was seeing spirits of dead people and pets and the rainbow of angels everywhere now and talking to them all the time. My parents knew something was very wrong ever since Katie had brought me home. I was a very different kid now.
Eventually Katie confessed her neglect herself to the family in our little living room in our modest St. Francis home. Tears still burn in my heart recalling my father towering over Katie, “You drunken, bitch! You almost killed my boy with your boozing! Now, he’s seeing freaking angels and ghosts? Ken’s a retard now! ” My father slapped Katie so hard across the cheek her head spun.
“Stop, Daddy! It was all my fault! I seen my cousins swim and thought I could too. I, and I promise to get better. Not to see stuff.” I said getting myself between Katie and my dad.
Mom spoke up, something she seldom did when my father was hurling me around like a broken toy. Dad would break my arm a few years later tossing me across my bedroom into bed as punishment.” Leave Katie alone, Bill. She’s sorry.”
My father’s rage swung like a spotlight of evil doom upon my mother now. He raised a hand to strike her for speaking up against him. These family dramas went off like a spark in to firecracker warehouse and went to places no one dreamed. My father’s rage burned in his eyes, a forest fire ready to kill us all, himself included.
A Korean War drill Sargent my father was far stronger than he knew. My worst memory is him kicking my mother in the stomach while my mother was pregnant with my brother Fred. Fred was age two now. Fred cried loudly as my father kicked over a heavy coffee table like a toothpick hat was separating him from my mother.
“Please, Daddy! I promise never to talk to the angels again!” I shouted and jumped in between Dad to shield Mom from his menacing fists.
“Protecting the ladies, huh?” said my father as he backhanded me so hard I saw angels again dancing before my eyes. Blood from my cut lip mingled with the heavy carved maroon carpet up against my nose.
“Bill!” shouted my wise Irish grandma Agnes as she nervously puffed on a cigarette. “Enough is enough, son. I swear to make sure and teach Ken all I learned about the evils of the fairy folk. This sometimes happens when a soul crosses over. But Kenny is back with us now. He’s not retarded, Bill. Your son just needs a wee bit of time and my help to forget the fairies and pixies he’s met.”
Somehow, at Grandma’s profound pledge to break me of seeing visions my father’s rage cooled like an active volcano between eruptions. The women calmed and even my kid brother Fred stopped bawling.
And due to family repression worked upon me of an epic nature, all done from Grandma Agnes’ misguided love, so I have no regrets as it allowed me to enjoy an amazing normy life before my awakening, it would take until this very day, a vision on 6.12.14, eve of a full moon in June of 2014 to remember it was Gaia under Devil’s Lake I fell in love with at first sight deep beneath Devil’s Lake. I keep seeing more and more of mama Gaia since Antarctica 12.12.12 where I share now for the first time she knighted me. I dedicated my life to helping her save the human species, her proudest creation, that day on the stoney shores of Antarctica.
When he’s not meditating and doing planetary healing work Ken is a Hollywood filmmaker with PBS credits on IMDB and the owner of a socially conscious social media company.
“Something unknown to our understanding is visiting this Earth.” —Dr. Mitrovan Zverev (USSR), quoted by Reuters, August 26, 1965.
By Ken Sheetz
This will seem odd coming from a man reporting on being guided by ET angels since 2010. ETs who sent me all the way to Antarctica on 12.12.12 and who are sending me there again on 12.13.14, only one year away. I still believe with all my heart and soul in ETs. But I don’t believe in ET based UFOs. I simply don’t believe after deep meditation and looking at all the facts that our planet has ever been visited by ETs from other worlds in corporeal form using spacecraft.
Science backs me up on my long deliberated belief. Despite years of extensive astro-research the world over, no intelligent life has been found on any worlds within a 100 light year radius of our own. I therefore believe the UFOs we do see are secret experimental craft and visitors for other time periods of our future.
But let’s stay on the ET UFO page. No life on any world ever discovered within a 100 light-year radius. That does not make sense as the math will tell you we should be discovering tens of thousands of earth-like worlds with the ingredients for intelligent life and worlds far older than our own with far more advance civilizations.
The answer is sad and scary one. The reason is the worlds that once carried life are, like Mars, now dead worlds. The flame of thousands of intelligent worlds has burned brightly and gone out before humankind had a chance to interact with them in the flesh. Most of those dead worlds died of their own making when they continued on the path to self-annihilation we are embarked upon currently.
This revelation, recorded no where I can find on the web, was given to me by Ohom, who confirmed my suspicion that he is not alive in the classic sense. Ohom of the Orion star system is from a dead race of intelligent insect evolved life. And his world of Nectar is part of Galactic organization called The League of Ghost Worlds.
The League of Ghost Worlds is dedicated to reaching out to young living worlds, like ours, to save races like ours from early extinction. Ohom’s peaceful ice moon once orbited a gas giant 5 times the size of Jupiter. But Nectar perished when the gas giant imploded into a mini star.
Fortunately, and Ohom explains it’s difficult for we of a 3D mentality to understand, his people the Orions exist outside of time in spirit form. They also still exist in physical form on Nectar in its past. Time, Ohom explains, is an illusion and if a species survives long enough to evolve it can, as Ohom’s race has done, achieve immortality in both form and spirit.
Humanity stands at a fork in the road. To the right is the path to our immortality as an enlightened species. To the left is the path to our early extinction at our own hands.
Ohom and The League of Ghost World ETs are here to help humanity take that right path. They have no need of primitive space craft to travel the galaxy and beyond.
The real journey is within. No alien invasions will ever occur. All we have to worry about is ourselves. And we have amazing help from The League of Ghost Worlds against our most deadly enemy… us.
“In the Golden Age it is time embrace paradox!” – Stephanie Sutton, PhiSciences.com
By Ken Sheetz
Happy official first day of the Golden Age. A day I learned all about from Mayan calendar guru Stephanie Sutton, who I am filming with her husband Patrick Flanagan for THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS. It’s such an honor to film this power couple at work in the shift.
Stephanie, who is an enlightened psychologist, has been of great help on my personal work here in Sedona. An unexpected boon for this man healing from my recent narrow escape from the Matrix only 3 years ago after seeing ET angels build the DreamShield in a 2010 vision that awakened me.
I am blessed by this Sedona Golden Age power couple. So blessed. And so I try not to burden Patrick and Stephanie too much with my personal junk I am clearing away to make room for the new me. Yeah, it’s hard enough work making a 50 video web series without throwing my dark childhood wounds and the mess they made of my adult life into the mix.
