Sorry I’ve been off the blog beat since 12.9.19. Sadly, I’ve been grieving the loss of my dear friend, client and film subject the incomparable inventor/scientist Dr. Patrick Flanagan.
Losing Pat is like losing a brother for me. Blessedly, I’ve had visits from his amazing spirit I will write of soon here that have helped me cope. You see, my issue is that within the past decade I have had too many losses; I’ve lost my best friend in LA Bradley Quick, a father, a stepfather, a sweet pal from my days in Malibu, a dear but troubled brother and a beloved uncle. And now Pat. Sigh.
So I hope you’ll excuse me that I’ve been lost from blogging to you dear reader for a time. I’ve been losing myself following the Impeachment, hoping to see some glimmer of justice for this bully that has stolen America’s soul.
But watching the farce that is the Senate Impeachment Trial has not helped quell my pain as America has lost its series of check and balances. Indeed, the farce trial has only been useful in making it crystal clear how far our Republican Party has fallen from grace.
As an independent I’ve voted Republican as often as I’ve voted Democratic. In fact, the Republican Party is the only party I have ever registered to be part of back in my real estate mogul days of late 20th Century. I used to appreciate the GOP’s ideal of smaller government and therefore lower taxes which they once stood proudly for with an evangelical flair.
And while the Donald did not get the impeachment pardon yesterday he wanted in time for bragging rights at the Super Bowl tomorrow, he did get the Republicans to unite to protect him in agreeing not to call new witnesses or offer evidence. These creepy politicians’ nerve in destroying America’s systems of checks and balances despite polls showing that 75% of Americans want a fair trail is beyond astounding and one of the saddest times of my long life.
OHOM TO THE RESCUE
Last night I licked my psychic wounds watching the amazing musical WEST SIDE STORY last night. Half way through my movie as a meditation night by the flicker of the fireplace, my guide Ohom whispers in my mind:
“Time to let go, Ken. Donald John Trump has served his spiritual purpose of drawing out America’s deep flaws and is now superfluous.”
“But we haven’t had the final vote, Ohom,” I complain, feeling guilty for getting so wrapped up in a political show that I know is run by the oligarchs and corporate banksters who truly own our government.
Ohom (which stands for (Open Heart Open Mind) says tells me, “The American the people must WILL the birth of the new and better world into full reality. How you do this begins in your own bright hearts not Donald Trump’s dark heart. As leaders of the free world the American people must:
1. Let go of all racist behaviors and have love for all. This means full restitution for the Native Americans and African Americans. A restoration of your country as the land of opportunity for all genders, races and creeds will then be achievable.
2. Americans must speak and seek truth and integrity in all things. Lies and cheating have no place in a world of peace.
3. Your billionaires and the 1% must pay their fair share. Only then can you as a people let go of greed and make an end to the lie of poverty.
4. You must end your meddling in the affairs of other sovereign lands like we ETs do with other worlds such as yours. You have evolved to the point where war is obsolete and you must turn our talents and energy to peaceful endeavors.
5. Last, and most importantly, before you travel to other worlds you must learn to take good care of this beautiful world and all life upon it. You must all make an effort to leave a smaller footprint, recycle and implement solar and wind power. Only then can you make this world the paradise you’ve all dreamed of.”
Ohom’s sage advice washes over me like a cleansing slave to the pain of the fake Impeachment trial. I close my eyes and picture the rope of negative energy that ties me to Trump pulling at my hands. The tug of terror to this idiotic old man with his fingertips on the nuclear arsenal is strong.
“Leave Trump behind. Ken. You have important work to do reaching the North Pole in 2020 to complete the work you did in 2012 in Antarctica. Let go.” Ohom’s voice echoes in my mind.
I feel the rightness of Ohom’s words and finally let go of the energy ropes leading to DC and Trump. Ones I’ve been clinging to since his election. The relief of disconnecting from Trump and the DC energy is instantaneous.
“Let’s anchor this letting go of the old, Ken.”
Ohom leads me to the puja my wife Elizabeth has made in the center of our house. Graciously, My consciousness stands aside as Ohom, my higher self located in another dimension, steps forward into my body and I become the observer.