So on Monday July the 29th 2013, of the Grand Trine long predicted by the Mayans, I book a sessions with my LA gal pal, and newly relocated Sedona intuitive healer Mica Monet. Mica’s one of the stars of this blog of late for the great work she is doing on healing me here when I am not making videos for THE FLANANGAN EXPERIMENTS.
The lovely healer selects a lovely small park for our work beside the Oak Creek. We set up camping chairs Mica likes to use for outdoor sessions on a small bluff overlooking the magical healing waters of the Oak Creek. Mica’s does not call herself and intuitive healer for nothing. She senses my uptight heart and asks me, “What’s wrong, Kenny B?”
“Damned if know, Mica. My messed up heart I guess.” I say plopping into my camping chair. Bugs immediately begin to bug me.
“Close your eyes, Ken, and let’s get started,” says Mica, who looks tired from the high demands of a rapidly growing healing practice here in the red rock country of Sedona.
“Sorry. I don’t want to close my eyes, Mica. I’d rather change-up the session and tell you a story about my heart. It’s related to the love thing,” I say feeling lost from the get go.
“Your call.” says Mica.
“OK. Let me tell you the tale of ‘Ken Sheetz and Global Love.’ On 2.13.11 ETs of the dream shield ask me on the spur of a moment to become a human back-up drive for about 12 hours for all love on planet earth. And I accept. That night before bed all earthly love from the tiniest microbe to the whales of the sea pours into me through my third eye, a fully conscious eyes wide open experience. I was not sleeping or dreaming. All love on earth flooded into me in a beam of data. I went to sleep after filled with a backup copy of all love on earth. What a night that was.”
“See, Ken? You can receive love in a big way after all!” offers Mica brightly.
“No. I was simply a vessel, a backup love-drive space. Nature abhors a vacuum and so I was a perfect subject. But, still, a little of the love from this entire world did leak to my heart. That’s how shut down my heart is, Mica, being a human backup drive to all love on earth is the closest I have come to receiving love.” I say sadly.
“Why do you think the ETs wanted you to do this in the first place? Why this back-up drive to planetary love?” says Mica, the human angel looking for an angle to help wedge open my closed heart.
“The ETs that built the DreamShield used me as human back-up drive in the highly likely event of a solar flare that will wipe all of our memories,” I say. For the first time telling this amazing story to a person and not just blogging about it.
Mica nods calmly for me to continue. Here in Sedona, I love how the unusual is taken as usual.
“On Valentine’s Day 2.14.11,” I further explain to Mica, “I transfer all love that was downloaded into me as a living backup drive from all earth life, big and small, into the Parthenon duplicate in Nashville. I was in Nashville in 2011 just after my father died, who was an alcoholic, doing a planetary meditation to end addiction for Lee McCormick’s Spirit Recovery, one of the largest recovery centers in the state of Tennessee.”
“Interesting how you father plays into all this.” says Mica, trying to take me to my father issues.
“Let’s keep my dad out of this today, OK? I need a break from his junk.”
“Sorry. Go ahead with the ETs and you as a human backup drive to love story.” says Mica.
“Love is all the ETs say we need save of our memories in the event of a solar flare. Rage, hate, fear, all negativity are superfluous. And now that I helped set up Nashville’s Parthenon as the back up drive, ET angels update our planet’s love there each night as we all dream.”
“Love backed up daily in our dream time. Makes sense,” says Mica.
“Thanks. I’ve been blogging about this since 2011, but no one takes what I went through seriously,” I say.
“Seems to me a lot of people believed in you enough to send you to Antarctica to help the ETs halt the pole shift at the end of 2012,” says Mica with a smile, proud she’s rained on my pity party.
“Got me, as usual. You’re good, you. — There’s more to the ETs and me that may give answers about my heart that can only give love not accept it. The ETs showed me in a 2012 meditation in Malibu that I am not quite as human as I appear. Part of me is a sentient program sent from the future. My furthest future earth self is from 4.54 billions of years in the future the ETs who guide me say,” I explain to the patient listener Mica Monet, who nods for me to go on.
“I came here, to this era of the Shift, to be born in 1952. That’s the furthest back in time my DNA sentient program could be sent from 5 billion years out, using that times advanced via wave technology. WAVE is a sci-fi film I made in 2005 about what has turned out to be real. In studying this ET knowledge I have seen that ’52 is the year the cell phone got invented and the exact midpoint between earth’s birth 5 billion years ago and earth’s death 5 billion years from now.”
“Whoa. We’re smack in the middle of earth’s life span here in 2013. Go on, Kenny B, sorry to interrupt” says Mica.
“My future self, and sorry, I don’t have my future self’s name yet to share yet, is from a time when humans are immortal sentient organic machines. Technology and biology have merged.”
Mica listens patiently as the sun fills the little park beside the Oak Creek with golden shafts of light. I am relieved Mica is not looking at me like I am insane and so I press on, ” But in humankind’s evolution, something critical to humanity’s future has been lost.”
“Love?” says the intuitive healer.
“Yes. To be specific, humanity has lost the ability to receive love 5 billion years from now.”
“Hmm, just the way you are feeling, Kenny B.” say Mica.
“Yes. Now that my Antarctica mission is done, this search for the balance of love is the reason I was guided here to Sedona, during the birth of the Golden Age. Here with you and Patrick and Stephanie, and Ed And Kat Preston, and bunches of other people I’ve not met and may never meet.”
A little dog that looks like a miniature lion, a dog I have never met before, strains on its master’s leash line to reach me for a pat on then head. I am grateful for the love interruption to my long story of about being an organic cyborg program from a distant future.
“Dogs are love,” Mica says calmly. “You are being supported with doggie love in telling me all this. Go on, Ken.”
I swat at bugs pestering me, “If I am supported telling this global love tale, one I barely believe myself, why are all these bugs bothering me and not you?”
“You tell me,” says Mica, an expert in keeping you focused in her powerful sessions.
“Sorry to blab about what must sound like my next science fiction screenplay. But for some reason I know it’s important you get my full picture of not just my past, but humanity’s future.”
“Good. But my guides say your answers to solving your one-way love issues are in your past, not your super cool future. Please close your eyes and let me take you back.” Mica says. I sense her frustration at not spirit journeying with me today, like we usually do so gracefully.
A Ginger Rogers of a spirit dancer, Mica is a fantastic dancer and singer. I even have attended some of her Salsa classes. Helps me get out of my writing/editing chair I’ve been glued to for The Flanagan Experiments.
“Sorry. Not feeling up to spirit dancing with you today, Mica Pica. Odd I know. That’s what I thought we’d be doing. But these sessions never are what I expect.” I say softly, wishing I knew what the heck was going on. I love traveling through time and space with Mica. But my heart is as bankrupt as Detroit that filed this week.
“You’re so sad today, Ken. It’s not like you. I want to help,” says Mica kindly. She is one the kindest people I have ever worked in 20 years of therapy with.
“Mica, I have to confess I am literally falling apart on this one-way love DreamShield mission. How I am supposed to live on earth another 50 years, like I was told by the voice of God in 2010 in Italy?” I blubber on, stories still pouring out of me. “In the far future, when earth’s red sun grows to the point where it will soon swallow the earth whole, where my furthest future life is sent backwards in time to be with you here in this park today, love is just a highly sophisticated program that merely replicates love behaviors. Our race has lost its way on the road to progress when it comes to love 5 billion years from today, this lost day of the Grand Trine.”
“I don’t believe humanity’s future is that bleak. Sounds more like some wild expression of clever ego subterfuge,” says Mica.
“No this future is as real as you sitting in that chair, Mica. Only one possible Quantum future, I grant you. But it’s the future I come from. A future that has pluses. Humanity lives in peaceful co-existence with all of nature for example.” I offer.
“But, Ken, it matters not if there is no heart and soul in such harmony, only existence,” says Mica.
“Ah, what’s the use? I accept I am like the character Tin Man in THE WIZARD OF OZ, wanting to find a heart… but never really getting one from the con man wizard.” I grouch.
“Ken, you are a human in this life. One with a big heart. Have faith the answers will come. Today is just not the day, perhaps. Let’s go on with the session. We may still get there on this Grand Trine.” says Mica, still hoping for a miracle breakthough.
“Screw the Grand Trine, there’ill be another one some other life. Let’s call it. Nothing more to say as ‘the love explorer from the future’. Love? Ha! Me? I know zippo of real love. Every love I’ve had has been nothing more than parallel play style love, never true love. As you painfully know, I am silly Pepe Le Pew in relationship. All chase and when I do catch a woman and she loves me, “warts and all” as my Canadian fiancée once lovingly told me. Well, what do I do? Run! Leaving a wake of broken hearts in my path of destruction. I am sick of my life-like nothingness,” I say sounding gloomier by the second.
“Didn’t I do a good job of seeing how you’d dump me if you caught me, Pepe Le Sheetz?” Mica teases me to cheer me up, referring to the title of a blog I wrote about my humorous love chase of her she rightly shut down and which has led to this entire discovery. But now one that’s led to this very serious moment where all seems hopeless. Thoughts of an early death seem pleasant compared to the loveless torture of my life, but I keep those thoughts to myself as the session is over and I don’t want to keep Mica.
Instead I say to Mica, “I need to stop looking for that magic woman, like you, who can break open the safe of my heart. She doesn’t exist. I am alone, like ‘Solitary Man’ the old Neil Diamond song.”
“At what age did the shutting down of your ability to receive love start, Ken?”
“The easy answer is the abuse I started suffered from my “bipolar” dad as a toddler or even in the womb when he’s . But I’ve worked through all my dad junk.” I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
“You’ve not really forgiven him have you?”
“Forget about it, Mica. I will never forgive my father for the abuse. It’s never really going to happen. Yeah, I’ve pretended to forgive my dad. But he was a fucking nut job and deserves no forgiveness from me. He needed to seek medical help with his aliment he brutally inflicted on me, me and the whole family, by minute by excruciating minute!” I say packing up my folding chair.
“You don’t have to say what you father did to abuse you was right to forgive him,” offers Mica as she packs up her folding chair too, accepting the session if toast.
As we head for the parking lot I say, “I am so done with Wild Bill, as my little brother Fred and I named him long before there the movie “Silence of the Lambs.” Done with his ruining my life. I’ve forgiven my father all I can. I can never completely forgive him. Never.”
“How are you feeling saying that, Ken?” says Mica still trying to heal me into forgiving my fucked up father as we head for the parking lot. This woman never quits.
“I feel nothing. I am in full android mode. Far from what I expected on my session to find answers to love on this not-so-Grand-Trine.” I kid as I tuck the folding chairs into the back of Mica’s love bug VW.
Mica smiles, sad for me, and says hoping into her love bug VW Beetle, “Don’t give up, Kenny B. Never let your vision of one possible future, from the infinite futures out there, hold you back from being able to love fully. The future is not set. Look to the past which is set for answers.”
“Thanks, Mica Pica from Cosat Rica. But I think I’ve reached the end of my rope trying to figure my love mess out.” I say grimly as though reading my own death sentence.
“Are you OK?” Mica says starting her car. “We can grab dinner together if you want to talk more. You did cancel your Salsa lessons with me for after.”
“Yeah, remind me to never combine therapy and dance lessons again,” I say managing a sad chuckle. “I’ll be fine. Take care, Mica,” I lie as I walk quickly to my car and drive off into the Sedona sunset.
Mica’s session may seem like it was a failure on the surface, but after my mood lifted over expecting too much on Stephanie Sutton’s Grand Trine. Yes, telling my cyber-self story of love and the human backup drive 2011 epic vision was deeply healing somehow. A few days later meditating about Mica’s advice to forgive me dad in whatever way without accepting the abuse he dumped on me, it hits me:
My dad was a bipolar inner twin! One from a good universe and one from a negative one. I can forgive the good twin within my father without forgiving his dark twin. The caption on the photo of my dad on this blog is my forgiveness letter to him. I wrote after the meditation. Still a lot of bitterness leaks from it. But it’s a start to putting my father’s abuse truly behind me. I have hope.
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..” ― John Milton, Paradise Lost
By Ken Sheetz
Unless I had Peter Bedard as witness no one might ever believe all that happened to me on MLK Day. Monday, as posted on my page on Facebook, I was set to have myself put under deep hypnosis by Peter, who I trust, obviously, as I’ve never allowed myself put under before. In advance of the session I prepared a series of questions based on some of the tough skeptics I’d faced on Facebook in fund-raising that got me to Antarctica. Peter would ask:
1. Were there ETs, German ghosts and Gods really guiding you to the South Pole to help save earth from a Mayan pole shift or was it all in your imagination?
2. Are you seeking fame or cult status from any of this work you are doing?
3. (Assuming it’s all legit as I feel it is) Does the Orion Ohom who speaks through you have any wisdom or warning to share about humanity’s future post 12/21/12?