Using my body, Ohom picks up the small globe of his ice world of Nektar. A world where technology has involved into a blissful new life form that resides in the 13th dimension in the Orion star system and places it on the floor in front of the puja. The replica of the planet Nektar quickly begins to feed energy to the earth’s core.
High above the pristine skies of Sedona, the rings of the DreamShield, one circling the earth north and south, the other east to west, are frozen in place. More energy is needed to reactivate them! Ohom calls upon the ancient energies of 5 million years ago when Sedona Arizona was part of Antarctica. Nearby, Thunder Mountain rumbles to life, shimmering with white light in the January darkness. A jagged band of white energy races from Thunder Mountain to the Nektar globe in the center of our home.
An artillery shell shaped of blue light morphs from the globe of Nektar. More of the sacred sites in the Sedona area stir to life, Cathedral Rock, Airport Mesa, Bell Rock. Soon Sedona is a humming maze of jagged white lines of energy that dive through model of Nektar to the earth’s core.
The artillery shaped shell blasts the roof clean off our house and hurtles into space exploding upon the frozen DreamShield in blaze of blue light. With mighty groan of on metal on metal, sounding like the horn of Gabriel, the rings of the DreamShield I first witnessed in 2010 begin to turn. Slow at first the spinning speeds up geometrically to reform the powerful planetary DreamShield. It is only then I realize I have truly let go of all outcome in the Trump impeachment.
Ohom says, “The old world has ended and a new era has begun. Realize in this moment that each human being possess unique time space coordinates. And now I must return to my space time. I leave you and Ken to close our visit out via this blog. Please share”
Ok, I added the please share thing. Wow, this blog evolved over weeks of painful incubation. Hope you liked reading it as much I liked writing it.
It’s a good sign it came to full vision powered by the sad senate vote that has outraged many of we who truly love America, not just for what it was but will become.
Wrapping up, I hope you can too let go of Trump too. Look instead for leadership to people like Greta Thurnberg. She certainly has truly emerged a voice for a generation that does not have the luxury of time to waste that we Booomers did. Forgive we OK Boomers. We were lied to by the corporations seeking to evade blame for their destruction of our world. In any case we do not have time to waste on hand wringing about Trump or his lost Tea Party Republicans. Hoping Bernie makes it all the way in 2020!
It’s happening right before our eyes and it ain’t pretty. Our president has come to loggerheads with the weather. Hurricane Dorian to be specific.
Like some kind of modern day Don Quixote, our Don is locked in a twitter snit over a freaking weather map. He, or someone in his employ, modified a weather map with a sharpie to include Alabama as being in danger from hurricane Dorian.
Note the hand-drawn sharpie extension of the hurricane’s range into Alabama. Thus birthing a new Twitter trend #SharpieGate and endless humorous attacks on the president’s manipulation of reality.
Call me Trump-fixated in this ongoing series of Meditations On Trump that will be book one day, but as a political film satirist of 25 years in my other life with PBS creds, I could not resist making a Sharpiegate meme myself. This electric-doodle of mine mocks his idea to nuke Hurricane Dorian. What Colbert said in his monologue on the topic would be like creating a radioactive hurricane, a “Chernobyl on jet skis.”
Backtracking, #Sharpiegate was born of Trump’s pathetic and ridiculously predictable response to heavy criticism he took for tweeting this gem:
Then twenty minutes later NWS (National Weather Service) Birmingham tweeted:
None of this had to happen. It’s a tar baby birtherd from Trump’s super-sized ego that makes him utterly incapable of admitting he is wrong about anything. Anything, including climate change and the weather in general.
Now, many in the media are saying #Sharpiegate is a sign decline of our president and that we need to use the 25th amendment to take him down as being mentally unfit for office. But I was in DC to wish him well, despite all my misgivings, at his inauguration with my love Elizabeth and…
.. the day after the inauguration the crowds at Women’s March the next day far exceeded his. This drove Trump’s ego into a fury. Trump then famously started his term’s first press conference directing the obsequious Sean Spicer to deny reality, angrily claiming Trump’s was the biggest inauguration crowd in history. This despite photographs to the contrary. Sadly, the #SharpieGate thing is sadly nothing new.
So what’s at the root of all Trump’s persistent denial of reality? Three letters.
Yep. Trump is suffering from an outsized out of control “YUGE” ego.
Meditation teaches us the ego is like an elephant that will sit on your house unless you put it on a starvation diet. Only the soul must steer us on the river of life, because only the soul can see life objectively. And when you mediate you make the ego, sometimes called the monkey mind, take a backseat to your soul.
So while the world marvels and worries in terror about a Trump losing his grasp on reality, relax and realize it’s all fear based reporting out there. The media, as always, just wants to sell you anti-depressants and booze.
Gaia, the universe, God, whatever you want to call it is simply using Trump to teach us how petty and downright stupid the ego is. It’s a valuable lesson for an American society that fosters beating out your fellow man to have more material possessions and dominion over other people.
My advice? Forget Trump and go within to manage your own ego. Here’s some great mediation music to do it with. Aho.
“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams, from the afterlife.
A familiar new inner voice pops into the chorus that is the inner universe I call my big fat head, “Nah! Change that quote to ‘from the great beyond!’ Sheetzy, for the blog poster.
“Why?” I ask, questioning Robin as I do all spirits who’ve been visiting me since my near death experience in age 5, blogged here in detail. I’ve never met a ghost I didn’t like in all my 57 years of communing with “the great beyond” as Robin likes to call it not the…
“Afterlife. WRONG! That’s human lingo,” adds Robin’s voice in my fingertips. “In reality, in the great beyond, well, there ain’t no f’ing past or future here, no judging, no heaven and sure as hell no hell. Time and all the shit that goes with it is an earth game, part of the contract the spirit guides make you sign when you incarnate on earth.”
I pause to think, “Have I finally gone totally nuts? How can I be hearing, Robin William’s explicit thoughts and language, his standup side, so clearly even though he passed away in August?” Remnants of my Irish grandmother’s telling me to hide my gifts, which I managed well until 2010, another blog.
Robin chimes back in, “Stop wondering and write! Not sure how long our connection will last. Any, who, doubting Sheetz, there all these life stipulations, in the fine print the smarmy spirit guides — who’d make great fucking lawyers! — force you to sign before you can get born on earth. The sneaky bastards sneak the nastiest one into the contract, stuck in this itsy-bitsy clause, tucked in between what’s your hair color choice and what’s the size of your ass!”
“So that’s why my ass is huge!” I riff back to Robin out loud. Thank god I am laughing alone in my office or you might never see this blog. Talking to yourself is still a no-no of the Man that can get you in the loony bin.
Robin is ranting on so fast my fingers can barely keep up in my weird self-invented shorthand! This will take forever to proof! Not my best skill set as I came on the biz scene in the 70s when we had this person called a secretary. PC terms even PC, hate that shit, had not blessedly come into vogue in those 70s three Martini lunch days when I rose in the Matrix of Chicago to become a millionaire. All this was before sexual harassment abuses by assholes with wandering hands ruined it for the rest of us that simply enjoyed a little playful flirting with our secretaries that might lead to more between two consenting adults.
These days, in the so-called more advanced 21st century where heart and fun is missing from biz, I am painfully on my own, typing poorly as Robin thinks faster than the speed of light, his voice echoing in my fertile empty skull. Now toss in I have glaucoma and am slowly losing vision and, well, you see why proofing is not my thing. I work every day as though it’s my last with sight. In the future, someone can fix all my typos! I gotta get things out there. No time to please the fastidious with perfect blogs or post on FB.
Robin’s voice takes me from my little pity party above, “There’s this little wart of a clause that stipulates the newly departed, and that’s all I am here, suicide has its own set of rules for reincarnation. No judging. Death is death, And we Newly-Deads must take a break from our eternal spirits pals. Here in the great beyond, in spirit form, as well as on earth in human form when you incarnate it a time of painful separation. Paradox alert! All so a soul, like muah’s, feels the love and pain of their earthly life one last horrific time, lasting up to max 100 years tops. Luckily, Sheetz-cheeks, here in the eternity of time and space 100 years adds up to what we call: The Moment of Cosmic Silence. No wonder the spirit guides hide that clause between hairy butt cheeks.”