4. What is the power behind the 24 meditation videos you are posting to http://dreamshield.org to help humanity?
The idea: Film me under hypnosis and share all, no matter the results to challenge the naysayers. But in the days since leaving Antarctica on 12.20.12, leading to the visit with Peter back home in LA many odd things began to happen, phones going dead, ATMs taking my credit card then going blank, forcing me to travel 7,000 miles without cash or credit, PayPal strangely disabled upon my return with messed up balances, cooking “accidents”, lost luggage, friends acting like strangers and strangers like friends, getting super low on funds but getting by just fine without money and more.
But, stubborn person I am, I pushed on ignoring all signs to do the hypno interview with Peter. On Monday morning I showered, dressed, gathered my camera gear and headed off in a car a friend has kindly borrowed to me and for whom I am house sitting: Successful actor/insurance agent Tom Katsis. It’s been my car all month, a treat for me over the cost renting them as needed as usual. Tom has almost single-handed created the soft landing for my meteoric return from Antarctica after mounting a film production in the most remote and expensive place to travel to on earth. The meditation videos would not be posting until Spring without him and the way things are going with my electronics who knows if they might have vanished forever by now.
Despite the money from the crowd I am personally out of pockets thousands of dollars for unexpected costs. I’ve never been financially weaker in my life. But I don’t worry about money like I used to as I continue to press on in the editing of the 24 meditation videos in the solitude of Tom’s home. At least I have gained that much faith in the beings helping me.
Back to MLK day. As I reached the Silver Lake area my Android phone’s navigation voice began to lead me in circles. I kept ending up back on Angus Street. Angus, as followers of my work know, is a Scottish earth angel spirit badass enforcer of the Galactic council protecting of our world as we ascend. Peter was not available to guide me to his office despite repeated phone calls to help lead me out of the 30 minutes of the Angus-loop I was strangely trapped in. It’s amazing how dependent we are on these cell phones for navigation now.
Silver Lake seemed to have no gas stations to ask directions where the Android guided me. Worse though, I felt a cloud of confusion come over me. A growing fear something was wrong about all this.
Peter finally rang me on the phone and told me the Android navigator had led me in circles 20 minutes away from his offices. He had reached me just as the Android led me a dead-end on a tiny street, so narrow I could barely turn Tom’s Saab around. Problem was navigation uses lots of juice and now my phone was running out of power. Peter guided me all the way to the 110 for Pasadena and then I lost him.
The Android navigation was all I had again. Suddenly every electric system in the car began to give signals of failure with a cacophony of beeping in concert with all the emergency lights, smack in the middle of the 110. I pulled off an exit instantly and then the car completely conked out. I coasted off the ramp and was stuck on a hill unable to push the car to a safe spot.
I’d had lots of coffee, as I do when I edit, before heading out and the hour in the car meant I needed to relieve myself. There was not a bush in sight and I did my best to hide my business from cars going by.
Tom told me the nine-year old car might act up as he turned over the keys to me, but I never suspected anything like this, never experienced anything like the beeps and lights that sent me here on a side road called Stadium Way. No worries. There was AAA coverage for emergency service on the car Tom had assured me before he left town and I dailed the first AAA number I found. “Closed for MLK day” the voice mail said. My phone was nearly dead. I decided to try Peter again while still could.
He explained the Android had taken me further away and that I was now 30 minutes away from him and that he had a client in 40. The trip was a total waste. But he was willing to cancel the appointment and come get me as I had no cash for tow trucks and still no operating credit card.
As I waited for Peter I decided to turn the Saab ignition and it started up smooth as silk. I called Peter and we agreed it was too late for the filming and, besides, I told Peter, this all felt too weird to be coincidence. I told him it felt like the ETs were unhappy with the idea of this interrogation of myself I was trying to do.
Heading back to Tom’s place in Sherman Oaks, the incredible sense of disorientation began to lift when suddenly the lights and beeps started again. This time I was ready, put the car into neutral and coasted the car, flashers going. I was coasting slower and slower. I broke a sweat as there was no shoulder to the 101 here. Lucky there was enough slope I made it past the insanely dangerous part of the 101.
The Saab coasted onto the ramp for Santa Monica Blvd and I pulled onto a shoulder, just big enough for one car in distress. Now, there somehow was full battery power so the flashers worked. LAPD was Johnny on the spot and the officer asked what my plans were. I said the car was behaving erratically, sounded awful and I would call AAA. All the time worrying to myself how low my cell phone power was to in fact make such a call. The cop asked if I knew my coordinates and, having to think a moment through my confusion, I finally told him, ” Santa Monica and the 101.” Then he was off and I was alone with Tom’s Saab.
I opened the hood and the motor fan was racing. The engine heat was intense. I checked the oil, full. Checked the coolant, boiling. Nothing to do but call AAA I decided. So I dug into Tom’s papers and found the national toll-free AAA number. The operator asked for Tom’s card number and I explained it was not in the car.. The operator coldly explained there was nothing they could do without Tom’s ID. I said, “Just look up his name and address and find his number on your computer.” The operator calmly said “No, sir –” just as the Android went dead.
I had been editing for 3 weeks solid since getting back to LA. All to get the cool footage from Antarctica, that includes an amazing rescue at sea and wedding, up on Youtube. And it has paid off. News services are broadcasting clips now in 180 markets. But in my rush to make the editing happen I’ve burned the last of my cash reserves. I sat on that lonely ramp without power, without money, wondering what the hell this was all about and how I’d ever solve this one.
Then I surrendered to the moment, “Sorry I doubted you guys. This wasn’t about proving something to doubters on FB but my own doubts,” I said the blue LA sky as cars whisked past on the 101. A joyous flow I was now out of synch with. Another hour passed, again my middle-aged old kidneys got the better of me and I used the Saab as cover. I tried the Saab again and it started up a bit then conked out again. Now, I could tell that if the Saab cooled a little more it would run again, but not enough to get me home the way it sounded.
If I was to rescue Tom’s car from a city tow truck and the impound lot that would cost a small fortune I had to take action. I could see a few shops at the top of the Santa Monica Blvd ramp that looked open despite the MLK holiday. I decided to risk leaving Tom’s car to try to find a phone. How I’d know anyone’s number without the Android I had no idea. But I slung my camera bag over my shoulder and made my way along the treacherous dirt path after the emergency asphalt ended. An expedition more dangerous that anything I’d experienced in the eight days of expeditions in Antarctica.
I entered a copy store and the women running it were busy. Persian was my guess, fearing a language barrier might be an issue. Finally I caught the eye of a young lady who spoke perfect English. Yes, I was back in America after all. I explained my situation and she offered me her Iphone to call. But I didn’t know anyone’s number by heart in this speed dial era. I asked if I could use the PC on the store counter and she kindly agreed.
Soon I had Peter Bedard on the phone, Peter, who as you can see in blogs below was the savior of the Antartica boat trip. But all the snafus with PayPal and a deadbeat donor of a $1,111 commitment, who I could strangle by this point for all the trouble he’s caused me, had still left Peter holding the bag on $444. So when he asked me what I needed, and that to me was a tow, he said the most he could do for me is get me back to base in Sherman Oaks. I accepted knowing there I’d have the web and be able to charge up my usually trusty Android phone for help.
I was a miffed that someone I was trying to promote by subjecting myself to hypnosis, something I’ve never let anyone do, was unwilling to pay for a tow, especially after all he’d done for Antarctica. But, deciding that was all ego, I kept my big mouth shut. I told Peter I needed to move the Saab for that plan to work, to buy time to solve the AAA situtation. I asked Peter to call me back at the copy lady’s Iphone number in 10 minutes and hurried back to the Saab.
Making my way back along the dangerous dirt path again, I hopped in the now simmering Saab interior and thankfully it rumbled to life. I edged the Saab into ramp traffic and up the short bit of the ramp until a huge white pickup truck blocked my way. The damn truck was not making the legal right turn and the Saab was ready to stall out again. It would be in a rotten spot that would get the Saab towed for sure. So I laid on the horn with a sharp blast. The white pickup truck moved about a foot and stopped again. I looked around and could see no sign of a no right turn sign so this time I honked to horn continuously.
Finally, just as the Saab was about to stall, the anal retentive trucker raced off. But a block ahead the white was blocking the quick left turn I needed to make in the Jon’s foods parking lot! But as I got close the driver saw me in the mirror, emergency lights flashing, engine smoking and got what was happening and cleared the way for me to rumble past in the car that seemed to be falling apart by the second.
The Saab shuddered as I killed the ignition and coasted into a parking place. Now I realized how badly dehydrated I was and hurried into the Jon’s store to grab a quick water. Nothing was quick for me this MLK day. A huge line was at every counter. I said screw and walked out with the water. If anyone stopped me I’d explain I was going to pass out from being on the road for 4 hours now, lost in LA. But no one did.
I hurried back for copy shop and a heard a loud angry voice behind me that sounded a drunk, “I’ll kill your mother!” I turned around no one was there. This had turned from freaky to scary. But I realized I was slow in turning around. Could have just been a drunk prankster. I chose to think so. My guides put me in odd situations but they are always gentle and it didn’t fit to make a death threat on my innocent 82-year-old mother.
Inside the copy shop the young lady smiled sadly and said I’d missed my friend’s call. I asked if I could try to reach Perter and use her Iphone. The young Persian happily agreed, getting a kick out of this like a living reality show. I thought about America and what jerks we are to Iranian people. I’ve never met one I didn’t like. They are great people with a culture far older than ours. All this energy came through from her. The water had refreshed me. I got Peter on the second try and he was on the way.
I thanked the ladies of the copy store and exchanged contact info. I wanted to be in touch. The older woman asked me who I was and what I was doing stuck here. I explained the filming of the hypnosis and the beings I wanted to go deeper exploring. She said, “Take all this trouble as a sign to maybe not look so deep, my friend.” I nodded yes and could have kissed her for her kindness she and what must have been her daughter had shown me and hurried back to the Jon’s parking lot.
Soon Peter was there in his sporty yellow car. I hopped in and we rode in tense silence for Sherman Oaks, 20 miles away. Peter has a huge heart and I knew he was feeling bad about not being able to help me more than this ride back to base. So I broke the silence with a recap of all the weird stuff I was going through. Peter, who runs holistic business called CreateYouHealth that’s packed with good info, asked, “Why do you think the beings don’t want you to be hypnotized?”
I thought as Peter, a good driver like most spirit people I meet, gracefully dodged traffic up the 101 for my home base in Sherman Oaks, the part of LA I always feel at home in. I answered, “The Angus galactic spirit is angry about my lack of faith after all he and the beings have seen and done with me. I feel like I am being fucked with. Punished like some kid and I don’t like it.”
Rather than looking at me like I was nuts Peter said, “You know, you can tell the beings that treatment is totally unacceptable to you. I know I did when they were messing with me.”
Tears welled in my eyes. Here was a brother doing all for me he could. Soon I was home and I gave Peter the best hug in a car I could manage.
I won’t bore you with the hellish 2 more hours of getting AAA to call Tom in Asia and then AAA losing the reference info and my having to go through the whole authorization again. The whole time it felt like the corporate shell game of taking our money and then making it difficult to use the services when you need them. I’ve done million dollar real estate deals that were less complicated than getting a tow as a guest car user.
After this painful 2 hours I needed to get myself back to the Saab again some 20 miles away. I called a few friends having my phone back in service again. In no time at all a beautiful light worker and friend came to my rescue and we made it back as the AAA tow truck just before they were ready to leave.
When I was all over my amazing friend offered dinner at El Tacito. I was trembling from the stress of the day and her solution was to hold my hand as we each downed big glasses of frosted amber Mexican beer. We had fun talking about the Shift. A fine end to a day of being lost in the Paradise of LA.
BTW, I am still way out of synch with this reality. Peter sensed it and said I need to realign my energy. In other words, I am causing the trouble not my guides. I am not quite in this dimension. In fact, I just reproofed this entire blog as what I had worked for 2 hours on in the second draft just vanished. So apologies if there are typos. Sigh….
And will I go for another try with Peter on the hypo therapy session? Yes, if I can truly know I believe in my heart all this is true and more than more overactive imagination, name of my production company in honor of a loving, if misguided, grandmother, who never tired of trying to break my belief in my visions as a child.
Greetings, Earth brothers and sisters! Ken Sheetz has given me permission to speak to you, dear reader, directly, about 11.11.11 and humanity’s ascension to a gentle 2012.
This is Ken’s higher self, Ohom. I am from, what you call, the Orion’s Belt star system. My species looks much like yours except we are 7 feet tall and blue skinned and have wings. We have lovingly watched over your species for eons. Some have called us angels.
The good news for humanity is that at joyous events like DreamShield 11.11.11 The Ascension Convention, hosted by Ken and Laura De Leon, well over 5 million people meditated as one at 11:11 AM and PM across the face of the earth, setting the intention of ascension in motion. Rejoice, for humankind has taken the first baby steps on a journey to the stars as a species capable of caring for your world and therefore full admittance to Galactic Society.