“I relate. I’m renting a house from a coven of lawyers, makes life hell in Sedona.” I say grimly, glaring at the defective HVAC system I sealed off that pisses me off daily. That this family trust of lawyer won’t fix. “There’s hope though. I actually met a good guy lawyer on FB recently. A loving father watching over a kid hanging on one of my FB groups. So lawyers do actually have hearts in this and so too in the afterlife.”
“Sheetzy, again, where I am now is not the “afterlife’. Williams to Kenneth William Sheetz. That’s my name in the middle of your name Kenneth WilliamS heetz. Clue, my clueless friend overcoming a childhood of Catholic brainwashing and family surpression of your mental gifts. No afterlife. This is LIFE! Life in the great beyond. Ain’t nothing” after-life” about it! Robin Williams, as a sentient spirit of the universe, is eternal and operates outside of time and space. Kinda like we are all gods here. Robin’s not my even my name or gender here in eternity. I have no gender, I am ALL here as we ALL are,” says Robin, spreading his arms and flying right through the sun.
“Wow,” is all I can think to think to Robin seeing his name inside my name, “There’s no more to all this than meets the third-eye.”
Robin riffs on, my typing nightmare growing, “That little name clue blow your mind, my fellow WILLIAMS? Google William. Do it now please. I’ll hang on Alpha Centarui while you search the all seeing oracle of your time.”
Google come back with lots of stuff. I like this one best from Behind the Name.com about the meaning of the name William: From the Germanic name Willahelm, which was composed of the elements wil “will, desire” and helm “helmet, protection”. Saint William of Gellone was an 8th-century cousin of Charlemagne who became a monk.
“I know your old man who beat you regular as the Sunday papers, was a William,” says Robin standing beside me patting my shoulder. “But he played a part too as a man with WILLIAMS in his name. That part was teaching you to be funny. Shame his darkness got the better of him. He was manic depressive like me and you,” says Robin gently.
“Let’s no go there, Robin. My dad, well. It’s complex. I’ll meditate more on this WILLIAMS pattern and him and me and you. A Williams trinity later. Let’s get back to the great beyond. Where my dad’s been since 2011 after dying of bladder cancer before I could say good-bye. He’d beaten cancer many times before. My kids have not forgiven me for missing his farewell. After his death he did make me that red suit of ethereal armor, with high-tech helmet, so there’s the name pattern. Funny that armor was strong enough to help me close the Bermuda triangle but not strong enough to survive busting your soul out of area 51. Whoa,” I say, taking a gulp of coffee, “Back to the cosmic. I’ve met a lot of ETs who are asexual. Any sex thoughts from out there in the great beyond on gender?”
“Good Morning Battle of the Sexes!” says Robin with the passion his famed GOOD MORNING VIETNAM line. “Gender’s a groovy earth thing that makes life more ying and yang in the pooty tang. Here time’s not linear. It’s curly cue as grown-up Shirly Temple’s locks on the Good Star ship Lollipop. Talk about a party boat! Fucking is required at the door before getting beamed aboard naked. Yes, Sheetz-entine, linear is as boring as the hell of the first SFX tale, The Bible. Boring as that fat slob Limbaugh who I am sending a herd Tibetan goats to crap up with his lawn! Here, in the great beyond, we can incarnate at any point in history, on any world, even overlap our incarnations, be either sex and marry ourselves. Always a disaster, BTW, Sheetzrama!”
A dizzying deja’ vu, spins inside my head and I utter out loud, “Whoa,” here in my defective, but lovely, rental house, that reminds me that even the heaven of Sedona, like the great beyond, has dickheads.
“Yeah, you’ve fucked YOU way too many times, Sheetzy! Ha! Talk about creative masturbation!, ” laughs Robin.