I warn you, however, despite your newfound 11.11.11 success, that ego plots against the heart like a dying movie villain trying to take all with him if he cannot win. Stay true on the path of heart lest you lose your way like the 1960s when so many light children became ensnared by material pleasures and were consumed by ego.
The time has come to put thought into action. Do something peaceful yet powerful to shake off the greedy selfish ways of a world run by Ego and enter the Golden Age of Heart.
On behalf of all sentient members of Galactic Society, we congratulate you on climbing the 11 ladder on 11.11.11. Your ascension is at last begun and begun well. Know that we are at your side to guide and protect whenever you call upon us.
Ken Sheetz back on the computer. I thought I was done blogging but another message is coming through from an earth angel pal of mine you’ve all met before, the fiery Angus McPherson. Angus leads the Galactic Enforcer Clan, here to help Earth prepare the way for the Shift, despite a temper that sometimes gets the best of him. He’s a scary to some on the outside, good for his job, but he’s a sweetheart who in the end always gives mercy to those deserving it rather than his swift sword.
In spring of this year, 2011, I witness Angus aid Archangel Michael and a host of his warrior clan touch down in Rome and do battle dark forces that have been corrupting the Catholic Church. I saw many demons slain to give the church a chance for a clean start. The victory was swift and sure. Even now thinking back on this stunning vision, which I’ve told only a few people about until now, gives me chills. Angus asks now I pass over the computer keyboard to him…
Aye, one look at the day’s news of evictions of the Occupy protestors sweeping the world shows me that my work as a galactic enforcer is far from over!
My hope is that it be of some comfort to you to know that I’ve been in hard at work the eviction business myself for close to a year now. Truth be known, skirmishes been afoot ever since my delivering the Galactic Council’s eviction notice under the treaty of Pangea.
Fairly given on December 31, 2010 at 11:59 Earth PST, this eviction notice is for all hostile ET forces to comply with the non-interference provisions or to depart this world via “Love Boats” we have provided no later than December 21, 2012.
Take heart lads and lasses, although the dark forces that have dominated your world for eons, pitting you one against another for pure sport, taking your gold off world to their own and leaving you with on holographic forgeries, and countless other atrocities that make my blood boil, are demonstrating with their spiteful ways that they will fight to the very end! Come 12.21.12, the dark ones cannot prevail against your determination and sheer numbers, not to mention the aid of Galactic Society for your ascension as full members. The dark ones efforts to starve you out, to mock you, the harm you are all being recorded by the beings of light and come 2012 there will be penalties long overdue for these stubborn usurpers.
Aye, my eviction continues as do their evictions of Occupy which serve as a mockery for the kindness we have extended . Hold firm and be of good cheer. They can’t stand love in the face of how they seek to throw you into fear. You victory is assured as I, and the rest of my clan, round the all up. We do this from Love until the final chance for them to vacate earth come 12.21.12. After such time there may be no love boats.
Change is coming and we salute you for your bravery and desire for a world where all shall live in joy and abundance.
Your faithful servant,
On 11.09.11 I had a vision of Angus and his eviction work. Seeking a major hostile ET clean up in advance of the many 11.11.11 events happening around the world a battle took place in the sewers deep beneath Wall Street. All hostile ETs surrendered rather than be slain by Angus and his enforcer clan.
But no “Love Boats” were in earth orbit at that time for evacuations. But such is Angus’ unlimited power, I once saw him tosses away an entire enemy fleet with a wave of his arm, that Angus flew out over the Atlantic and raised the Titanic from its slumber and landed it at Battery Park to take the hostile ET forces off world.
So it’s no wonder after all that he’s angry about the evictions in Zucotti Park! Stay tuned. I have feeling Angus is up to something big in the quest for a gentle 2012.
We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. William Shakespeare
Dream Blogger – Ken Sheetz
My father, William Kenneth Sheetz, age 82, passed away today after a 3 month battle with cancer. He died peacefully at home after the doctors felt his cancer was hopeless and sent Bill, as he liked to be called, home to hospice.
For the past few weeks my father’s spirit has traveled between the world of the living and the dead, looking in on me many times out here in Hollywood many times.
Once while I was at radio show called Life Changes with Filippo, with medium Suzane Norhtrop. Suzane asked the audience, “Is there someone here who has father who has passed or may be in the process of passing?” I raised my hand and Suzane said, “Your father wants you to know that he’s sorry he made some mistakes as a father but that he did the best he could. He did not have a good example he says because his father died so young.” I was breathless.
At the 1.1.11 New Year’s Day meditation I could feel Dad enjoying the infinity cookies we made a new universe from.
At 1.4.11 The Solar Flare mediation I felt my father, a welder, let me look through his welding helmet’s dark glass, as he did when I was a child, deep into the sun.
At the 1.11.11 TAKING BACK THE CITY OF ANGELS meditation this week I felt my father join our circle at the Hollywood sign during the meditation and make eyes at Marilyn Monroe.
This morning I was in a DreamShield planning meeting with Laura when she said, “I strongly feel you father’s presence. And he says he likes me.” Just a few minutes later I got the call that 30 minutes after he was granted last rites that my father had passed.
Bill Sheetz, my father, was raised Irish so he wouldn’t want you to feel sad for his leaving us for his angelic work of 2012. Rather he’d like you to celebrate his long, vibrant and adventurous life with a toast to life in this amazing world he loves so much, now and forever.
And today I felt my father wanting to me to take DreamShield to Ireland and to kiss the Blarney Stone, which inspired this tribute video to my “da”.
The invariable mark of a dream is to see it come true. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Dream Blogger – Ken Sheetz
After the amazing angel powered Volcano planetary meditation that sent a plume of vision-fire to the DreamsShield, Chris wants catch up on emails and other earthly matters. So Cali and I drop him off at the B&B and head for a nearby hotel where our sponsor for 10.10.10, Lee McCormick, is staying.
I barely notice Chris has left the SUV as I am getting instructions by the angels that our 11:11 PM meditation will be about UFOs. I still don’t know the location but, wow, UFOs?!
I am new to all this spiritual work. If you’d have told me 6 months ago I’d be hosting and leading planetary angel/celestial being powered meditations across the globe I’d have looked at you with the cynical raised eyebrow of a businessman who has spent the better part of his life chasing the almighty dollar rather than the almighty.
As Cali chatters at the wheel about the two wonder-soaked visions that our three person dream team have already shared with angels and she wonders about the two more planetary meditations left to come, I find myself envying Cali and Chris for the great support they give each other. Married 17 years they are both filmmakers, a Hollywood power couple that enhance each others lives in ways I hope to find again for myself one day. I say “again” because I’ve had many wonderful spiritual women in my life. Sadly I just was not ready for such soulful women and so all those amazing relationships ended, some happily some not so happily. I give thanks to the women in my life who I now see were healers for wounds that go back many lifetimes.