“Jesus H. No wonder my relationships are so damn weird,” I say, feeling nauseated.
“Are you a good fuck as both sexes, Ken? Double the wardrobe decisions! If you don’t mind a personal question from the great beyond, you know, as both the man and woman in the sack?” chuckles Robin as I gag into waste can.
“Sometimes…?” I offer weakly, staggering over the washroom to swig some Pepto.
“Ha! Way more to life than we ever, ever see! I am no one to kid you for too much self-love. Relationships, sure as the hell that surely does not exist, are something I never did master either. For this reason in my a next life I must repeat that lesson. And come to think of it, I see what you are doing with your overlapping incarnation fuck fest. Beats hurting another soul. So rotten I signed up for suicide before I was born. Never again! Wow. I miss all my cutie pie wives and adorable kids and lovers and loves and fans, and on so, so terribly on, here in my Moment of Cosmic Silence.” says Robin and who goes silent.
I wait respectfully for Robin’s spirit to speak again as I check my Facebook and do some emails. Cosmic multitasking. Then I see Robin pondering, tears on his cheeks. He drifts out past our Milky Way, a distant swirl of billions of stars and trillions of worlds. Millions, like our own, with sentient life.
Robin’s amazing voice reverberates in my mind as he finally resumes, speaking a bit softer and more slowly than his normal mile a minute pace, in his mourning,”We spirits of intelligence are the light of the universe held in the loving bosom of the what scientists call dark matter. A boring description for the glue that holds all reality to-fucking-gether, buzz bro.”
“I take it you’ve met Ohom, my higher self from another dimension when you say buzz bro, Robin?”
“Not yet, in your sense of linear time. Waiting for your intro, sir, to the insectoid higher 16th dimensional you.” says Robin.
“This is more confusing BACK TO THE FUTURE, but go on,” I say in genuine frustration.
Robin speaks in the professorial tones of his character from DEAD POETS SOCIETY, John Keating,”In concentrated form, where strands of love light energy crisscross, sentient worlds like earth coalesce from mama universe’s cosmic vagina. (BTW, I wanted to write “womb” end of last sentence but Robin said, ‘No dice, Vagina’) The universe’s babies, from the endless lovemaking here, form trillions and trillions of planets that grow up to be Gaia’s sentient sisters of the universe!”
“Slow down a little Robin. I may be bright but I am a fucking lousy typist,” I say in my mind to Robin. He’s in his Peter Pan outfit he likes now, flying lazy circles earth’s moon now. It looks like fun, but I sense the deep loneliness Robin is feeling of space and his missing being flesh and blood.
“Sheetzy, mama universe and papa spirit get bizee over here. UH!” Says Robin making pelvic thrust for emphasis. “So lot’s and lot’s earth-like worlds, each with its own set of rules those crazy spirit lawyers dream up. All in search of that perfect blend of excitement in harmony with nature, they all exist out here. Earth, you see, she’s just a part of one experiment. Poor Gaia’s bordering on a cosmic nervous breakdown because her ingrate human kids are a fucking nightmare of parental abuse! A dash too much drama and sadness there on our old blue world. ‘Sup to all earthlings! Add a pinch of love to the recipe to save the dish, earth homies!” says Robin, soaring past a glittering eagle made of stardust.
“Speaking of sadness and drama, you brought it up, Robin, so I gotta ask –”
“Ah why, if we agree to all the shit we agree to before were born, did I accept all the crushing manic depression that killed poor me off?” Robin rambles grimly on to my inner nod, “Been on my mind too, what’s left of it. Don’t have all my memories here. Hey! You know the answer. You told me we over coffee , Sheetzy!”
“Yes!” I type to Robin, and you at once, how efficient, on my keyboard. “Soul stuff I learned in Italy when I asked my soul teacher Connie Miller, after meeting so many nice Italians, ‘How the hell did these sweet Italian people ever produce a Mussolini?’ Connie said, ‘The brighter the light the darker the shadow.'”