My musings on the amazing women of my past end as Cali spins the SUV into the parking lot of the hotel where we are meeting Lee McCormick. Lee’s Spirit Recovery group out of Nashville has combined with a group out of Peru and looks to be about 20 strong. I marvel at the way the gorgeous lodge has given over their cozy lobby to the work. And I can see myself renting this entire resort by the time we reach 2012!
A series of large gongs are the backdrop for a Peruvian speaker talking about the importance of spirit in daily life and I think back 2 years ago to my visit to my doctor.
“Ken, your blood pressure’s doing OK with the medication… But may I ask you a personal question?” Dr. Lindberg says, peering over his reading glasses.
“Sure,” I say not knowing what to expect.
“Do you follow a religion?”
I look down at my feet, a bit ashamed to say, “No. I lost my belief in all that stuff twenty years ago.”
“Why is that?” the doctor says.
“I was raised a Catholic and loved the church. But I saw way too many bad things happening in the world to think there’s a God. I guess my work became my religion.”
“Ken,” the doctor says shaking his head, “work is work. The body cannot be healthy without spirit being healthy too. And the spirit can’t be healthy without faith in some higher power to nurture it. I’m not saying you have to sit hands folded in a church, but you need to find something meaningful for your spirit to enjoy.”
Lee’s arrival snaps me from my medical flashback. The lanky good looking country western singer/shaman takes me into a hug and I return the love. And I should love this guy! Lee’s Spirit Recovery was the web sponsor along with his wife’s Princess Know it All website for the 10/10/10 global event, just a month earlier, that honored the vision of a gentle 2012 that I was blessed with in Italy in May.
Lee, I discovered some time after meeting him on social media assignment for BuzzBroz, was already having a 10/10/10 event in Nashville at his the Fantastic Spirit Recovery Ranch. So we quickly joined forces and his Circles of Light event was broadcast on our 10/10/10 stream along with events in Greece, Italy (not filmed) and LA.
10/10/10 was an enormous task for my fledgling social media service BuzzBroz to orchestrate, complete with 24 hours worth of videos we gathered and YouTube from all over the world. All intercut with live coverage broadcast on a new web channel I built for the global occasion, DreamShieldTV. Got 24 hours to kill? You can watch a rebroadcast of 10/10/10 and our heavenly 24 hour playlist at DreamShield.org.
A few weeks before 10/10/10 I was worrying about it all coming together on what, despite Lee’s support, was a tight budget and schedule. But angel channel, Mica Monet, channeling the archangel Michael said, “Simply ask for the help and it will happen.”
And Mica/Michael was right. 10/10/10 was a sensational success thanks to amazing people like Nathaniel Hansen, out of Greece, Dr. Sarah Larsen and LA location sponsor the amazing Dr. Robert Casar founder of Earth Shift Products. Never has sponsor money gone further on one of my projects than Lee’s and Robert’s which stretched around the world and is still echoing in people’s hearts and minds from 10/10/10.
No wonder I am happy to see Lee in person again. We had met Lee in Vegas at The Holistic Treatment Conference while I was covering Bradley’s Quick’s speech, just before leaving for Italy. I felt an instant kinship the Lee. In fact, it’s just writing this now that I see how strong those two happenings, Italy and Vegas, are related. The synchronicity of 2012’s approach never fails to amaze me.
The angels told me back in May in Italy that 10/10/10, 11/11/11, and 12/12/12 are key DreamShield global event dates. And I thought, “OK, I can handle that. Just a once a year thing.”
But no sooner did 10/10/10 get posted with over 80 videos, and still more coming in from Nashville, that I started to get a string of other dates the angels want me to honor with more modest scale events. In fact I am still trying to figure out as I write this where I’ll find the time and money to foster all this. Guess I’ll take Mica’s advice and ask for the help with the added work. Important work as Mt. Shasta has shown.
Lee introduces Cali and me to a sonic healer, Richard Hite. Richard heals with amazing gong work. Gongs he drove all the way from Nashville to Mt. Shasta for Lee’s event. Richard gets excited about DreamShield and energized to join our UFO meditation, despite his exhausting 37 hour road trip to be here. Richard then invites Cali and me back for a evening gong meditation before our 11:11 PM DreamShield meditation.
After a quick nap and dinner Cali, Chris and I join Richard Hite’s meditation mid stream. I have Chris lay on a bear skin rug with his wife Cali for the gong session. But the bear was a little small for them both and Chris stayed to the bear rug while Cali found a spot on the couch. I felt our 3 person dream team was getting powered up by Richard’s amazing music gong work.
Richard’s gong echoes and I see the A-frame pine lobby radiate triangles to infinity.
Richard chimes tiny flying saucer shaped Tibetan chimes, that I later learn are over three hundred years old. They give off a high pitched tone that goes deep inside me. A grin crosses my face as I get clarity on the celestial beings we’ll be meeting and where. The 11:11 PM meditation is going to be right at the Dream Inn, in the little backyard sanctuary. We’ll be visited by UFOs that carry a race aliens who are smaller than the human eye can see. They are called the Nanonites, masters of the miniature and inner space.
A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality. – John Lennon
Dream Blogger – Ken Sheetz
Last blog we jumped ahead to the psychedelic dream I had at Mt. Shasta that I am really an alien on a secret mission. I swear no drugs, folks. Just Mt. Shasta water and mojo. The place is amazing.
Now, let’s dream-jump back in time to the DreamShield event at North Hollywood’s Tujunga Park’s 9/11 monument on 11/01/10.
As the successful DreamShield ceremony winds to a joyous close, with Shaman Isabella Stoloff closing the healing vortex in the earth we’d dreamed together, a couple new to the group, Cali and Chris Rossen, invite us to join them for lunch at the Bombay Cafe.
Soon Cali’s breaking nana bread with about 8 of us, excitedly sharing a tremendous release of sorrow she felt when we washed the soiled 9/11 monument, not just with soap and water, but love. Cali then sweetly adds, to warm smiles from all, that she’s thrilled to have found a new family in her fellow DreamShielders. But Chris, though happy for Cali, his wife of 17 years, appears not to feel quite the same about our eclectic bunch of New Age healers.
After lunch Cali invites me to their home nearby to see angel art she created at age 5. Their wonderful home, where Clark Gable once had his studio, is perfect for this Hollywood power couple that writes, produces, acts and you name it in the film world.