“Right on, soul sister Connie. Yeah, my mission in life was to bring a lot of light to the world through my comedy. And, before I was born, I knew that all the fucking darkness, balancing of my bright light, would kill me in the end. That, to be fair to the spirit guides, one was not hidden in the small print,” says Robin, shifting to his famed Shakespeare shtick, while passing through a super nova, laughing wildly. “Pirthee, All my days on earth, yay, verily, I fought my inner darkness longest as I couldeth, thus giving out a fair light that now outliveth my pale countenance forever more, ”
“Could one say your darkness also outlives you, Robin?” I say typing.
Robin stops on the fringe of the Nova that lights him up, pondering solomly and says, “Ah, you do wound me to the quick, kind sir. The sorrow of my loved ones and fans is ultra-dark. Heavy. Oh so heavy! And, shit, I see some folks are following my lead. Suicide copycats.”
All the stars extinguish around Robin and his voice fades, as when you start to lose a radio signal, “Much darkness. But life is a never-ending dance of light and dark. Residue light will be generated from my residue darkness. Ying and yang. Sides of one coin. A point of view. No judging. Now, after my death, my films take on a whole new pathos. My comedy a tint of tragedy. I can hear some in the audience, ‘Oh that poor tortured soul… he makes me pee my pants he’s so funny! Ha! Ha!”
Amazed by the profound, yet funny, insight Robin just shared, I say with my keyboard, “Anything more to add Robin? Gotta get to work. I don’t get paid to blog. Proofing this one may take a week or two (which it has).
“Oh, do I bore you, Ken, sharing the meaning of the universe?” says Robin, making a joke of his hurt feelings.
“Heck no! Sorry to rush you, Robin. I value you your connection, real or imagined. It’s Tuesday after Labor Day here on earth. Short week. Lots to do because our PR person took another job on us yesterday. So I spent all day getting great a new PS master in place. Good recovery, New one seems awesome. She’s worked with many of my clients like Don Miguel Ruiz and Eric Pearl. But it busted my balls, all happening just week before the launch of a major Indiegogo. All for a gizmo called the Neurophone, that might just be making our talks possible, Robin to Sheetz. Since the Neurophone does enhance my mind. And I’ve been telepathic since almost dying age five but all is so much clearer now with the Neurophone to help,” I say realizing I should be listening to Robin, not nattering on about my life and work.
Robin guffaws and says “Nerophone, huh? Hey I left earth to escape product placements, Sheetz! Once had to stick a can of shaving cream up my ass for product placement. But let’s wrap it up and let you “make the donuts. Pay this man Dunkin Donuts for a plug from the great beyond by Robin Williams’ ghost. Sorry, good luck with that, Ken, I don’t have my Hollywood clout out here. OMG I can look inside myself and see the last thing I ever ate before my belting off!”
“Wow. This could be confirmation, Robin. All I need to do is access the coroner’s report and –”
“Ha ha! Not much help, Sheetzy. All I see in my transparent intestines is shit. Literally,” laughs Robin, pooping a new galaxy into in space.
“Always the comedian, Mr. Williams,” I chuckle sadly,
“Yeah, our connection. Laughs and tears. — Sheetyz, earthly movie and TVs producers love happy endings. That’s just like the real stars of the cosmos and all the other worlds. All love happy endings. So, earthies, keep loving each other up. Even when it gets a little weird around the water cooler! Fuck all the rules, humanity. Love is all that matters for each other and every critter on the space ball ride with you. Williams out!”
As I get up from my writing chair to make breakfast Robin adds, “Nanoo Nanoo, Sheetzy!”
Laughter is my reply, an audience of one for the greatest comic of all time’s spirit. One I am blessed to be talking to. Real or imagined, both Robins co-exist in my mind, so why give a nanoo nanoo? Bottom-line this is fun and healing for me and others reading.
Make you smile? Give you some release of the sorrow we all feel losing Robin. Like to see more? Well, in my earthly form my time must go where the money is. So make a donation at DreamShield.org and keep the stories flowing. Robin’s ghost connection is weakening. Not sure this is the last of his visits on the blog. I hope not. Sorry for any typos:)
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.