BINARY SIGNS POINT TO MT. SHASTA
A few weeks earlier, our sponsors for the 24 Global 10/10/10 event, Lee McCormick, founder of SpiritRecovery out of Nashville, kindly invites me to join him at Mt. Shasta in Northern California for an event. But I am so busy wrapping up the reporting of 10/10/10, over 2 hours of videos, and then planning 11/01/10, I’d not really figured out if I could make it. When I finally do catch up it finally hits home that these are binary code dates –11/10/10 and 11/11/10 — that fall within Lee’s event. This is a sure sign I must go to the mountain.
Forgetting how tight my cash is I accept Lee’s invite to hold DreamShield meditations at Mt. Shasta on 11/10 and 11/11. Lee kindly grants DreamShield up to 4 guests (3+me) with free access to drop into his event, normally a $1200 each event ticket. When I send out the invite for the exclusive Mt. Shasta dream event on Facebook, Dr. Sarah instantly accepts as well as Cali, promising she’ll do her best to convince Chris to come along.
We have our dream team for Shasta. Now I start getting angel messages that this DreamShield mission will be big:
REDUCE EARTHQUAKE AND VOLCANIC ACTIVITY!
Angels work on a planetary scale I could never imagine myself. After all the amazing work with the angels I’ve been seeing since Italy, I have complete confidence in their spiritual abilities. Abilities focused into our physical world though the dream team human facilitators.
Plans to ride up to Mt. Shasta with Dr Sarah and meet up with the Rossens at the mountain change last minute when car troubles force Sarah to cancel. But Cali and Chris step up to share the ride, so now I’ll travel to the New Age Mecca with the Hollywood power couple.
NO ARGUING WITH ANGELS
The night before I am to leave, 11/9/10, an angel pops into a dream and startles me, “Wake up! You must do a 3:33 AM meditation to begin the Mt Shasta work.” I bolt awake and check my night clock. It’s 2:59 AM. I say to the angel still fluttering in my mind, “Please, I need my sleep.” But there’s no arguing with angels. I am gifted some energy and wide awake, up for the last minute meditation. So I shuffle out of bed, dress and do my best not to wake my roomie as I tiptoe out the front door, despite the fact our place has floors that squeak like a haunted house.
No traffic at this hour, so I easily make my way on my bike the mile and half to the site. I stop for a water at the 711 on the way, important for spiritual work as it dehydrates you. A man in the checkout line before me wears a jacket with an angel on it’s back. A sign I am on the right path.
I pedal for the 911 monument through the abandoned park. It’s a little scary at this crazy hour.
PRE-MT. SHASTA VISION
Meditating at the 9/11 monument to Ennio Morricone’s THE TRIO, I notice signs about the site I hadn’t noticed in the daylight. Signs that further supports the vision of clean energy future free of oil wars. The signs? Solar-powered street lamps light the 9/11 monument site set in a triangle.
Deep into the meditation, pounding the light poles like gongs, I see blue ET angels land in the vortex tree. Quickly gathering orb seed, the angels soar off, along with a reassembled Flight 11, filled with happy passengers. These orb seeds I am told will be planted along the San Andreas fault line to grow into series of giant energy trees feeding off the DreamShield that will heal the fault line with magical roots when we meditate in Mt. Shasta.
I can’t wait to make the trip in a few hours knowing such miraculous meditation success awaits us. I ride my bike back home in amazement and vlog about this pre-vision vision on YouTube through the wee hours. Luckily, I’m able to grab a few short winks before Cali arrives at 9AM. And after a quick business meeting for Chris, an internet wizard when he’s not writing screenplays, we are on the…
ROAD TO MT. SHASTA
Chris loses himself on his PC in the back seat the whole way. Like many couples I meet in this work, the Rossens are in different places on the spiritual road. So I figure besides the big work of DreamShield at Mt. Shasta, perhaps this spiritual adventure to Mt. Shasta also carries the purpose of bringing the dynamic Hollywood duo more into spiritual alignment.
As the valleys and hills of California spin past the white SUV windows, Cali, at the wheel, is on fire about the DreamShield gentle 2012 meditations. She’s seeing angel signs in everything, right down to our rental’s license plates. This starts to elicit some spiritual overload grunts and groans from Chris as he types away in the back with the dogs.
At rest stops along the way Cali and I get to know each other better while she walks her two adorable, if a bit wild, dogs, Ricki and Emmy. I learn her childhood hero is a magical artist named Simon. Take a look. Marvelous!
I explain to Cali that I’ve only been getting visions in meditations for about 6 months. For Cali it’s been life long. She made art about seeing blue angels when she was only 5. Cali loves Chris deeply and wants badly for him to be with her on her spiritual journey. On one of the stops, after asking if she wants my two cents, I tell her gently, “Lead. Don’t drag Chris into all this. Stay in your power and don’t take it personally if he does not get the work.”
I explain to Cali that before my angelic powered un-thawing in Italy, May of this year, I was right where Chris is, maybe not even as far along the road to spirituality. Yeah, being honest, compared to Chris, who is writing and growing and supporting his wife’s exploration of the spirit world, without the angels help in Italy I’d still be a spiritual caveman.
Cali’s a great driver, self taught I learn, and we arrive in Mt. Shasta City at the base of the mountain, covered in clouds in the night sky. We all agree on a late dinner at the Black Bear Cafe to celebrate our safe arrival. It’s my first real chance to get to know Chris who was silently working on an exciting new screenplay about pilots. Turns out Chris is a vet who has seen action.
I’ve never traveled with virtual strangers and it’s more than a little awkward for us all. But by the time we finish dinner I learn one of the reasons Chris is so quiet is he lost a close brother a short time ago that he is still grieving.
Wow. Then it hits me like an angel kicks me in the shins and I realize how much of my old junk I am projecting onto Chris. Yes, it was me stuck in the mud, my own paralyzed heart that caused me to thwart and belittle the soulful dreaming of not one, not two, not three… but four wonderful spiritual women who came and went in my life.
Yeah, this side mission of helping Chris was really all about me healing me! Healing my past transgressions on the spiritual plane with so many women, going all the way back to not believing in my psychic mother and superstitious Irish grandmother. This healing is important for the gentle 2012 work because we are switching from our warrior patriarchal ways to a nurturing matriarchal society.
The sign I’ve finally figured this out arrives at exactly 10:10 PM when huge healing white snowflakes begin to gently fall past the coffee shop window, drifting on the cool night mountain air like angels.
WE NEED YOUR ANGELIC SUPPORT
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